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Chapter Twenty
Simon
I shut the door behind the crew and lean against it for a moment. It’s so draining to always be “on” for the cameras. I don’t know how actors and actresses do it.
We went to dinner once the rain cleared and then walked around for a bit, talking about relationshippy stuff so they would have something to air.
I held her hand, but that wasn’t for the show’s sake. It was purely selfish—not that I would admit it to anyone but myself. I can feel myself changing, and it scares the hell out of me.
How did this bubbly woman get under my skin so fast?
But it wasn’t really fast, was it? my brain has to remind me.
She’s technically been on my radar since that first moment I laid eyes on her in Ivy’s classroom.
How fate operates is a mystery to me, but it has a weird way of working out sometimes.
I step back in and watch Alice draw the curtains closed on the windows, letting the room be lit by the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. It cast shadows as she moves, readying things for bed, and I find myself unable to tear my eyes from her as she does the simplest things.
I stare as she bends over her bag, rustling around inside before pulling some clothing out. I watch as she turns, laying a few things on the end of the bed before leaning back down and pulling a container of some sort out of her bag. She unzips it and looks through it before nodding to herself, as if she’s content everything is as it should be. I don’t look away when she turns abruptly to pick up the clothes and finds me staring. I zone in on her cheeks as they pinken, and her eyes dart wildly around before landing on mine again.
“What?” she asks, and I just shrug. “Oookay. Well, I’m going to go shower really quick. Do you need the bathroom before I do?”
I shake my head. It seems I’m incapable of words right now. I kick off my shoes and plop down on the bed once the door has shut behind her. I should turn the TV on and busy myself, thinking of something else, but instead, I lie here with my eyes closed, listening to the water run in the bathroom. I try to distract myself, thinking about what we could do tomorrow, but then the water stops, and my mind turns to imagining Alice stepping out, water running down her body before she slides a fluffy towel over it, catching the moisture.
I get up, determined to get in the shower once she’s done and relieve myself. Hopefully, this will take the edge off all of this pent-up tension I have going on right now.
I grab some lounge clothes and sit on the couch in the small sitting room off to the side, finally clicking the TV on so it looks like I was occupying myself. She exits the bathroom as soon as I get settled, watching some Planet Earth on the Discovery Channel.
I glance over at her, and my eyes widen. I bring my hand up to my mouth as I cough to cover the choking my body is doing at this moment. She’s got a flowy white T-shirt on and the tiniest pair of sleep shorts I’ve ever seen. I don’t know that they even qualify as shorts. I keep my eyes pinned on the screen until I sense movement to my right.
She rounds the corner of the couch, a bottle of scotch in one hand, and sets it down with a thud on the small coffee table. I eye it and then look back at her, and her gaze is on me. I cock my head to the side.
“I want to talk,” she says, a sexy smirk tilting one side of her mouth up.
I look back at the bottle. “Where did you even get that?”
“Brought it from home.” She produces two shot glasses in her other hand, placing them beside the bottle, and then she sinks down to sit beside me.
She’s not touching me, but she’s close enough that I can feel the heat from her body. Her fresh body-wash scent invades my nose, and I breathe deeply, slow so she can’t hear me. It’s intoxicating, much like the alcohol we are about to down.
My brain is screaming, Abort! Abort!
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Everything. I want to get to know Simon Morrow. I want to know the real you, your deepest, darkest dreams and secrets.”
“Way to cut right to the chase,” I say with a chuckle, but inside my chest, my heart is thundering.
This is a bad idea. We don’t need to get to know each other. We need to do our jobs for the remaining weeks and cut ties. That’s what’s best for everyone.
“Haven’t we already had several talks about me?”
She waves her hand around in the air, as if getting rid of my last comment. “Let’s have a staring contest. Loser has to take a shot, and winner gets to ask a question.”
“Didn’t you tell me that I would be the winner of a staring contest?” My mouth twitches with mirth as she narrows her eyes at me.
“I have alcohol on my side now.” She taps the bottle, leaning forward, and I follow the gaping of her shirt with my eyes, finding a great view of her cleavage.
