by Hadley Quinn
He stood just as quickly as he’d sat, still routinely maintaining his suave composure. “That’s cool but…I need to get back to work, so…”
She eyed him funny but stood as well. “Hmm. Well give me a holler if you need anything.”
He nodded but failed to reply anything other than a mumbled, “Thanks,” and then he helped himself out the front door.
As he made his way down the lengthy flight of steps, he gave Teague a call—something he rarely did since he’d always resorted to texts.
It was no wonder Teague was surprised when he answered, “What’s wrong?”
“You sound like a worried mommy,” Max at least joked, even though he was feeling very uneasy after his run-in with Anna-whoever-she-was.
“Well you never call. What’s going on?”
“Who’s the chick in the house? Camryn’s mom isn’t even here, she’s on vacation renting this place out to someone named Anna—whom you guys apparently know.”
Teague paused for a second. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know that. I kept your whereabouts quiet; not even Camryn knew.”
Max sighed to himself. Now some girl knew who he was and that he was up in Oregon. There was no telling what kind of story was going to come from it. This was turning out to be a huge mistake.
“Anna is cool, man,” Teague told him after Max’s silence revealed enough. “You know who she is, right? She gets the whole privacy thing.”
“No, I do not know who she is,” he answered impatiently as he walked along the street.
He passed the playground as two little kids glanced at him and then they went back to climbing the slide. Then he saw who he assumed to be their mom and quickly turned away before she could recognize him. He’d been so caught up in escaping the blonde that he’d failed to flip up his hood over his hat and slip his sunglasses back on.
He quickened his pace and veered for another direction, cutting between two houses for the next street, just in case he needed to lose someone. “Why, who is she?” he asked, jogging the last fifty yards to Quentin’s. He needed to get the hell inside before anything worse happened. The last thing he needed was for the press to find out where he was.
“Anna Evans? The pro surfer?”
Now her name and face came together. “Ah, okay. I thought she looked familiar.”
“Oh hey, she just texted me.” After a brief pause, he laughed and added, “She says you seem like an asshole.”
Max scoffed, resenting the quick judgment. But he really had been a bit short with her. He just didn’t know how to interact with strangers sometimes, especially when that “oh my God, I know who you are” moment hits. He automatically dialed himself into a suave and relaxed character. Anna hadn’t seemed too concerned with who he was, but that could have been a front. He never liked to let down his guard. In his experience, everyone had ulterior motives.
“Yeah, I, um, wasn’t sure who she was. I wasn’t expecting someone else to be there.”
“Understandable, but she’s cool, okay? You don’t have to worry about her.”
“She mentioned Sarah. Does that mean she knows Olivia too?”
Teague paused. “I don’t think so. She knows Sarah because she rehabbed with Tyse last year after she blew her knee out surfing. She became friends with them.”
“Then how do you know her?”
“She became friends with Cam and Mel, too. Eventually we started talking surf shit all the time, and sometimes we all go out on the waves together. I’m actually trying to talk her into stunt surfing part time.”
“And she won’t?” That actually made Max kind of happy. He didn’t want to know more people in the industry, even though Teague’s line of work was a bit different.
“She’s got her reasons,” Teague answered.
Fine. Something he wasn’t supposed to know, apparently.
He let himself back into Quentin’s house and said, “Okay, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to know how she knew you.”
“If you’re worried about your privacy up there, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s probably up there for the same reason.”
Hmm. Interesting to know. “All right, I’ll take your word for it.”
“How’s the house for you?”
Max helped himself to the fridge for another piece of pizza and took a big bite. “Claustrophobic,” he mumbled.
Laughing, his brother said, “You’ll get used to it. There’s some gym equipment in the garage if you want to work out. Hey, take the Jeep up or down the coast for a drive. There are some cool little places, go hike to some lighthouses or something.”
“Mm, I’ll think about it if I get bored. Gotta finish this screenplay first. That’s what I’m here for.”
“You’re there for some rehab of your own. How you make it happen is up to you.”
There was a knock at the door, which was a bit surprising. “Noted,” he answered. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Max hung up and set his phone on the counter, and after a second thought, slipped it into his pocket instead. That woman from the park could have followed him home, or worse, alerted the press of his whereabouts if she’d realized who he was. That was kind of a quick turnaround of events, but you could never be too sure.
He peeked out the window to make sure…and saw Anna.
Chapter Eight
Anna waited impatiently on the porch, wondering why the hell it took him so long to answer the door. She couldn’t have been too far behind him. Teague suggested she make amends; she wasn’t so sure and argued with herself the whole way over. She’d deliberately separated herself from the perils of celebrity status; she didn’t need to be fucked over by it again.
Finally the door opened and Anna’s breath caught. His appearance was striking against the whitewashed door and the pale colors of the home’s interior behind him. That dark hair with those electric eyes of his… That alone was the reason why millions of women needed to change their panties often.
But his expression alone seemed to mock her; a challenging smirk as he leaned one arm against the doorframe, watching her. He didn’t speak—he just let his presence do that instead—and she was instantly annoyed by that.
Gorgeous. Sweet. Giving. Selfish. Cold. Arrogant. Thoughtful. Womanizer. Partier. Loner. Spoiled. Fake. Genuine. Evil. Saint.
Those were the words constantly tossed around to describe Max McCallan.
Yeah, you figure it out.
But…she liked Teague. He’d asked her to give Max a chance because he needed “real people” in his life. They’d been going through a rocky time, and even though Anna knew they had issues with one another, she didn’t quite know the details. Teague was still iffy about his half-brother, she could sense that much, so she wasn’t sure what to expect if he wanted her to play nice.
“Can I come in?” she inquired, unenthused. She’d been asked to make friends with the neighborhood brat and wasn’t too fond of the idea. Hopefully he could sense that; she wanted to maintain some kind of upper hand by letting him know she didn’t like him.
He only stepped aside and motioned her to pass, never speaking a word. She observed his suave movements as he shut the door behind them and casually walked by.
It was a bit of a surreal moment, being in the same room as someone who was pretty much untouchable and inaccessible to the public. She didn’t believe he was any better than the next person, but when the media works its magic the way it does, it has the power to separate people by the miles and make you think some of them have attained Godhood.
Like Max McCallan.
“I’d offer you a drink or something but this place doesn’t even have a bottle of water,” he finally said. “Unless you want tea. I brought some with me.”
Tea? She thought that was interesting. She would have never pictured him as a tea drinker.
He motioned over his shoulder for her to come with him out back, so she did. Following his lead, she took a seat right after he did on the outdoor furniture.
“This is lovely,” she commented, gazing out to the ocean. Serena’s house had a little view of the Pacific from the upper rooms, but that place was three blocks inland. This one was right on the beach.
“Yes, I suppose,” he answered.
Eyeing him subtly, she wondered what exactly he meant. His focus was on the ocean in front of them—or the sky, or hell, the deck railing, she didn’t know—so she used the opportunity to take in his side profile out of the corner of her eye. It was different seeing him up close, in person. Yes, she’d probably seen all of his movies—and also noticed him on magazines and news shows, late night television and such—but having a face that was so iconic, right there in front of her…was interesting.
She wasn’t impressed by celebrities, especially this one, but damn it, he was sure good to look at.
“If I’m such an asshole, what’re you here for?” he asked, breaking her thoughts.
He turned to look at her, those vivid blue eyes piercing right through her. The guy held an eminence that was felt instantly and she didn’t quite like it. He seemed relaxed right now, like she didn’t intimidate him one bit, and that edge of cockiness made her mad. His seriousness was a bit unnerving. She wondered if one of his million-dollar smiles could do anything to change the mood, even if he faked one.
Which she was sure he did quite often.
Anna scoffed. “Screw you, Teague,” she mumbled under her breath, cursing her friend. Why’d he tell his brother she’d said that!?
Max shrugged. “Teague has nothing to do with your harsh judgment, but now that it’s out in the open, let’s discuss it.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “I don’t like your personality.”
He raised both eyebrows and tilted his head in thought. A snide arrogance took over almost automatically. “My personality? Interesting. I didn’t realize three minutes with someone could determine that. I mean I could say you’re a self-absorbed little diva, but would that be fair?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he implying that she was a self-absorbed diva, or was he just trying to get under her skin?
“Think whatever you want,” she shrugged, trying to act unaffected.
He smirked. The fucker smirked. What the hell did that mean? She had to tell herself he was extremely good at his craft; acting whatever part he wanted to probably came easily to him.
“I don’t know what to think, I barely know you.” He spoke in a level manner to drive a point across, so she took the bait.
“Point taken.”
Yes, she’d been a bit unfair. But God, she strongly disliked the celebrity life. Her parents had dragged her through it as long as they’d been allowed until she finally put her foot down.
A pro athlete—a female surfer, for that matter—wasn’t exactly equal to McCallan prominence, but it had been hard enough on her. The networking, the interviews, the mandatory meet-and-greets put on by her sponsors, sports fans right and left… It was exhausting.
She held out her hand, choosing to start over. “Anna Evans, nice to meet you. Possibly.”
He gave her another one of those smiles—maybe he was amused, but he still had that self-important aura to him—and carefully shook her hand. “Max McCallan. It’s a pleasure to meet you too. Definitely.”
He was polite now, suave and classically mannered. That was obviously his public persona, the one he saved for kissing ass. She felt like she was sitting here with a professional liar.
Anna stood, not willing to give him any more opportunities to switch roles on her. Not tonight, at least. “My apologies for telling your brother you’re an asshole. That was an unfair assumption on my part and I thank you for calling me out on it.” She moved toward the side of the house to walk herself around to the front. “However, he seemed quick to agree,” she added smugly. And before he could offer any type of retort, she also said, “I’ll pick you up at five a.m. Teague says there’s a ton of surf gear in the garage, find yourself a board and wetsuit.”
“Wait—What? Why?”
Ha, she liked that look of surprise on his face. Well, maybe it was suspicion, which made her feel evil for liking the fact that she’d made him worry.
“We’re going surfing,” was all she replied as she disappeared around the house.
***
She pounded on the door louder than the last two times. If he was blatantly ignoring her, there would be hell to pay. All he’d had to do was tell her he wasn’t going with her—
The door suddenly opened.
A sleepy face appeared, complete with eyes squinting. It wasn’t the handsome face that triggered her heart this time; it was the fact that he was just in a pair of shorts. She’d seen how nice his body was in movies and pictures and whatnot, but in person—
“You were serious?” he asked her.
Anna blinked, clearing her throat to remind herself why she was even there. “About surfing? Yes.” She pushed her way past him, and fortunately, he easily let her by. “Go grab some clothes, I’ll meet you in the garage.”
He sighed as he shut the door. “I stayed up working until just two hours ago. I don’t think I’m going to be much good on a board.”
He ran his hands over his face—the stubble that she wasn’t used to seeing…she liked it quite a lot. Maybe that was his vacation look, but it suited him. The clean shaven, pretty boy look worked well for him in Hollywood, but for whatever reason he’d let himself grow a shadow…she could totally dig it.
His arms dropped to his sides and he stared at her, waiting for a reply. She didn’t have one right away. She didn’t want to be sympathetic and give him an easy out. Instead, she headed for the garage to find out what type of gear Quentin had in there. Teague said it was all good stuff, so she wasn’t surprised she found plenty of high quality brands in every size imaginable. It was like a little rental shop right in the garage.
Max appeared in the doorway, still in just a pair of shorts. He seemed disgruntled that she’d woken him up. Or…maybe it was because she was being pushy.
“Do you need me to dress you?” she asked, pinning him down with her gaze.
He arched an eyebrow at her, and there was that cocky little smirk at the corner of his mouth again. “The question is… Do you want to dress me? Because first you’ll have to undress me.” He tugged at his waistband, and she was positive he was not wearing any underwear.
Anna felt the heat form in her cheeks immediately. What if he dropped his drawers right there in front of her? God, that would be pretty fucking awesome!
Wait. No. Oh shit, this was not one of those scenarios where the guy and girl are passionately hot for one another and—
“Go grab some clothes,” she shooed him away with her hand, interrupting her own thoughts. She was flustered as she yanked a wetsuit off the rack and mumbled, “Pretty sure this is your size. I’ll meet you out front.”
“Pretty sure I know my own size,” Max replied evenly, folding his arms across his nicely built chest.
Anna dropped the suit on the garage floor dramatically and turned for the side exit. “Perfect. Then hurry up and grab what you need.”
She waited outside by her Tahoe for more than ten minutes. Finally he came out the side door with a board and a wetsuit. He was dressed in a pair of baggy Nike sweats and a slim-fitting t-shirt, plus a sweatshirt draped over his shoulder. He looked extremely delicious…until he opened his mouth.
“I’m ready, drill sergeant.”
She didn’t have a reply. She just watched him toss his things into the back, and then hook the board up to the rack on top with hers like a pro. She was glad he was capable of doing that on his own, thinking she may have prematurely judged him as a pampered, over-coddled pretty boy. Possibly she should just shut her mouth.
He climbed into the passenger’s seat without a word, and the second he did, he was on his phone, thumbing away.
Fine. She’d give him the silence. She had music on as she backed out of the
driveway and focused on that while she headed south, stopping only once for drive-thru coffee.
The Oregon Coast was an interesting area. Not only was the surf a lot different than California’s, but the conditions were so schizophrenic sometimes. This morning was no exception. It was extremely overcast, but that was no surprise for such an early hour.
After thirty minutes, she noticed that Max was now watching the scenery go by, and when she passed the sign for Devil’s Punch Bowl, he finally made a grunting sound.
“That sounds inviting,” he murmured.
“Good,” Anna grinned. “Because that’s where we’re headed.”
“Fantastic.”
“Kidding. But close to it.”
She liked his dry humor, but even though she didn’t mind the silence during the drive, she wished he would talk to her instead. She’d been up here for almost a week already without so much as a full conversation with anyone.
“How’s your work coming along?” she took a chance asking as they pulled in to park. She had no idea what he’d been working on if it wasn’t acting in a movie and assumed he’d just been feeding her an excuse.
He shrugged, but answered, “Pretty good, I think. Looks like it’s a go for now.”
“And what is ‘it’?” she asked as they both climbed out of the Tahoe.
He chose not to answer but she didn’t exactly care—it was his business—but he’d stripped his shirt off and dropped his sweats, and he was standing there in just a pair of snug jammer shorts. It was probably the only thing that would have distracted her from not getting a reply.
And when he looked up, the little smile on his face was telltale that he’d caught her staring at him.
Chapter Nine
She could seem like your typical surfer girl, but something about her made Max think twice on that idea. He was stereotyping her just like he’d asked her not to do to him. Take away the Roxy hat and the ASP surf sweatshirt she was wearing and you had a blonde-haired, brown-eyed twenty-three-year-old.
Yeah, he’d done his research on her. It was part of the reason why he’d gotten a late start on his script the night before. Anna Sinclair Evans: born in Santa Cruz, raised in San Diego and then Malibu in her teens. She was homeschooled so nothing got in the way of her training. One older brother, deceased. When she was sixteen she won her first surf title, then one at seventeen, ASP championship at eighteen, nineteen, and twenty… And then she blew her knee out a year later and hadn’t competed since.
