Page 39 of One to Watch

“Nah.” Bea giggled. “I’m good.”

She pushed herself up from her barstool, feeling more relaxed than she had all afternoon, and warmed a bit by the alcohol. It was chilly on the boat—March in L.A. is hardly tropical—and of all the men, Asher the history professor was the only one who was covered up: He’d thought to bring an L.L.Bean anorak, and consequently looked much more comfortable than anyone else at the party. He was sitting far from the rest of the group at a little table near the edge of the yacht, buried in a book—somehow carving out the sort of peaceful afternoon Bea might really enjoy if she weren’t so busy starring in a television show. He seemed to sense her gaze, because he looked up and locked eyes with her for a moment, but she looked quickly away. When she glanced back a few seconds later, he’d already gone back to reading.

Before Bea could decide where to go next, Nash and Cooper arrived—though whether they were deliberately seeking out Bea’s company or simply running into her en route to the bar, it was hard to say.

“Hey guys! Having fun?” Bea asked brightly, the tequila having significantly improved her spirits.

“Absolutely,” Nash drawled, choking back a laugh, exchanging a knowing glance with Cooper. “We can’t get enough of whale watching.”

Bea gritted her teeth, willing herself not to flush with anger and shame.

“I hope you find one.” Bea forced her lips into a cool smile. “I’m sure it would be thrilling to see a creature whose intelligence so far surpasses your own.”

She turned on her heel without waiting for a response, ready to find Lauren and insist the footage of that exchange never see the light of day, but she nearly smacked straight into Jefferson.

“Whoa! Watch your step, Bumble Bee.”

He flashed her a warm smile, and Bea felt her Nash-and-Cooper-induced rage start to ebb a bit.

“Wow,” she joked, “we’re already on a nickname basis?”

“I thought I’d try it.” Jefferson grinned. “How’d I do?”

“Hmm, I’d say five for originality, but a solid seven for pluck.”

Jefferson laughed, big and hearty. “I’ll take it. Now, let me ask you a question—is there anything to eat on this boat? I’ve been having serious barbecue withdrawal ever since I left home and I could definitely crush some ribs right now.”

“You’re from … Kentucky?” Bea tried to remember, but Jefferson’s good-natured eye roll told her she’d missed the mark.

“Kansas City—that’s in Missouri.”

“Also Kansas,” Bea retorted.

“But the barbecue is in Missouri.” Jefferson rubbed his belly, which was covered in curly red hair and hung over the waistband of his Hawaiian-patterned board shorts. “The secret’s in the smoking—you do a long, slow smoke, preferably over at least four different kinds of wood.”

“Sounds delicious,” Bea agreed, “but probably not super safe for a boat.”

“Just another reason I prefer dry land.” Jefferson laughed. “I installed a killer smoker in my backyard last year—maybe if things work out you’ll get to see it?”

His expression was so sweet, almost hopeful, that Bea wondered if she should have listened to Lauren and picked this guy for her first kiss after all.

“What about you?” he prodded. “What’s your favorite kind of food?”

Bea opened her mouth to answer what should have been an easy question—Thai food, burgers, chocolate cake—before considering the wave of “If you love to eat so much, you deserve every health problem that overburdens our insurance system” ire such a response might prompt.

“We have access to such amazing produce in California,” she said truthfully, but smiling wider than she otherwise might have. “I absolutely love to swing by the farmers’ market to see what’s in season.”

“You’ll have to teach me your mysterious coastal ways.” Jefferson laughed and patted his belly. “I’m obviously more of a meat-and-potatoes guy.”

There was something so appealing about Jefferson’s confidence. Sure, some of it was that he was a man, and therefore not automatically subjected to the same kind of judgment as Bea about his body—but there was something deeper there, an inner ease that Bea hoped might rub off on her if she spent a little more time with him.

That would have to wait, though, because Lauren was approaching to get her ready for her next setup.

“We only have a couple hours of light left,” she explained. “You ready to film your conversation with Marco?”

Bea smiled tightly and followed Lauren over to the stunningly beautiful hot tub, which was built into a raised part of the deck, allowing for a 360-degree view from the coast to the horizon. Thick steam rose up in sheets, someone had set out an ice bucket of Prosecco and several glasses, and in the tub itself was Marco, his dark hair and olive skin slick with condensation. Bea felt another churn in her stomach with the realization that he was waiting here with the sole and express purpose of kissing her.

“Okay, kids,” Lauren teased, “have fun!”