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The singing and chatter of the bar fade away as the door swings shut behind me. Further along down the street, a truck rumbles around a corner, and if you peer through the gaps in the buildings, you can see the ocean from here.
“Shit,” I say with feeling, shoving my hands in my pockets. The cool air makes my cheeks feel even hotter. “Shit.”
I really need to get my head on straight. Need to land that pilot.
And I need to give poor Darla some damn space, because she’s made it pretty clear how she feels over the last few days with her careful distance, keeping me at arm’s length with her polite smiles.
Darla’s not interested in a washed-up star.
Honestly. Who can blame her?
* * *
“We need to talk.” Darla pushes the bottle of water into my hand the next morning, gripping my elbow and dragging me a short distance away from the other lifeguards. A couple of them watch us go, openly curious, but mostly they’re gulping down their drinks and swabbing towels over their chests, lost to everything outside the take we just did and the next one coming.
I remember that focus. That immersion.
Maybe I’d get that feeling again on this pilot.
I raise my palms as Darla rounds on me, embarrassment stiffening my spine. “We don’t need to do this. I got the message, okay? Loud and clear.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, the valley of her cleavage suddenly even deeper through her polo shirt collar, and fuck. I want to lick it. I want to slide my fingers down there. I want her topless and flushed, bending over my lap, squeezing my cock between her magnificent tits.
And that’s why I’m getting this lecture. Fucking hell.
“I don’t think you did get the message, actually.” Darla’s annoyed, her shoulders tense and her lips pressing together between sentences. Hazel eyes scowl up at me. “Because I don’t want you to leave me alone, Jesse. I want you to stop hovering on the sidelines, acting like you don’t trust yourself with me.”
Hovering on the sidelines? I haven’t been holding back to be weird. I’ve been giving her space; respecting her boundaries.
She’s over a decade younger than me, and just starting out in her career. I’d be the worst kind of asshole if I misjudged this.
I snort. “Maybe Idon’ttrust myself with you.”
Because I want to be a better man than this. More controlled. I want to stop looking at her fucking cleavage like it’s the promised land, and I want my mouth to stop going dry every time I catch a glimpse of her.
I want to focus on my work, and I want to stop the vivid slideshow playing on a loop in my head: the one where I push her up against the side of my trailer, or lay her down in the sand, or coax her into my private shower.
But: “Good,” Darla snaps, “I don’t want you to be noble about this.” And beneath the haze of her anger, there’s something else. Something flushed and breathless about her.
Her throat works as she swallows, tearing her eyes away from mine, and they roam over my chest instead. My arms. My abs. Watching the way goosebumps prickle over my bare skin in the breeze; the way my nipples harden under her gaze.
Heat coils low in my gut, vicious and sudden. With a huff, I tug the towel from around my neck and hold it in front of the hardening length pressing against my swim shorts.
Darla’s mouth twitches. Spreads into a wide smile.
And I grin too, my irritation melting away like a dropped ice cream cone. This is ridiculous.
“If you everdowant me to leave you alone…”
“I’ll say so. I promise.” She’s waiting, so sweet and expectant for something else, and even though I need every spare minute over the next few days to prep for this audition, even though there’s a serious risk I’m about to quit on her beloved uncle… I can’t disappoint her again. Can’t let this chance slip through my fingers.
“I, uh.” This might sound like a horrible line, but here goes. “I prefer to stay out of the public eye when I can help it. But would you like to come over to my place tonight? I’ll cook you dinner.”
The pleased flush that creeps over her cheeks—that’s it. My new favorite color.
“Are you sure?” Darla whispers, throwing a nervous glance at the other actors.
I nod. “I’m sure.”
She plucks at her polo shirt, eyeing my bare chest again. “And you won’t be too tired from the week’s heroics?”
My grin widens. “Why, Darla? You gonna put me through my paces?”
And it’s worth the crossed wires and awkward silences we’ve had; the stilted conversations and tense shoulders. All of it is worth it, because when Darla throws her head back and laughs…
I feel like one of the kites the locals fly along the beach, soaring in giddy circles high above the sand.
