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“Your dad doesn’t want me around,” she said.
“What?”
“He told me that once I’m eighteen and finished with high school, I’m out. I’ll have to figure stuff out for myself. I don’t belong here, Matt. That’s all there is to it.”
Anger flashed through me and settled in the pit of my stomach. I clenched my fists. “Asshole.”
“What?”
“He’s an asshole. Look, I’ll find a way to help you out, Summer. You can’t just go out there with nothing,” I said.
“No.” She shook her head, and the scent of her perfume or soap or whatever drifted over. It intoxicated me.
I inhaled and couldn’t stop. Goddamn, why did she smell so good? I shifted closer, studying the side of her face. Tan skin, slightly upturned nose, pouty lips, perfectly kissable. She lifted her gaze and met mine, and I forced myself not to do anything.
“I can look after myself,” Summer said.
“I’m not saying you can’t. But you’ll need help.”
“That’s not your problem.”
“Summer.” I caught her hand and held it.
She sucked in a breath and stared at me. “Yeah?” It was barely a whisper. She didn’t remove her hand from mine.
So close.
How many times had I wanted this? To touch her? Fuck, I’d thought about it every day. The minute I laid eyes on her, my thoughts went wild. Morning, noon, night, she intoxicated me just by virtue of her presence.
I had to let go.
“Matthew,” she said, and her voice was so fucking sweet.
My hand moved to her cheek and I cupped it. It was as soft as I’d imagined.
“Matthew.” A second time, this time with a hint of a plea to it.
I brought my lips to hers and it fucking electrified us both. I lost myself in her, and she leaned into me, her breath coming in short gasps.
What are you doing?
I broke the kiss and backed up, breathing hard.
Summer blinked.
This was bad. I’d done it. I’d sworn I wouldn’t do it, and I had. Quickly, I rose from the bed and backed up a couple steps. “I should go. You need to get some rest.”
She nodded mutely. Apparently, she was in as much shock as I was.
“Sleep well.” I strode from the room without looking back. She was still on my lips and in my mind, but there was nothing I could do about that.
The mistake had been made.
Chapter Thirteen
Summer
The folks at the hotel had been kind enough to bring me up the crutch that Matt had dropped off for me at the front desk. And after that, they’d helped me out of my room and down to the back terrace that looked out on the cabanas.
I’d brought my laptop with me, and it sat open now on one of the tables. My mimosa sat next to it, and I lifted it occasionally, taking a sip and appreciating the view of the orange sun setting over the water.
I hadn’t had the best childhood, but the one thing I’d learned was to live in the moment.
When times weren’t always good, it was easier to enjoy the highs, to dwell on them, and I did that now, shoving my anxiety over the future to one side.
The mimosa was sweet and citrusy. The sun was gorgeous, settling over calm waves, and people walked around on the sand together, holding hands or stopping to admire the view.
“Can I get you something to eat, ma’am?” A waiter had appeared next to my table.
“Oh, no thank you. Not for now. I’m just enjoying the moment.”
“Of course.” He swept off again, and I watched him go. What would it be like to work in a place like this? I’d worked in others like it, most of them back in Florida. All while I’d been trying, desperately, to save up enough money to do what I wanted to do.
Life hadn’t given me much, but goddamn I’d use what I had to make a difference for myself.
My gaze moved from the sun and the moment toward my laptop screen. I had my application to the acting school open on it. It was filled out, but it was the attachment that had tripped me up again. The fees.
How would I ever make this happen?
You’re too old for this. You should have worked harder. You should have…
What? What could I have done?
Emmy’s father hadn’t offered me anything but a wave when I’d left his house, and I’d been too pigheaded to tell Emmy I needed help. I’d pretended that I had everything under control. I’d skipped from one goal to the next—from being a dancer to an actress and back again.
“What do I do?” I whispered, tapping my fingers on the tabletop.
Was acting school just another excuse to delay the inevitable? Maybe it was my way of holding back because I knew the truth: I was too old to make it.
Oof. Stop. Stop.
I’d have enough anxiety to last me a lifetime. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d chosen my path, and I had to remember that. I wanted to get into the acting school because it would be my best shot at refining my skills. After that, I could start applying to jobs. It was an excuse to move away from Florida and out to LA. It would work.
