by Jillian Dodd
He laughs and then covers my hand with his.
It’s at this point I realize that I am touching his naked knee.
And that I probably shouldn’t have done that.
But Vincent doesn’t look offended. Instead he grins and says, “Part of me wants to teach you to lie. The other part of me loves that you can't. I watched four different emotions cross your face while you figured it out. I know you thought it was just a pickup line, but I was serious when I said you have a very expressive face.”
He’s rubbing his thumb across the top of my hand as he speaks. I don’t think he realizes that it’s making me feel kind of breathless.
He leans toward me. “So, just how old are you?”
I regain my composure and whisper back with a completely straight face. “Twenty-one, of course. Almost twenty-two.” I’m pretty good at this lie, because I tell it often. So often, I almost believe it myself.
He leans back on his elbow and studies my face.
I notice he has a dark eyelash loosely dangling dangerously close to his eye. I automatically reach out to brush it away.
“Close your eye.” I gently grab the eyelash when he complies. “Okay, you can open now. You had a loose eyelash. See? Now you have to make a wish on it.”
He leans into my hand, closes his eyes, and blows warm air across my fingers. “I wish you were twenty-one.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because then this would be okay." He leans forward and places a little kiss on my cheek. “That’s for being so sweet to me yesterday.”
“What does my age have to do with a kiss on the cheek?”
“Let’s table that discussion for now. So is there anyone special you’d like to work with? Someone to play your boyfriend in the movie?”
“A boyfriend? Do I really need a boyfriend? I’m sort of sick of boys. You’re a man. Do you treat women well? Different than you did when you were a boy?”
He doesn’t answer. Just raises an eyebrow at me and takes a sip of wine.
I look at the appetizers that were brought to our spot a few minutes ago, at the wine chilling in a bucket, and at the platform bed he chose for us to lounge on rather than a booth or the ottomans. I laugh. “Of course you do.” I wave my hand across the spread. “Look at all this. Boys don’t really do dates like this.”
“Are we on a date?” he asks with little smirk.
“Oh no,” I say, embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant. I know this is all business.”
“It’s not all business,” he replies.
My cheeks flame thinking about being on a real date with Vincent. “Okay, then it’s a thanks-for-being nice-to-you thing. Dinner, whatever.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I’m not sure what I think, honestly. I just said that because you’re obviously too old for me.”
“And you're probably not old enough for me.” As he reaches over to grab the bottle of wine, his hand brushes across my knee. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an accident. “Now, tell me how old you really are, Miss High School Drama,” he says as he refills my glass again.
“You’re serving me alcohol,” I whisper. “Do you really want to know the answer to that? Plus, I can't tell you here; they think I'm old enough.”
“Then tell me quietly.”
I look around and notice the waiter is giving me a stare down. I decide it’s best not to say it out loud, so I put my index finger on top of the scrolling Abby tattoo on his forearm and draw my finger down it in a straight line.
“The first number is a one?” he asks.
I nod. Then I trace an eight and tell myself it’s the truth.
“Well, that's a relief,” he sighs. “People are already looking at me like I'm robbing the cradle. At least you're legal.”
Vincent squints his eyes at me, and I think he’s just figured out I’m lying. Damn, I tried to use my most trustworthy look.
He taps his finger a few beats on one of the pillows. “You’re lying to me. Tell me the truth this time,” he says in a stern voice.
I trace another one down his forearm. Then I trace a six.
“Seriously?” he says, holding my gaze. “You do not look,” and then he takes his finger and slowly traces a sixteen on my forearm.
I close my eyes and let out an involuntary, “Mmhmm,” when his finger glides across my skin.
I should not have done that, because Vincent looks concerned by the fact that he practically made me orgasm just by tracing a number on my arm.
“When will you be?” He traces a one slowly on my wrist.
I swallow hard and try not to act like a horny, sixteen-year-old boy. But I can’t help wondering what that finger could do to the rest of me. What a man could do to the rest of me.
Okay, Keatyn. Stop.
Stop this.
You're being ridiculous. He wants you for a movie, nothing else. Stop with the silly school-girl crushing and be professional. That's Mom’s number one rule. Don't get involved with anyone in your movie.
When he traces the figure eight, I don’t sigh. I pretend like it didn’t affect me.
“Next August,” I say flatly.
He leans back on his elbows across the platform, and I can tell he’s doing some mental calculations.
“So, technically, I have fifteen months until you're legal.”
“I won't tell if you don’t,” I flirt.
“Unfortunately, you will when you fill out the paperwork,” he pauses. “Assuming you'll want to be paid for the role?”
“Uh, well sure.”
“You have to put your social security number down, and we’ll have to follow child labor laws until you graduate from high school or turn eighteen.”
Child labor laws? He’s talking about how many hours I can legally work? Oh, I'm so dumb! He’s not the least bit interested in me. He’s not flirting with me. I deserve dumb boys, not this gorgeous man.
I can't hide the disappointment from my face.
“What’s the little pout for?” he says.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “Just wishing I was older.”
He cocks his head at me. “Are we talking about the movie?”
I just shrug my shoulders and gulp down some more wine.
He refills my glass again.
I know he’s just being polite and gentlemanly and all, but I’m not completely sure how much I’ve had. He’s never let my glass get empty.
The wind blows a piece of my hair out of my barrette and across my face. Vincent slides his hand gently across my forehead, catching the offending strand, and tucking it behind my ear.
The way he touches me is so tender.
Our gazes are fixed on each other.
The waiter comes by and checks our now empty wine bottle. “Another, sir?” he asks, which breaks our little moment.
Vincent gives the waiter an irritated glare. “Yes, please.”
He turns back toward me and says seductively, “So do you want to make a movie with me?”
I answer with a breathless, “I do.”
Vincent pours wine out of the new bottle and pops a shrimp in his mouth.
“I think we're gonna need to do this a lot.”
“What? Sit on the deck and get drunk?”
His face sobers. “Shit. Are you getting drunk?”
“No, I'm just teasing. But I should probably have some water before I drink much more.”
“I like getting to know you,” he says softly.
“I like getting to know you too.”
And I do. He has his sunglasses up on his head now, so I’ve been studying his dark, thick eyelashes. His deep mocha eyes. When the sunlight hits them right you can see the blue of the ocean reflected in them.
“I’ve just decided something about the movie.”
“What’s that?”
“Whoever we cast as your love interest will be ugly, and there will be no kissing scenes.”
“You can't do that if you want a blockbuster. People are suckers for romance.
And happy endings.”
The look that crosses his face makes my cheeks feel warm, and I’m sure I’m blushing. “I mean, uh, they like happily ever after and all that.” OMG, I am such an idiot. I can’t believe I just said that!
“I know. I was just teasing you, since you said you’re done with boys. I used to say that about girls when I was in high school. I always thought I was so mature. I wanted a woman. I’ve always kind of had a thing for older women.” He stares at me for a few beats then says, “So, I know you can surf, which would help if I change the title to something like A Day at the Beach, but what other talents do you have?”
“Well, I’ve had years of dance classes. I play soccer, and I've been a Varsity starter since I was a freshman.”
“That’s impressive.”
“I also do kickboxing workouts with Tommy’s trainer. He says I have a strong right hook and a good jab.”
“That’s excellent, since you're gonna kick somebody’s ass in the movie.”
“Tell me more about the script.”
“Would you like to order dinner first?”
“Sure. I’m actually pretty hungry. The little shrimp aren’t quite doing it for me.”
“And would you like to stay here or move inside? Somewhere a little more private.”
“Somewhere more private. We don’t want anyone overhearing your movie details,” I whisper.
“Good. Because people are starting to stare at me.”
“Why would they stare?”
“I suspect it’s because I look like an older man trying to seduce a much younger woman.”
“Well, you are aren't you?”
He doesn’t reply, just gets up, and gestures for me to do the same. He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the bar.
When we reach the end of the bar, I see someone I know. She hops off a barstool, says, “Keatyn, darling,” and air kisses my cheeks.
Vincent moves past our conversation, but he stops to wait for me.
When I rejoin him, he guides me to a private table in the corner. He pulls out a chair for me that lets me view the ocean, but puts my back to the rest of the room.
“So back to seducing you,” he says sexily.
“So you are, huh?” I raise my eyebrows and smile.
“That wouldn't be very professional of me.”
“I know. I meant you’re trying to talk me into making your movie. Seducing me to do it.”
Vincent licks his lips.
I realize what I just said. To do it. That might have been the wrong choice of words.
I bite my lip, because I’m pretty sure doing it just crossed Vincent’s mind.
He touches my lip and gently pulls it away from my tooth. “I love when you do that. When you try not to smile, you do that. You bite down on the side of your lip. But when you're upset or thinking hard, you bite your front teeth down across the middle. And when something makes you happy and you try to hide it, you lick your bottom lip. It’s very sexy.”
“I think you've been looking at my mouth an awful lot.”
He runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip.
It feels so sensual that I close my eyes, wrap my lips around it, and give his thumb a little kiss.
I slowly open my eyes. Vincent’s expression is indecipherable. He looks both amused and a little offended.
I back away quickly and nervously take a big gulp of water.
“I shouldn’t have touched your lip like that,” he finally says. “I gave you the wrong impression, but you’re right. I have been spending a lot of time looking at your mouth. At your face. I feel like a little kid right before Christmas.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because in you, I can see my dream again.”
We watched the sun sink below the horizon, ate dinner, had dessert, and talked more about the movie. He does have some really cool ideas, and it’s easy to get excited just because he’s so seriously passionate about it. I didn’t drink any more wine with dinner. I realized when we got up earlier that I was a bit tipsy.
He looks at his watch. “Do you need to be home soon? It’s getting late.”
“No, not really. I’m good.”
“Let’s go for a walk on the beach, then.”
My phone buzzes as I pick up my purse. “It’s my mom. I should probably answer.”
As we walk out of the restaurant, I say into the phone, “Hey, Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“Just finishing up with dinner. Why? What’s up?”
“Are you having dinner with a much older, smoking hot man?”
“Um, no. Tommy had a business meeting tonight. Didn’t he tell you?”
Mom starts laughing. “That’s not what I meant. Millie’s friend, Barbara, called her and wanted to know who the hot man that you’re having dinner with is and why she’s never seen him before. She also said she prays he’s your uncle, and you can set them up. Millie said she sounded a little drunk, though.”
“Can we talk about that when I get home?”
“So you are at dinner with a hot older man?”
“He’s not that old, and yes. Bye, Mom.”
“Gossip flying already?” Vincent asks.
“You have an admirer.”
My car is parked up front, so the valet hands me the keys. Vincent follows me to my car. He keeps taking steps closer to me and, pretty soon, I’m leaning with my back up against the side of it. His entire body is about six inches away from mine.
“Is it you?” he asks.
I laugh. “The lady from the bar. You did say you like older women. Want me to set you up?”
“Probably not.”
“So, when will you have the script done?”
“I’m shooting for August.”
“I can't wait to read it. So, I think I better skip the walk on the beach and get home.”
He cups his hands on my shoulders and slides them slowly down my arms. “I had a nice time tonight. You have my mind going a million places.”
“Where is it going?” I ask.
“Just all the things we talked about, brainstormed. I need to get home and write them all down. This isn't a slam to your mom's talent, okay? She’s one of the best actresses around.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll admit we’ve been struggling a bit with the script. I think because I was still picturing her in the movie. And even though we knew we wanted a kick-ass heroine, I was having a hard time imagining your mom doing any of those things. You're right. She did just stand around and scream. Now that I’m envisioning someone else in the role, I can see it more clearly.”
“That’s good, right?”
“You want this as bad as I do, don’t you?”
I smile. “Yeah, I think I do, so you better get finished.”
He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. It’s the kind of kiss your dad might give you, except he holds his lips there way longer than a dad would. It’s sweet, sexy, and sort of confusing.
He pulls back, studies my face, and shakes his head. “Hmmmm. Well, we can’t have that.”
“Can’t have what?”
“I’ve gotten good at reading your face.” He softly touches my other cheek. “This side is jealous.”
He chuckles at himself then gives my other cheek a matching slow kiss.
“Um, so, thanks for dinner, Vincent.” I get inside my car quickly. Mostly because I almost asked him if my lips looked jealous too. I can’t help it. Part of me wonders what it would be like to kiss a man.
“We’re doing this again soon,” he says as he shuts my car door.
“Yes, we are,” he mutters. “Only next time, you won’t get away.”
The next day, Vincent follows the nanny who takes care of Abby’s younger daughters. While the nanny seems to be proficient, it’s difficult to watch four quickly moving children at the same time. He follows them to a dance studio. He enjoys a slice of pizza at the same restaurant they have lunch. After lu
nch, the girls beg to go to the park. The park is where the nanny is the most distracted. It is easy to slip the note in one of the backpacks sitting on the park bench. And it would be equally as easy to snatch one of the girls.
But he’s decided he wants Abby to suffer a little first.
Make her worry. She deserves to.
While he’s getting dressed for an evening out, he happily imagines Abby’s adverse reaction to the note. She needs to know it’s only the beginning of what’s to come.
He checks his watch.
He doesn’t have much time now.
Every Thursday night Keatyn goes dancing at a club—usually, by herself. If he can just get her to leave the club with him willingly. . .
Tommy is getting ready to plead his case when Avery rushes in the room screaming, “Look, Daddy! Look at this!!! Prince Eric gave me a note! See, it has an A on it for Avery!”
Tommy tries to read what she’s waving in front of him but appears to lose the battle. He finally shakes his head, gives up, and says, “Well, that’s really exciting, Ave. Did you all get letters from Prince Eric?”
Her eyes get big. “No, Daddy! Just me! I’m special!”
“Well, let me read it to you then,” he says, finally snatching the envelope out of her hand.
Tommy looks at the front of the envelope and turns a shade of green. He puts his forearms on the bar to steady himself and slowly says, “Avery, where did you get this?”
“We went to see the parade yesterday! You know that, silly Daddy! Nanny let us get ice cream.” She sucks in her breath and covers her mouth. “Merde. I wasn’t supposed to tell you about the ice cream.” She whispers to him, “Don’t tell Mommy. You might get Nanny in trouble. But it has to be from Prince Eric!! He waved ‘specially at me in the parade. Read it, Daddy! Read it!!”
Tommy doesn’t seem to be able to move, so I walk over and see why. The envelope does not say Avery. It says Abby.
I swipe the letter out of his hand and examine it. It looks exactly like the letter Mom found in her trailer and like all the ones she’s gotten from the same fan over the years. Mom sort of blew off the fact that he got in her trailer, even though Tommy and James were upset about it. But this is different. This was in Avery’s backpack. That means he got very close to her. Which is why Tommy looks so green.
