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We’re walking slowly back across the beach to the parking lot trailers, our scene finally wrapped, each gripping our flip flops and water bottles. My towel is slung around my shoulders, just like Jesse’s, because what the hell. Who cares what people think?
And he sure appreciates the view.
“What’s with the thumbs?”
Jesse’s eyes crinkle as he grins. They’re so blue, dappled with vivid green, just like the ocean he dives in every episode. We’re walking slowly, dragging out the seconds before we reach the trailers. “Are you saying my kiss of life technique isn’t realistic, Darla?”
Ha. “I’m saying the only thing coming back to life is your own knuckles.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Jesse murmurs, and the sidelong glance he sends me makes my insides do the cha-cha.
It’s mid afternoon. It’s been a long day already, and Jesse will get called back for another scene soon. My acting career is over, thank god, so all I need to do is drag my salt-encrusted corpse into Franklin’s trailer and sneak a cool shower.
Then I’m back in the crew. Fading into the background.
“I started doing it in the first season.” Damn, I didn’t really expect an answer, and I almost trip over my own feet staring at Jesse as he talks. He cups my elbow, steering me onto the path that leads off the beach. His palm is warm and dry and so steadying. “I wasn’t a big name back then, but even so, a few extras tried to slip me the tongue during takes.”
Ew.
“That’s really gross.”
“Yeah. I still can’t help the close ups, but I have enough clout now that people don’t try it. So the thumbs are a habit. Personal preference.”
My shoulders have tensed, heat crawling up my neck, and I’m not sure whether it’s anger on Jesse’s behalf, or shame that I had the exact same urge. To kiss him back, and kiss himproperly.To weave my fingers through his damp hair and tug his mouth more firmly against mine. Slide my tongue past those perfect lips.
I didn’t do it, though. I lay on that sand practically vibrating with restraint. That’s got to count for something, right?
Jesse squeezes my elbow before he lets go. The parking lot concrete is burning hot, and we both drop our flip flops onto the gritty stone. We slide them on in silence, surrounded by the tiny ghost town of white trailers.
“I hope…”
A gentle breeze tugs at my hair while I wait. Jesse’s staring at me, a muscle flexing in his jaw.
And what a jaw it is. The jaw that graced my bedroom wall for so long; the jaw that probably has its own workout regime, so beautifully clad in a trimmed brown beard. I guarantee that someone has made a Twitter account for that jaw.
“You hope?”
A gust of breath. Jesse’s hands rise, then slap against his thighs. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable back there, Darla.”
Uncomfortable?
Right—with those heated stares. That tremble in his hands as he held me. The way he whipped his touch away whenever the take ended, like he didn’t trust himself for a single second more.
So maybe it’s not the same as with those other extras. Maybe I’m not like those creeps.
Maybe there’s something special between us. Something mutual.
And I’ve never been a coward—have never been burdened with impulse control, either—so I step close and pat Jesse Hendry right on his beautiful pec. It’s as hard as the sun-baked concrete beneath my flip flops.
Is it my imagination, or do I feel his heart leap beneath my fingertips?
“Oh, you did, Jesse. You definitely did.” His eyes shutter, but only until I add: “In thebestway.”
He blazes back to life, gaze scorching, muscled chest heaving, and I turn on my heel with as much dignity as I can muster in a green one-piece swimsuit.
Badass. Walk like a badass. Keep him staring.
“They’ll call you back in a few minutes,” I say over my shoulder, sashaying away.
The star watches every single step I take to Franklin’s trailer. A slow smile curves his mouth when I turn back and meet his eye.
And when the metal door bangs shut behind me, shutting me in blissfully cool shadows, I collapse against it like I’ve just run twenty miles.
