High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1)

by Brenna Aubrey

  On that sobering thought, we ended up driving the rest of the way back to North Tustin, each lost in our own thoughts.

  Over the next few days, we settled into a pattern which consisted, mostly, of staying out of each other’s way. We happened to work at the same place and live in the same house. But evenings—particularly when night fell—he studiously avoided me.

  On weekdays, he left far earlier in the morning than I did and came home later than I did. He kept long hours, something I was sure was no different from his days at NASA, especially while preparing for a flight.

  Sometimes we’d eat together, but more often, we didn’t because of his late hours.

  Thankfully, he was cordial—most of the time.

  Except for the night he noticed what I’d done to his booze bottles.

  “What the hell is this?” he snapped from behind me. He’d entered the little den beside his office. I usually did my work in here, at his behest, probably because he didn’t want me sprawled across his living room couch otherwise.

  I pushed back from the desk where I’d been staring at my open laptop and turned to him, pushing my glasses back up my nose.

  He held up his bottle of vodka, and I almost lost it, realizing the source of his annoyance. I bit my cheek to keep from showing my reaction.

  And I played dumb. “It looks like a bottle of vodka.”

  He blew out a breath. “Yes, of course, it’s a bottle of vodka. I went to pour myself a drink, and I saw this on the side.” He held the bottle in front of my face at eye level, so I could see the marks I’d made along the side with a Sharpie. In tiny writing, I’d marked the level of the liquid inside the bottle along with the date.

  The good news was this was days after I’d originally marked those bottles and he was only noticing now, which meant he wasn’t hitting the liquor every single night.

  When I was silent, he locked his arm. “Did you do this?”

  I bit my bottom lip before looking up at him. “Yes. But only as a tool for assessment and…introspection.”

  His brows knit. “What?”

  “Just so we can figure out if you’re overusing alcohol.”

  He retracted his arm, spine stiffening. “This is over the top. I don’t need this sort of policing.”

  I rose out of my chair so we could be on a more even level—futile because he was still four inches taller than me. “Good. Then there’s nothing to argue about. It’s to keep you accountable.”

  His cheeks bulged where he clenched his jaw several times before he spoke. “I do not have a problem with alcohol.”

  I blinked. “But alcohol has caused you some problems, right? The night you punched out the flat-earther, you were drunk. That party that trashed the hotel room in Chicago—”

  “That was not my fault. I was—” He cut himself off and shook his head. “I’m not going to bother explaining myself to you.”

  “You definitely don’t have to do that. And you know what? I’m not even going to look at those liquor bottles except to mark new levels once a week. Those marks are for your reference. Not mine and not anyone else’s. They are there to help you.”

  He blew out a breath, face darkening to an even deeper shade of red. My desire to laugh was gone now as my heart sped up and the loud clicking was now noticeable. His eyes flicked to my chest and then back to my eyes again. Maybe he thought I was afraid of him. Maybe that would make him feel better.

  Instead, he turned and walked out, muttering something about not feeling thirsty anymore. I all but collapsed back into the chair, then gathered my things and decided to call it an early night.

  Criminy. I would be happy when I could go back to the peace and quiet of working at my own place.

  A little while later, I crawled under the covers, exhausted. My phone chimed right as I was closing my eyes.

  Pari: How’s your watchdog job with Astro-Hottie going?

  Me: Ugh.

  Pari: That good, huh? LOL

  Me: Don’t want to talk about it rn.

  Pari: Did you leave that package of Oreos on my desk today, btw? That wasn’t the cookie fairy?

  Me: It was my return favor for the bag of chips last week.

  Pari: Me and my extra five pounds thank you. :p

  Me: Gotta hit the hay. Tomorrow is the big beach photo op with “Astro-Hottie” and the movie star. Lots to prep.

  Pari: Exciting. Send me some shots!

  In the tiny hotel room at the Malibu Country Inn right off Zuma Beach, Victoria masterfully went through the prep for Ryan and Keely’s first photo op session. This would be their “coming out” as a couple on the sandy Malibu beach that had started so many famous romances—both real and orchestrated—before them.

  I glanced out the window, squinting at the gleaming surf of a late Friday afternoon. People were out—but not in droves. Which was why we’d chosen this time and day, rather than a crowded Sunday or Saturday or a holiday.

  Victoria briefed the couple thoroughly on what was expected of them. She explained where they should pause and for how long. She told them where they should kiss and how—right down to where their hands should be. They’d asked questions, and I half expected Ryan to pull a tiny notepad out of his shirt pocket and take notes.

  While they chatted, I snapped a quick picture of the three of them and sent it off to Tolan, to keep him apprised.

  He responded half a minute later with a thumbs-up emoji. We were a “go” for launch of this new “it” couple.

  Victoria had doubled-checked to make sure her media contacts were in place, poised and ready to snap the seemingly candid photos. Then she dismissed Ryan and pulled Keely aside for a final once-over of her hair and makeup.

  I took the opportunity to excuse myself to use the bathroom.

  Upon exiting, I was stopped short by Ryan, who hovered right outside the door. I moved aside to let him by, assuming he’d been waiting to use the bathroom after me. But he squeezed into the doorway beside me and didn’t budge, wedging his arm across the doorjamb to block my way out.

  “Yes?” I said quietly, my eyes flying to Victoria and Keely, who were engrossed in their final touches.

  “I want you to know before you freak out that I had two shots down at the bar just now.”

  Well, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to detect that. The moment he’d opened his mouth, I smelled booze on his breath. His tone was tense, clipped, and I brought my gaze up to meet his burning eyes.

  “You’re still pissed about the marked bottles, aren’t you?”

  His brow twitched. “Should I not be?”

  My breathing felt tight and my heart raced, though I couldn’t tell if that was because I was dreading a possible confrontation or because I found his proximity so incredibly distracting.

  His smell—seashells, lime, and salty seaside spray. Eau de Ocean God. A vision of his perfect abs popped into my brain, dappled with drops of ocean water. I’d seen that amazing torso of his a few more times since that first incident in his living room—coming in from an early morning swim and grabbing ice water in the kitchen after a workout. He was so damn gorgeous I had to stop short of physically pinching myself to remember this was a job and he was a jerk—some of the time anyway.

  “Are you nervous about this?” I asked in a quiet voice.

  He smiled lazily. “I know how to kiss a woman. I think I proved that to you last weekend.”

  I swallowed thickly, shocked he’d bring that up. I’d been so positive he’d never given that kiss another thought. But I sure had given it many thoughts. I couldn’t not think about how amazing that kiss had felt. During the past week, that kiss had never been far from my mind.

  But in that same week, he had kept himself distant. Remote. Almost as if he were actively avoiding me. It was as if, after we’d kissed, he’d turned everything off and I was a nobody again.

  But for that half a minute, I’d felt like his everything.

  He might have snapped back easily. But my mind had not. Not
yet anyway.

  Now, however, he was staring at my lips. “Maybe I could use a little…warming up, though. You know, like a lip-fluffer.”

  I frowned. “A lip-fluffer?”

  He smiled, tilting his head a little closer, his voice quiet. “You know, like in porn? You know what a fluffer is.”

  I drew back and did a double take. “Uh, how much vodka did you say you had?”

  He laughed. “Enough to ease the stage fright, but not enough to blow it.”

  I reached up and fixed the collar on his blue button-down shirt. Our faces were very close now, and mine was getting warmer by the minute. “You’ll do fine.”

  He lifted a thumb to brush my bottom lip. “How about one for good luck, then?”

  I looked down, stunned by the zing and rush, and incredibly shy all at the same time. He was teasing me, and it wasn’t all that funny. But I was trembling all over now, because damn it, I wanted to kiss him again.

  “You shouldn’t be such a tease,” was the only lame thing I could come back with.

  Without a word, he let his hand drop, and he slowly pulled away from me. I looked up then, and our gazes caught and held. “Good luck…Ryan. You’ll do great.” I cleared my throat and then straightened my spine. “And you’re right. You do know how to kiss a woman.”

  Keely now stood at Ryan’s shoulder and looked from one of us to the other. “What’s going on here?” Her big baby blue eyes flitted from his face to mine and back again. My face burned with what I assumed was an obvious blush.

  Ryan gestured to my chest. “I was reading her T-shirt.”

  It was yet another piece in my nerdy wardrobe. Keely’s gaze flickered to it. “That color green makes your eyes ding, Gray, but I don’t get the shirt.”

  I pointed to the complex formula depicted—the orbital velocity formula. Below it, in pale yellow script it read, The first step is admitting you have a problem.

  “Just a little psycho nerd humor. This is a physics problem.”

  Ryan seemed amused, his eyes glued to my chest, which made me blush even more, and Keely smiled and nodded, but I wasn’t quite sure my explanation had helped her.

  Minutes later, Victoria was leading us out of the hotel room, pointing out the path they were supposed to take on their leisurely stroll across the sand before pausing near the pier for their public smoochfest. Victoria and I watched them go, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away when Ryan reached out and took Keely’s hand.

  Keely turned to him and laughed, her red hair dancing on the breeze, and a bolt of lightning cracked through me so swiftly it took my breath away. I was crazy jealous of Keely at this very moment.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I turned and went back into the room, vowing not to look anymore. And willing the jealousy away.

  I failed on both counts.

  Chapter 11

  Ryan

  “Well, if this isn’t the most gorgeous day to start a public romance, I don’t know what is.” Keely turned and beamed up at me and squeezed my hand simultaneously. She had a thousand-megawatt smile, with star power and charm to go along with it. She was in her element, and I couldn’t help but be affected.

  “It’s been a long time since I just walked at the beach. It’s nice.” I turned to look at the water. The surf pounded relentlessly to our left. A light, cool breeze danced over my skin, bringing the earthy, briney scent of the ocean, wet sand and seaweed along with it.

  Keely made a face. “I want to walk on the surf side! I used to love playing that game, you know the one, where you walk on the wet sand and try to see how close you can get without the water coming up and getting your feet wet. But Vic said I had to walk on this side because of the pictures.”

  I smiled, pulling her closer to the water. Her light skirt caught the breeze. “We can still do that if you want.”

  “Damn, Ty. You’re so nice. And here I thought you were such a bad boy.”

  I grinned. “Don’t spill my secret.”

  She giggled and flicked her designer-perfumed hair, turning up the flirtation. She was every man’s fantasy of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

  Except mine, apparently.

  No, I couldn’t get my mind off that sweet young thing I’d left back in the hotel room. The one who wore the faded jeans that hugged her tight little ass and nerdy T-shirts with esoteric logos that made me laugh.

  The one who slurped her breakfast smoothies through a straw so loud it echoed through the house. Who always had her nose buried in a big, fat nonfiction book or her e-reader when she wasn’t watching me with those eyes that missed absolutely nothing.

  The one who smelled like strawberries and mint and had skin that looked so soft that I itched to touch it. Every single time.

  I also wanted to make her moan.

  And gasp my name.

  And—

  Keely elbowed me. “Houston, we have a problem.”

  “What?” I turned to her.

  She widened her eyes and grabbed my arm, hanging off it and staring up into my eyes as she smiled dreamily. “Wake up, Ty, bae. The show must go on. And I just spotted our first pap off the…what would you call that in pilot speak? Two o’clock?”

  Without turning my head, I flicked my eyes in the general direction and was rewarded with the glint of a camera lens reflecting the sunlight as it pointed toward us. We hadn’t quite hit the spot where we were supposed to stop and stare dreamily into each other’s eyes before kissing, watching the surf for a few minutes and continuing on to the pier, so we kept walking while I leaned my head toward hers as if every word she spoke fascinated me.

  Oh God, I’d get through this somehow. Keely was a pro who took it all in stride, so I followed her lead and walked the predetermined two miles. And hopefully, we’d managed to convince a few that we were giddy new lovers aching to publicly display our affection to the world.

  It was enough to make any red-blooded man’s man puke.

  But NASA had trained a good little astronaut to jump through their hoops. And I’d jump through these too. Because XPAC was going to get me back where I needed to be.

  And there was no time to be distracted by a too-perceptive young shrink who seemed to stare right through my barriers and zoom in on the problematic pieces of my soul, like an X-ray machine, poised and ready to diagnose my weaknesses.

  Before long, we were edging our way across the sand toward the beach access road, having left the photographers behind. We hopped into the back seat of the Mercedes Victoria’s assistant drove. And our obligation for the day was done. We’d be sharing an intimate dinner date on Sunday night. One that included the eyes—and the camera lenses—of the awaiting public as well.

  That night, as the sun went down and the timed lighting came on, making everything as bright as if it were still noon, I sat at the counter in my kitchen staring down at my phone, vaguely aware I should do my usual disappearing act for the day to avoid the tasty Ms. Barrett.

  I’d been doing a good job of evading both the drink and the prying shrink, much as she intrigued me. Far too much, in fact.

  So I’d devised a plan to keep her out of my way for as long as I could. This house was big enough to lose two people in it. I momentarily thanked my foresight for not buying that tiny but luxurious condo on the beach in Newport I’d been eyeing. That would have made my evasion tactics damn near impossible.

  Right now, Gray was somewhere else, probably on the deck watching the sky at sunset. I’d noticed that was one of her favorite things to do. Then I’d scolded myself for paying enough attention to notice her favorite things to do.

  I fingered the home button on my phone again, resting my forehead in my palm. I’d been reluctant to unlock it—four texts and two missed calls. All from the same person.

  I swallowed thickly, feeling that same pang of guilt and self-recrimination. I’d been avoiding responding for weeks—even months. Sometimes I’d send short answers, but most often, I ghosted. It was easier that way. Then I’d send something—a che
ck or some flowers, candy or a bunch of toys for the little guy.

  My eyes froze on that first text.

  Keep wondering how you are doing out there in Sunny California. The boy keeps asking about you.

  I blinked. That was unfair, bringing AJ into this. A stab of pain almost stole my breath as I pictured the little guy, round cheeks wet with tears as he saluted the monument erected in honor of the father he would never see again. That day a five-year-old child became a member of the same club I’d been inducted into at fifteen.

  My jaw clenched, and my finger hovered over the reply button.

  Just then, the sliding glass door to the back deck scraped in its frame. And I jerked my head up. Gray opened the door barely wide enough to allow her slim form access, then shut it almost as quickly. She turned and looked at me, stopping in surprise. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” I clicked my phone off and stuffed it into my back pocket.

  She tilted her head. “You okay?”

  Christ. Five seconds in the room and she was doing that uncanny perceptive thing again. It irritated the fuck out of me. Time to throw up a smoke screen. “If by ‘okay,’ you mean mildly annoyed by the paparazzi circus game I’ve had to play, then I’m just dandy.”

  Her dark brows came down, and she took a step toward me. My cue to hop off my stool and leave. “I’m gonna turn in.”

  It was eight o’clock. In reality, I was going to go watch a movie or three in my room before nodding off in exhaustion. But for her benefit, I faked a big ol’ yawn. After this stint with Keely, I’d be ready to make a run for an Oscar.

  She nodded, then went to the cabinet, grabbed a glass, and filled it full of ice water from the fridge. “I’ve got some reading to do myself.”

  I clenched my jaw and refrained from replying. Any reply would be an attempt to strike up a conversation, and doing that was not compatible with my goal of avoiding her. So I kept my mouth shut.