by Azzi , Gina
And that infuriates me. It makes the desire in my blood flare into anger. I want her to rake me over the coals for being a goddamn pussy and not drilling into her right here at the ocean’s edge.
Instead, her honey eyes bleed with a tender compassion that rips through my chest, causing my breath to stutter.
“Get up.” I stand, tearing my gaze from her perfect body.
She’s standing next to me in an instant, her hair a wild mess, splotches of red coloring her face and neck from where my stubble rubbed against her. She looks worked the fuck over.
Like some arrogant dick had his way with her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her breathing ragged. Her finger reaches out to touch mine and I jerk my hand away.
“This was a mistake. You work for me. Jesus.” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes and lie through my teeth. “I need to focus on this film. I can’t fuck someone on my damn team. The last thing I need is a sexual harassment charge.”
Her brows furrow. “What? I’d never — that was consensual,” she says, a blush blazing over her cheeks. Averting her gaze, she shakes her head. “You know what, forget it. You’re right. This was a mistake. I’m here to do a job, and I won’t jeopardize my family trying to decipher your mixed messages. Good luck tomorrow, Holt.”
I wince at the barrier she erected between us even though I caused it. Wanted it.
Watching her walk up the beach and back to the hotel, I swear under my breath.
My body protests her departure, my dick lashing out at me for being so fucking stupid.
My bright spot disappears. I’m left alone with my angry thoughts, my sinister intentions, and the peaceful sound of waves ringing in my ears.
* * *
After everything with Zoe, sleep doesn’t find me. I’m almost grateful when Evan’s FaceTime call comes at the ungodly hour of 3AM.
“Shit, man.” He winces when he sees me. “Forgot about the time change.”
“Can’t sleep anyway,” I admit, scraping a hand over my face. I pull myself from bed, tug on a pair of sweatpants, and relocate to the living room. “What’s going on?”
“Not much. Ollie’s soccer team won their game this week.”
“Yeah? That’s awesome. Did the little man score any goals?”
“Two.”
I don’t miss the pride in Evan’s voice. A type of pride I’ll never fully understand, an honor I’ll never know.
“I guess things are popping off for you too, huh?” he adds. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What are you talking about?” No way he already found out about my little beach escapade with Zoe. But damn, paparazzi are everywhere these days. It’s called a teenage punk with an iPhone.
“About Brooke Silver. She’s going to be staring opposite Dr. Henry Shorn in Gray Preston’s new film, Dangerous Devils.”
“Ah, yes, it wasn’t confirmed until two days ago. Madeline was hoping she’d be able to film in time, but things went a little sideways with her pregnancy, so Gray and the casting director reached out to Brooke.”
My brother shakes his head, shooting me a look. “That’s not going to be awkward for you?”
“No.” I slide my fingers through my hair. “Brooke and I barely dated. It was, what, three months? And we parted on good terms, knowing we weren’t what the other was looking for. If anything, we’ve maintained a friendship. Working with her will probably be easier than working with Madeline since I know Brooke so well.”
Evan laughs. “Your life is so weird sometimes.”
It must seem that way to him and Connor. How I’ve dated women one week and worked with them the next. It’s the norm in my industry, in my life, and it stopped being jarring years ago. Sometimes I wish for the simplicity of having a real partner, of knowing I can come home at the end of a long day to a woman who accepts me for me.
I’ve never had that, not even with Natalie. And now, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I never will.
“How are things going with Preston?”
“They’re fine. Yeah, the film is coming along. Preston’s been nothing but professional. Our working relationship seems solid. In fact, Natalie’s name hasn’t come up once.”
“Good. And your character?”
“He’s a bit more complicated,” I admit, scrubbing a hand over my face. “But Zoe helped me out tonight with running lines.”
“The bartender?”
“Yeah, she’s Joe Clark’s daughter.”
“I know.” Evan looks at me like I’m an idiot for not piecing that one together.
I shrug, “Well, my character deals with blindness so…”
“Ah, gotcha. Well, hey, that worked out even better than you anticipated, huh? Helping out someone local, her being a great trainer, and even helping you with your character.”
“Yeah.”
Evan’s quiet as he studies me for a long moment, “Don’t go starting anything with her, Eli.”
“What? I’m not.”
“Maybe not yet. But you’re thinking about it.”
I snort, shaking my head at my brother.
“I know you. And you like her. You’ve liked her from the moment you met her.”
“She’s different,” I admit.
“She’s also on your team, and you’re filming the biggest movie of your career.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“You’ve worked too long for this opportunity, Eli. Now’s not the time to lose your head over a girl.”
“I know; I’m not. It’s just an attraction, that’s all. Like if I could just get her out of my system, I’d be over it. But I can’t even do that since she’s my goddamn trainer.”
“You want her because you can’t have her.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, figure out another way to get over it. Run more.”
I chuckle, shaking my head at my brother. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work. But really, it’s nothing. Tell me more about Ollie.” I kick back, bending my arm beneath my head as Evan fills me in on the gossip circulating in Ollie’s first-grade class.
We talk for another fifteen minutes before I disconnect the call and pull myself up from the couch. I stroll through my intricately decorated, plush suite that echoes with loneliness, throw myself back into my eight-thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and beg for sleep.
11
Zoe
“Brooke Silver is going to be here in two days. I know there’s been a low profile with media coverage, but that’s about to change.”
My stomach sinks and sours. Brooke Silver. Supermodel. Actress. Eli Holt’s ex-girlfriend. News broke yesterday that she was replacing Eli’s original co-star and would arrive in the Seychelles this week.
The entire situation is a tough pill to swallow, especially when I can still feel the stubble of Eli’s jawline pressing into my stomach. I can still breathe in the scent of his cologne mixed with ocean and wind and hold it in my lungs. I can still get completely and totally lost in his kiss, the kiss, that made me feel more in five seconds than I did in my entire five-month relationship with Chris Johnson.
Le sigh.
“Did you hear me?” Harlow bumps my shoulder with hers.
“Yeah. Brooke Silver.”
“She’s, like, on another level of famous. She’s been in the industry since she was a kid. The paparazzi, the media, the whole freaking country loves her. It’s like we all grew up with her, you know?”
I nod, recalling all the television shows I watched as a kid that starred Brooke. She’s otherworldly gorgeous, with dark, almond shaped eyes, long black hair, and the fullest lips I’ve ever seen. And they’re real. She’s the face, technically the mouth, for two or three popular lipstick brands.
“I can’t imagine it being more surreal than this. It’s wild being here, on set, a part of this experience. I’m still processing.” I offer as much of the truth as I can without sounding like an Eli Holt groupie. Fan g
irl. Whatever.
“Yeah.” Harlow nods. “I remember my first film. I couldn’t stop staring at everyone.”
“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“Totally.” She flips her chin toward the hotel. “Want to grab dinner? I’m starving.”
I stand from the bench we’re sitting on, located just off set. “Sure. But honestly, I’m ready for a change of scenery. Tonight’s the night we should head into town. One of the crew guys told me about a local spot. Seafood. Want to try it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Awesome, let’s go.”
Harlow and I walk to the front of the hotel and pile into a taxi. I offer the name of the restaurant and within ten minutes, we pull up to an unassuming, brightly colored, music bumping, local restaurant that I’m already a little bit in love with.
It reminds me of simplicity and sincerity and happier times. It reminds me a little bit of home, of Shooters.
Tugging Harlow out of the cab, I grin at her. “First round is on me.”
The inside is brimming with fun – loud, boisterous, and so local it wraps around me like a hug. Harlow and I saunter to the bar.
“Can we order food?” I ask the bartender, who flashes me a grin.
“Of course.” He hands me two menus. “Take a seat wherever or keep me company here.”
I face Harlow, who wiggles her eyebrows.
We slide onto barstools and scan the menu.
“Have you ladies decided yet?” The bartender appears after a few minutes of pondering the seafood options.
“Yes.” Harlow lifts her menu, her index finger on the appetizer section. “We’ll take chips and guac.”
“The calamari,” I add.
“Some clams on the half-shell.” Harlow directs her question to me and I flick my fingers, tacking it on to our order.
“And fries.”
Harlow grins. “This is the best dinner ever.”
The bartender chuckles. “And for drinks?”
“Margarita,” I order.
“Make it a pitcher.” Harlow swivels her stool back to the bartender. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Laurence.”
“I’m Harlow and this is Zoe.”
“Nice to meet you.” I offer Laurence my hand.
My phone buzzes and I glance at the incoming message.
Hollywood: Hey. Want to meet up and run lines?
My stomach twists as a goofy grin spreads across my face. He’s reaching out to me. Stop it. He’s only reaching out because he left me hanging, in the middle of a makeout session, on the beach.
Plus, he’s about to see his ex-girlfriend and re-enact passionate sex scenes with her. You’re here with a friend. Having a girl’s night.
My fingers glide over the screen as I debate what to do.
“Come on, girl. We’re doing shots. I haven’t had a girl’s night in a long time.” Harlow squeezes my elbow, forcing me to glance up.
The carefree relief that lines her expression causes me to grin back. Dropping my phone back into my purse, I focus on the here and now.
I have no business getting sucked in by a Hollywood heartthrob. Especially one I work for. And definitely not one who can’t decide if he’s running hot or cold toward me.
“Laurence, we need all the rum,” I holler over the bar. He shoots me a wicked grin and nods.
Minutes later, the three of us down a shot of rum.
And there goes the night.
* * *
“Shut up! You seriously had to babysit her pet parakeet? That’s insane!” I swat Harlow’s arm, hysterically laughing at the ridiculousness of some of her previous clients.
“Y’all have no idea. Eli can be a pain in the ass, but he’s a gem compared to some of the crazies I’ve dealt with.”
“I bet.”
“What about you? You must have had some demanding clients?”
I pop a calamari in my mouth. “Honestly, not like you’d think. I don’t really deal with the difficult set; Eli’s my most demanding client, and he’s pretty chill by Hollywood standards.”
“True.”
“I mostly train in the MMA circuit. Those guys are just tough. Too tough to look weak and bitch, if you know what I mean.”
“Is that how Connor is at the gym?” Harlow asks, fiddling with the hoop in her nose. Her soft drawl wraps around his name and I tip my head, studying her.
Since we’ve had a few drinks, I decide to just ask her the question I’ve been wondering about. “How many times have you guys hooked up?”
She groans, face palming herself.
“It’s fine. Connor’s a great guy.”
“He’s closed off and infuriating,” Harlow mutters, draining her margarita and nodding when Laurence refills it from the pitcher we ordered.
“Most of the guys in the circuit are. You kind of have to be a different sort of breed to take shots to the head for fun.”
“I just, I never know where I stand with him.”
Sipping my drink, I roll her words over in my mind. “I know what you mean.”
“Does he, is he … gah. Does he date?”
I swivel toward her, shaking my head slowly. “I don’t know of anyone serious. Fan girls fall all over him, but he doesn’t give them the time of day. When he’s at the gym, he’s locked in. Piece of advice?”
She nods.
“Take things with Connor at face value. He’s amazing, but he keeps his cards close to the chest. If you don’t want to get hurt, don’t read into anything except exactly what he tells you.”
Harlow chews her lip. “That makes sense. Piece of advice?”
“Hmm?” I look up, halting the arc the chip is making from the guacamole bowl to my mouth.
“Follow your own advice. With Eli.”
I wince, feeling the blush creep up my neck. “You know, most of the time I can’t decide if I even like him. And yet, I really fucking like him.”
“I know what you mean. It sucks.”
“Boys are stupid.”
“Let’s forget them and dance our asses off.”
I hold up my glass, clinking it against hers. In this moment, I miss Charlie. I miss careless fun without the constant worrying.
And now, my worries have only increased with my folded-up paper tucked securely in the side pocket of my suitcase.
How many more pitchers of margaritas will I order?
How many more nights of random dancing will I enjoy?
Harlow’s face is flushed, laughter filling the air around her as she nods at whatever Laurence is saying.
Will I ever be that carefree again?
“Y’all. These shots are no joke.” Harlow shakes a shot glass, rum sloshing over the side. Her accent thickens with each drink. “Is this even rum?” She sniffs the dark liquid, her face contorting. “I feel like it’s gotta be laced with elephant tranquilizers or something serious.”
“It’s rum.” Laurence chuckles, gripping the bottle by its neck and placing it in front of Harlow. “It’s just legit rum. Locally produced.”
“It’s dangerous.” Harlow agrees, polishing off her shot and slamming her tiny glass on the flat surface of the bar. “You’re up, Zoe. Tonight, we forget about the stupid boys who create nothing but heartache and drink until our heads ache instead.”
How many more shots of rum will I take on a whim?
“Pour me one, Laurence.” I down a shot, grimacing as it streaks a blaze of fire down my throat, warming my belly.
Now that the sun has set, the music is bumping, and the crowd is growing. I breathe in the atmosphere of the bar. Bright, colored lights decorate the walls, tables have been pushed from the center of the room to the periphery to make more room for dancing, and a beat pulses through the air.
“I love this music!” I lean closer to Harlow, who slips off her barstool and grabs my hand.
“It’s traditional. An African beat with a creole flair. Let’s go dance!”
I laugh. “No way can I go out
there. I’m an awful dancer!”
Laurence collects our empty shot glasses and wags a finger at me. “Enjoy tonight, mon amie, for tonight is all we have right now.”
My brain tumbles over Laurence’s words. I’m not sure if it’s his words, his tone, or the solemn expression on his face when he says them.
In my tipsy state, Laurence’s logic fills me with acceptance. I need to start embracing the moments, not question how many more I have left.
Leaving my purse at the bar like the American tourist I am, I follow Harlow into the crowd and lose myself in the swell of dancing bodies and lively music.
I close my eyes, letting the movement of so many bodies, the deep rumble of the African drums, the perfume of spirits and sweet cocktails, roll over me, pulling me into a tumbling wave of sensation. The lights dance behind my eyelids as I lift my arms in the air, crossing them at the wrists, and rotate my hips in time with the beat.
Female laughter rings out around me as a group of women pull Harlow and me into their dancing circle. Grinning at them, my eyes pop open, and I laugh, giving myself up to this moment.
To freedom. To pleasure.
To the sheer enjoyment of dancing.
The women keep me protected from the leering eyes and handsy hands of random men. The drinks flow freely, the music beats on.
And we drink and dance to the night.
To the moment.
To this incredible experience with strangers who feel like friends.
* * *
It’s late when I stumble through the doors of the hotel. The lobby is quiet, the scent of fresh flowers and sea air rolling through the open space like a gentle wave. Harlow’s stumbling feet and stuttering words are a constant source of entertainment. I snort as she drapes her arms around my shoulders in a sloppy hug.
“I forgot what it’s like to have a girl friend.”
“Tonight was fun, Har. I’m glad we’re friends.”
“I’m relieved.” She pats her hand against my cheek, snagging a strand of my hair in her chunky ring.
I wince as she pulls away, but she doesn’t notice. “Get to bed, Harlow. You’re going to be feeling this tomorrow.”
