by Penny Reid
“Yes.” Marta cheered me on, her chair making a small squeaking noise, alerting me to the fact she was bouncing in it.
“This could be great.” This could be really, really great.
“Yes! This will be great. And not just for you but for all women. Think about how this could shift the industry, change people’s perceptions. For years women have been written off as not being superhero or action movie fans. Think about how this would open the door for other roles, parts for strong women. A generation of kids would look up to you. And with you writing, you can keep them from dumbing it down, pandering. Sienna, it’s going to be so, so great.”
I nodded, giving in to my excitement and not thinking about what this might mean for my work schedule.
Before I could venture too far down the path, Marta cut in, “Oh. Before I forget, are you going to Kate’s premiere in London? I think you have to and I think you have to bring a date.”
“I-uh-hadn’t given it much thought recently.” My mind was still going through Smash-Girl going red scenarios.
“Well, you have to go. But beware, because Tate will be there with his new girlfriend.”
“So?”
“So, you two dated. It will be awkward.”
“No, we didn’t.”
I heard my sister huff on the other end. “Yes. You did.”
“We did not. I never dated Tate. We went to a juice bar after yoga once. Once.”
“He still calls you the one that got away.”
“That’s ridiculous. He talked about his beet juice obsession the entire time. I barely said a word. I would never date someone who peed purple.”
“Sienna.”
“Marta.”
I could tell she was trying to be serious, but I was also serious. The man drank so much beet juice it wasn’t just his pee that was turning purple.
Spoiler alert: it was his face.
“Well, Kev will be there too, and the rumor is he’s bringing his sister. He’s telling people he’s not over you yet.”
“Oh my God. Are you serious?” I shook my head, disgusted. Our agents had set us up for a publicity dinner, and he’d been milking it for the last eighteen months, playing the jilted lover card. We’d never even kissed. “What a ballsack!”
“I’m just saying. Between Kev, Tate, and Tom, it’s going to be a full house of your previous boyfriends. So you have to show up with a date.”
I felt like screaming that none of them had been my boyfriend—except for maybe Tom, and then only for a month—but I thought better of it.
Instead I said, “Fine. Fine. I’ll go, and I’ll bring a date.” Worst-case scenario, I’d ask my bodyguard Dave to go with me.
“Good. I’ll book your travel. We’ll charter a plane out of Knoxville, otherwise you’ll have to make three connections.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and Sienna?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations.” Her voice held a genuine smile and pride. “You are going to write an epic script and be an amazing Smash-Girl.”
I was tired, but I could do this. I would do this. This was important.
Despite my lingering irritation about the London premiere, I allowed myself a small grin. “Thank you, Marta. Thank you for making this happen.”
And then maybe after I did this, if Smash-Girl was successful, if I accomplished what I hoped I would, I’d be able to take that break.
***
The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. News of the Smash-Girl movie and my potential role in it must’ve been leaked, although I couldn’t imagine how it had managed to spread so quickly. By that afternoon everyone was smiling at me and offering their congratulations.
But I had other things on my mind, namely awesome Ranger Jethro things.
As sunset approached and my scenes wrapped for the day, I snuck back to my trailer. Dave, head of my security team, was standing outside the door. He gave me a chin lift and opened the door.
“Has Tom stopped by?” I asked, passing Dave the coffee and doughnut I’d grabbed for him on my way.
“Thanks.” He accepted my offering. “I haven’t seen him since lunch.”
“Good.”
“Sienna?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you in the mornings and take you home?” Dave frowned. I could see my reflection in his dark sunglasses. “We have the day split into three shifts, and you know I’m a morning person. I don’t mind taking you early. If Marta finds out about you driving yourself—”
I waved away his prepared speech, which he’d been giving me for the last week ever since I told him I wanted to drive myself. He’d said much the same again last night when I arrived home at the cabin later than he and Henry did.
“Let me deal with Marta. You work for me, not Marta. If I want to drive myself or if I want to ride with someone else, then that’s my decision. Okay? You’re at the cabin with me all night. You’re here with me all day.” I glanced over my shoulder at Henry, who’d been shadowing me. “You guys are great, and I appreciate you. But I need a little break.”
He nodded somberly then took a bite of his doughnut. I stepped into the trailer and closed the door just as I heard him say, “Holy shit, this is a great doughnut.”
I smirked, because everyone had been talking about the doughnuts. I hadn’t eaten one yet because they were from the place Jethro had mentioned the morning before. Maybe I was odd, but I wanted to save the experience for when he and I were together.
Locking the door after me, I checked my watch, saw I had about an hour before Jethro would collect me for our date. Knowing I wouldn’t have an opportunity to change at Hank’s cabin before he picked me up, I’d borrowed an outfit from wardrobe.
I felt like a knockout in it.
A black knee-length dress with red fabric cutouts on either side of my waist, and a deep bosom-highlighting V-neck. It had been tailored specifically for this movie and specifically for me. I’d only worn it once before, for a promo photo shoot two months ago, but I loved it.
I took a shower, shimmied into my dress, and used Susie’s makeup kit to do my face, leaving my hair to air-dry around my shoulders into messy waves. My shoe options were: red flats, black heels, or hot pink chanclas—flip-flops for non-Spanish speakers.
The spot where Jethro dropped me off in the mornings and collected me in the evenings was close to the main temporary structures, but the road was hidden. It was a secluded area with very few, if any, people passing by. But it was also unpaved, which meant I’d be walking and standing in dirt until he arrived.
I decided to slip the heels into my bag and wear the chanclas out, not wanting the black shoes to slow me down or get caught in the grass. Tapping three times on the door, I waited for Dave to return the taps, which would signal the all-clear. If Tom or Elon were present, Dave had strict instructions to explain that I’d already left.
I opened the door and he helped me down. I caught his frown when my flip-flop clad feet hit the ground.
“Sienna, what are you wearing?”
“A dress. What are you wearing?”
“You’re not driving yourself, are you?” He scowled. “You have plans.”
“You are correct.” I hoisted my bag, which held my laptop, higher on my shoulder. I was carrying it everywhere these days.
“Please tell me it’s not Mr. Low,” he groaned, making a face.
“It’s not Mr. Low.” I laughed, hiding myself behind Dave’s big form until I could ensure no one was around to catch me sneaking off.
“Is it Ken Hess?” Ken Hess being one of the other leads in the film.
Ken was a nice guy, he and I got along great, but he was very much an adorable, rising star type. Meaning, he enjoyed his new fame with a harem of on-again, off-again girlfriends. This behavior was typical for most male actors and celebrities my age, or at the beginning of their career. Ken’s trajectory would follow a familiar pattern: He would string a ho
rde of women along until his career began to flounder. Then he’d be forced by his agent and manager to pair off with another celebrity to increase his prominence and Q score.
“No, Doris. It’s not Ken.” Sometimes when Dave was being gossipy, I called him Doris. I also called him Doris because he had a habit of being excessively insightful. I know it’s not fair to generalize about men or women, but I’d never met a guy as intuitive as Dave; he had a sixth sense about situations and people. It certainly contributed to him being a great bodyguard.
“Thank God. That guy’s already slept with half of the production assistants.”
“They don’t seem to be complaining.”
“The guy’s a horndog,” Dave grumbled. “Makes a bad name for the rest of us.”
“The rest of you?”
“Men.”
I smirked but said nothing. Dave was a good guy and a staunch romantic. Dave gave me hope that other good guy romantics existed.
Depressing truth: 99% of actors, actresses, and celebrities who date each other only do so because their managers and agents forced them into it/thought it would help their career. And that’s a fact.
Which was why I was weary of male actors. However, that being said, these people would receive no flak from me. I understood the business just fine. I understood how celebrity worked. Capturing the public interest was one thing, keeping and holding it was something else entirely.
“So . . .” Dave squinted. “Do I know the guy?”
“No. Now move this way a little so I can get out of here without anyone seeing.”
He didn’t cooperate. “If I don’t know the guy, then that’s a problem. How can we provide security for you?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Dave wouldn’t budge. “That’s ridiculous. I get paid to worry about it. Who is he?”
“He’s a wildlife ranger at the park, okay?”
“Not okay.”
I gritted my teeth. If we loitered in front of my trailer much longer, Tom or one of the production crew might corner me. Then I’d never get out of here.
“Fine. You can come meet him. But don’t say my name and let me do all the talking.”
“I’ll need to run a background check.”
I ignored Dave’s last statement because he shifted his body, covering for me and allowing me to slip past my trailer without being seen. A minute later he was next to me, escorting me to where Jethro would pick me up.
“How did you meet this guy? Are you sure he’s safe? How do you know he’s not a crazy fan?”
“He’s not a crazy fan,” I grumbled.
“You can’t know that.” I frowned at Dave then at the grass under my feet. This was why I didn’t want to tell Jethro who I was. This was why being with him while he was unaware of my identity was so wonderful.
“Yes, I can, Doris.” I was irritated that I couldn’t be trusted to make my own decisions, which was a gross simplification and exaggeration of the situation, but that’s how I felt.
“We’ll see . . .” Dave tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck.
We maneuvered around the last of the tents and strolled into the open field. I saw Jethro at once, this time Cletus was nowhere in sight. Alone and standing beside the smaller green truck he’d used the first two times we’d met, Jethro smiled and waved. As usual, I couldn’t resist smiling back.
He was dressed in dark blue jeans, a black sweater, and black boots. He looked . . . incredible. You know when some men dress up for an occasion, shaving and grooming and whatnot, they look like they smell marvelous? Well, Jethro looked as though he smelled like heaven. His beard was trimmed shorter, neat and tidy at his neck, lips, and cheeks. My skin prickled just thinking about the texture of it sliding against my neck, lips, and cheeks.
“Oh no,” Dave muttered, drawing my attention back to him.
“What? What is it?”
“You like this guy.”
I gave my bodyguard the evil eye. “Say nothing.”
Dave glanced between Jethro’s achingly handsome form in the distance and me. “He doesn’t know who you are, does he?”
“Just let me do the talking,” I whispered, even though we were still fifty feet away.
“Boy, is he in for a surprise.”
“Shut up, Doris.”
“Poor guy.”
Jethro was looking between my guard and me; his smile curious, but just as friendly and open as usual.
Focusing on me first, he stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, sending ripples of lovely warmth through my body.
“Hey, gorgeous.” I felt his whisper beneath my skin, and it made my chest tight and achy.
A dazed “Hi,” was all I could manage, because he did smell like heaven. The texture of his beard against my cheek was everything I hoped it would be and more.
Jethro placed one hand possessively on my back and reached his other out to Dave, which Dave took for a shake.
“Hi, I’m Jethro.”
My guard said nothing, but I saw he returned Jethro’s smile. Though Dave’s looked sympathetic . . . the turncoat.
“This is Dave.” I indicated to my security team lead with a quick wave of my hand. “We work together. He wanted to meet you to make sure you’re not a crazy fan.”
Truth. All of it. I wasn’t going to lie, but I wasn’t going to make a big deal of having a security team either.
Jethro’s smile widened. “Glad to see Sarah has people looking out for her.”
Dave grew very still when Jethro said, “Sarah.” I was relieved he still had his sunglasses on so Jethro couldn’t see his eyes.
“Yes, well, that’s done. So we’ll be going.” I directed this last statement to Dave, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Nice to meet you,” Jethro said, stepping closer to me, his hand on my spine a reassuring weight. He was polite and gentlemanly and everything wonderful.
Dave nodded, shooting Jethro another tight, compassionate smile, but addressed his comment to me. “Be good.”
“We will,” I said between clenched teeth.
Shaking his head, Dave left us, strolling back in the direction we’d just walked. I turned in Jethro’s arms, felt myself immediately melt at his quizzical amusement as he gazed down at me.
“He seems nice,” Jethro said, guiding me with gentle pressure to the passenger side.
“He is. He is nice.” Dave was nice. He’d been my security lead going on four years. We’d become friends. Even so, the idea of having to clear my dates—or Jethro being subjected to a background check—chafed. This was one of the reasons I’d only ever dated people in the business up to this point, they didn’t require a background check or a waiting period.
Jethro opened the door, but I didn’t climb into the truck. Instead, I turned to face him, and hesitated, a mounting sense of urgency filling my chest.
In a few moments, I would tell Jethro who I was. I had no control over what happened next, how he would react, if he would see me differently, treat me differently.
Maybe I was selfish . . . okay, yes. I was selfish. But I wanted one more moment of his ignorance, of being just a woman he liked. I wanted the simplicity of being any woman.
I placed a hand on his chest and gazed up at him, feeling nervous and somehow new. “I know . . . I know this is usually done at the end of the evening, but can we . . .” I licked my lips fretfully. I was being weird with him. Again.
He watched me with his perma-friendly expression, but his eyes lowered to my lips and darkened, making my heart quicken. He was thinking about kissing me; I could see it in how his mouth parted and his gaze grew heated and distracted. Rather than say anything to risk derailing his train of thought, I stepped forward, lifted my chin, rose on my tiptoes, closed my eyes, and kissed him.
And God bless Ranger Jethro, because he didn’t need even a minute to recover.
His big hands gripped my arms and pulled me closer, firmly against his chest. Quickly taking control,
he walked me two steps backward until my back met the truck. His mouth moved over mine. His warm, full lips softer than I’d imagined, his beard tickling my chin and nose in the best way. He swept his tongue out, tasting me. I moaned, opening my mouth as heat pooled in the center of my body. I pressed closer and his grip on my arms tightened while his skillful tongue teased and mated with mine.
BY MOTHRA’S NIPPLES, HE WAS A GREAT KISSER.
I never wanted it to end. But end it did, with him biting my lower lip, tasting it once more with a slide of his wonderful tongue, and stepping away.
As he opened his eyes, he gathered a deep, happy-sounding breath, his gaze hot and pleased and sending new shivers and longing racing through my body.
Dave was right. I liked this guy. And not just because he was thoughtful and achingly attractive—though that definitely didn’t hurt—and not just because he was an incredible kisser—though that also didn’t hurt. He was charming, yet artless. Straightforward, yet complex. Funny and witty, but sincere instead of sarcastic or caustic.
And he was looking at me like I was the most wonderful thing in the world.
The question was, would he still be looking at me like this when the night was over?
CHAPTER 9
“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.”
― G.K. Chesterton
~Jethro~
To say I enjoyed kissing Sarah would be a mighty big understatement.
She was a damn good kisser, maybe the best I’d ever had the immense pleasure of kissing. It helped that her lips were like pillows and she tasted sweet. Not like strawberries or peaches. Sunshine and sweet—her own brand of it. Plus there was desperation in the kiss, an understated but raw passion I couldn’t recall ever experiencing before.
Or maybe that had been me. Maybe I’d been the passionate, desperate one. No matter. Either way, she’d stolen my breath, robbed me of thought and sense. She was a master thief, and I loved her for it.
During the kiss I’d kept my hands on her arms so I wouldn’t slide them up her skirt, because I wanted to. Christ Almighty, I really wanted to.
But I didn’t. It was too early for all that. Way too early.
