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I’m going to kill him.Chapter 2~Shawn~The ferry is going to be the bloody death of me. Death. Of. Me.
It’s late. Again. It’s Friday, my fifth day commuting into downtown Seattle from the island, and I think it’s safe to say this isn’t working. I didn’t want to temporarily relocate to the city, mostly because my family is on the island, and I like being close by if anyone needs me.
I can even pitch in at O’Callaghan’s Pub whenever Keegan is shorthanded. And my brother is shorthanded more often than not. But my siblings and I don’t mind taking a turn pulling taps and bussing tables once or twice a week.
In fact, we enjoy it. The Celtic music and friendly customers make for a fun evening.
But I may have to take myself out of the rotation and spend the next three weeks, give or take, in Seattle so I can work on this project with Lexi.
How a woman can be so stunningly gorgeous and infuriating at the same time is beyond me. I can’t remember the last time I was so mesmerized by the way a woman smiles. And then want to turn around and strangle her the next instant.
Lexi’s an enigma.
And she’s going to be pissed, again, at my tardiness. She hasn’t said a word, but the way she puckers those kissable lips and narrows her eyes at me speaks volumes.
Honestly, I can’t blame her. Being late is a huge pet peeve of mine. My ma would have my hide if she knew I was late every day this week.
On the ferry docks, I make my way through morning traffic, ready to pluck my eyes from my head by the time I pull into the parking garage for Williams Films.
As expected, Lexi is sitting at the table, squinting at her computer, a bright orange throw blanket draped over her legs.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I begin as I hurry inside. “I’ll move to a hotel this weekend.”
“How long does the commute take you?” she asks.
“About ninety minutes, give or take.” I open my laptop and sigh as I drag my hand over my face.
“I got this for you.”
She passes me a cup of coffee.
“Oh, thank you.”
“The chef said he remembered how you take it,” she replies. “I figure the commute’s been a pain in the ass. You need it.”
I blink as I take a sip and stare at her. In moments like these, I feel as if we could be friends. Lovers, even. She’s kind and thoughtful, and when her lips tip up into a smile, I want to bend her over the table and fuck her seven ways to Sunday.
“This scene is all wrong,” she announces. And just like that, I’m reminded why I want to spank her ass.
“Give me five minutes to let the caffeine soak in before we go at each other,” I reply and take another sip. She sits back and waits, sips her drink, and fiddles with the blanket in her lap. “Is that a new blanket?”
She nods.
“You have quite a thing for linens.”
She smiles, and my heart stops.
That grin is a dangerous weapon.
“I always have, ever since I was a child. I even turn the air-conditioner down in the summer so I have to wrap up in a blanket to get warm.”
I raise a brow. “It’s always cool at my house. I live on the water, so it doesn’t get too hot, even in the summer.”
“That would be lovely,” she says. “Now, can we talk about this scene?”
“I don’t think you’ll let me get out of it,” I reply. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Again, you’ve taken the intimacy out. He has to cradle her to him, to reassure her.”
I shake my head in frustration. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times this week, Lexi. You have to consider the blocking of the scene. If he cradles her the way it’s described in the book, we won’t be able to see them on camera.”
“I disagree.”
“Okay.” I push my hand through my hair and grab my phone. I set it up across the room, balanced against a water glass, and hit record. “Come here.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I’m going to prove my point. Come here.”
She carefully stands from her chair and walks around the table to me. I glance at the book to remind myself what happens, then reach for her hand and tug her into my lap.
“Now, the way you have it written, I’d cup your cheek like this,” I press my hand to her cheek. “And then I’d kiss you like this.”
I lean in, but I don’t press my lips to hers—no matter how much I want to.
“I’ll play it back in a minute to show you that we can’t see you. But first, I want to show you how I wrote it. Instead of cupping your cheek, my hand would be down on your neck, leaving your face clear for the camera. And now if I lean in to kiss you—” I lean close but don’t actually touch her lips with mine. It’s torture. Her scent is fresh and clean, and I want to kiss her more than I want to breathe. But I hold myself back. “We’ll be able to see it on the camera,” I finish.
