by Nina Lindsey
Then again, maybe he wasn’t even interested in finding a way out.
Chapter 11
After the Vitaphone, the boardwalk had been Jake’s second-favorite place to hang out when he was a teenager. As he and Callie walked toward the ticket booth, their arms bumped. He took her hand, liking how her palm nestled right up against his as if they’d held hands a thousand times before.
The sun rose high in the cloudless sky, sending a shower of heat down on to the sunbathers and boardwalk crowd. A salty breeze drifted in from the ocean, mingling with the aroma of fried food and cotton candy. Shrieks of excitement filled the air from the roller coaster and other thrill rides. Everyone was so busy and having so much fun that no one even glanced in Jake and Callie’s direction.
For the next couple of hours, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d had more fun. He loved being on a movie set, and during his time off, he went surfing or snorkeling, but there was always a guardedness to everything he did. It was a basic fact of being a movie star that people usually wanted something from him. If he could, he gave them what they wanted, but aside from his family and a close circle of friends, he had to be cautious around people.
Except Callie. He’d never felt more unguarded than he did when he was with her. Like he was just a regular guy out with his girl, and there was no looming Hollywood that he had to return to soon. No contracts, scheming agents, negotiations, expectations, or celebrity images. No paparazzi or tabloids. Just a woman he liked and a chance to breathe deep.
For the next couple of hours, they rode the roller coaster, the Ferris wheel, and the carousel. He took videos of her playing Ring Toss, Balloon and Dart, and Skee Ball, and she confiscated his camera to get a picture of him in a clown photo stand. They ate cotton candy and tried out the Love Tester Machine—Callie tested as Hot Stuff, and Jake ended up Clammy, much to her hilarity.
“I remember getting a bunch of those done here.” Jake nodded toward a caricature artist sketching a cartoon illustration of a little girl.
“Me too.” Callie extended the box of popcorn they were sharing. “My mom still has one framed on her wall from when my sisters and I were kids.”
He tossed a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. “So are you an artist? I saw the sketchbooks and pencils on your coffee table.”
“No.” With a little laugh, she shook her head. “I mess around with pencil drawings, but I’m not an artist at all.”
“What kind of stuff do you draw?”
“Just still-lifes, mostly. Fruit, a stack of books, an old shoe. That kind of thing.”
“Were you always interested in drawing?”
“No.” A shadow passed over her face, and she tossed the empty popcorn box in the trash. “I took drawing classes in high school and liked them, but I didn’t pursue it until after my father died. It was such a mess dealing with everything and trying to take care of my mom and sisters…when I’d get home at night, I didn’t want to talk to anyone or have the TV on. I couldn’t even read because I hated the idea that people…even fictional characters…were still out there living while my father was dead. I know that sounds crazy.”
“No.” Jake brushed his fingers over her arm. “It doesn’t.”
“Anyway, that’s when I started drawing. Just sitting alone in my living room, everything quiet, not having to think…it helped me get through the darkest time in my life. It was the same when my mom had go through surgery and her diagnosis.”
“You still do it.”
“Habit now, I guess.” She shrugged. “It’s nice to come home after a day of dealing with students and other professors and just draw for an hour or so. Hey, it’s almost twelve-thirty. Do you want to get lunch?”
Letting her change the subject, Jake nodded. “I have the perfect luncheon menu.”
He took her hand and dragged her toward the deep-fried pizza booth.
“Not that I’m judging…” Callie dubiously eyed the breaded, greasy pizza slice he held out to her. “But…really?”
“Come on.” He guided her toward a picnic table and placed the pizza baskets between them. “I’ll eat your healthy breakfast, if you give this a try. I used to have this at least once a week in high school.”
Callie lifted the slice and bit into it, drawing Jake’s attention to her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Omigod.”
“Good, huh?” With a grin, he picked up his slice and took a bite, relishing the crispy, greasy taste of cheese and pepperoni.
“This is unbelievable.” Callie grabbed a napkin to wipe her mouth before taking another bite. “How have I not experienced this before?”
“You just needed the right guy to introduce it to you.”
She shot him a smile. “I’m glad the right guy is you.”
A mixture of unease and intense pleasure rose in his chest. “So am I.”
He nudged a cup of soda across the table to her and tossed a crust scrap on the ground near a hovering bird. They ate messily, licking their fingers, catching drops of pizza sauce, getting grease and crumbs all over their mouths.
As Jake was finishing his second slice, his phone ringtone sounded in his pocket. Ignoring it, he reached for his soda. The ringtone chimed again.
“Go ahead and take it.” Callie indicated her sauce-smeared hands and the wadded-up napkins. “I’m going to get some more napkins and see if maybe I can take a shower.”
With a grin, she headed toward the food booths. Jake wiped his hand as best he could and dug out his phone. His jaw tensed. “Hey, Rich. Did you get my message this—”
“Where the hell have you been?” his agent barked. “I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. Never mind, I don’t care. How’s it going? Never mind, I don’t care. Big news, man. Huge, fucking Titanic-sized news.”
He paused for dramatic effect. Jake tightened his grip on the phone.
“The studio gave in!” Richard crowed. “They agreed to your quote increase, all the bonuses, and…are you sitting down?…the gross points, man. We are sitting on a fucking gold mine. You gotta get back down here and sign now.”
Callie was wiping her hands and talking to the kid working the pizza booth. He said something that made her laugh, and her long ponytail swung back and forth. Jake slid his gaze over her shorts that revealed her long, slim legs. The denim cupped and flattered her heart-shaped ass. Swallowing hard, he swept his stare upward to the knot of her pink shirt at her slim waist.
“Jake.” Richard’s snapping voice broke his attention. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.” He crumpled a napkin in his fist. “Thanks for doing all that work. Did you get my message about the script and Marina’s character? I won’t have Petra killed off at all, much less in that way.”
“Fine, fine, we’ll talk about all that. I’ll set up some phone calls and meetings. How fast can you get back here?”
“Not sure. I’ll let you know.”
“Dude, what’s the problem? Take the jet. You can be out of that shithole in an hour.”
“I’ll call you later.” Jake ended the call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He tossed the napkin toward a trashcan and missed. He stood to pick it up and throw it away.
“Here.” Callie returned, extending a fresh stack of napkins. “How did you get sauce in your hair?”
She ran her fingers over a lock of his hair, a move he barely felt yet one that kicked his pulse up. Just being near her accelerated everything inside him.
She drew her eyebrows together. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He stood, twining his fingers with hers, and started to walk toward the beach.
“Oh, no.” Callie tugged him to a halt. “Tell me what’s wrong. You’re a great actor, but this is life, not a movie set.”
That was the problem. This was real.
“The call was from my agent.” He turned to face her, hating the fear of what she’d think but also needing her level-headed response. “He wanted to tell me about the Fatal Glory 7 negotiations. The
studio agreed to everything we asked for.”
“Oh, Jake.” Callie’s eyes widened, and her hand tightened around his. “That’s incredible. Congratulations.”
He shook his head, his spine tensing. “Thanks, but…uh, this is going to sound stupid, but…I don’t think I want to do another Fatal Glory movie. Not even with those terms.”
“Why not?” Creases lined her forehead. “Do you not like doing them?”
“I love Fatal Glory.” An unexpected tightness constricted his throat. “The directors, the writers, my costars, the crew…they were fantastic. The whole franchise has been phenomenal, and the fact that I got to be a part of it…it’s like I got struck by lightning in the best possible way, you know? Why would I want to give that up?”
She studied him, her gaze steady. “Why would you?”
“For one, the story was supposed to end with the last movie.” He pulled his hand from hers and strode to the railing overlooking the beach. “But the studio wants to keep cashing in, so they green-lighted another one. Unfortunately they also hired a new director and screenwriters who are changing the entire concept of what Fatal Glory is about.”
“How?”
“They’re turning it into a farcical space cowboy saga, even though the movies have always been set in the real world with no hint of anything supernatural or extraterrestrial,” Jake explained. “And for four movies, there’s been a romantic storyline between Blaze and a British spy, Petra, who eventually becomes his partner. In the last movie, they finally got married. That was the happy ending, one they’d fought hard for. Now the director and writers want to kill Petra off in the first five minutes of Fatal Glory 7 so Blaze can fall in love with an alien princess from the planet Zorg.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah.” A humorless laugh scraped his throat. “Did I mention it’s a farce?”
“What has the studio said about all that?”
“Not much.” He dragged a hand down his face. “They’re giving this director too much freedom, but they know the movie will be a much harder sell with another actor in the Blaze Ripley role. That’s why they agreed to all my terms. Still, I won’t do it unless they change the script.”
“Will they?”
“I don’t know.”
“It sounds to me like you have a litany of reasons for being reluctant.” She approached and rested her hand on his lower back. “What would you do if you didn’t make Fatal Glory 7?”
He rested his elbows on the railing, pushing his camera strap higher on his shoulder, and stared out at the ocean. A little kid was digging a trench around a bucket-shaped sandcastle.
“A few months ago, I read a script based on a novel I’d read a few years ago by an author named Lincoln Atwood. It was called Truth. It was published well over a decade ago to great acclaim, and it’s been kicking around Hollywood for years. An independent studio finally picked it up, and Conrad Birch signed on as director.”
“Didn’t he win an Oscar last year?”
“And three years ago.” Jake flexed his hands together. “The protagonist in Truth is Tom Dillon, a Vietnam vet who leaves his factory job and hits the road. He encounters all these people and learns their stories, and in the process, he figures out how to deal with his own trauma and history.”
“Sounds like quite a departure from Blaze Ripley.”
“Yeah.” Jake picked at a loose splinter on the wooden railing. “But when I read the novel and the script, I felt like I knew this character. I knew how I’d play him. Or at least, I wanted to try.”
“Have they cast the part yet?”
“No.” He pushed away from the railing. “Against my agent’s advice, I auditioned, but I haven’t heard anything yet. I don’t stand much of a chance. As Rich reminded me, every real actor in Hollywood wants the part of Tom Dillon.”
“So what are you, if not a real actor?”
He shrugged.
“Jake.” She tugged his arm, forcing him to look at her. “I don’t know much…okay, anything…about Hollywood, but I do know that acting is about embodying a character so well that the audience believes the story is the truth. That the character is real. I’ve only seen one Fatal Glory movie, but there’s no question in my mind that Blaze Ripley is out there somewhere, figuring out how to save the world.”
Affection weakened him. He twisted a stray lock of her hair around his finger. “No question, huh?”
“None.” She poked him in the chest, her expression earnest. “Just because your movies make a gazillion dollars at the box office and you have fans all over the world screaming your name doesn’t make you any less real an actor. You wanted to make movies because you love the stories. Don’t feel guilty for wanting to tell a different story now.”
He pulled her closer, unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her. Her body settled against his to perfection, all her curves fitting just right into the angles of his chest. He pressed his lips against her warm temple and breathed in the peachy scent of her hair.
“It’s stupid, though.” He let out a heavy sigh. “To walk away from a deal like that. People would kill for even a fraction of what they’re offering me. If I don’t sign on, I’m putting hundreds of other people’s jobs at risk.”
“Okay, first…stop saying it’s stupid.” She pinched his arm, easing back to look up at him. “No decision that’s right for you is stupid. You can’t live your life based on what other people would do. You also can’t sign a contract just to ensure people have jobs. That’s noble and admirable, but not if it compromises the character and story you’ve created over the past decade. You still want to be proud of everything you do.”
The sun shone on her hair, bringing out gold and reddish highlights that shimmered around her face. A tiny dusting of freckles spread across the bridge of her nose. And her mouth…
He lowered his head, capturing her lips swiftly, as if he were afraid she’d disappear. Maybe she would. He’d never expected to find someone like her anywhere, much less during his exile in Bliss Cove. God knew he hadn’t imagined that smart girl Callie from high school would come back into his life with the power of an earthquake and shake up his very foundation, in the best possible way.
She responded to his kiss without hesitation, as if parting her lips and letting him inside was the most natural thing in the world. He cupped the sides of her neck and tilted her head to just the right angle.
Her hot mouth was so fucking sweet, and the way she curled her fists into the front of his T-shirt inspired a surge of protectiveness. Tugging her closer, he lost himself in her taste and scent. Heat flooded him right before a glimmer of rationality reminded him where they were.
Breaking their kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. Her breath puffed against his lips.
“So…you watched Fatal Glory?” He straightened and flexed his hands on her shoulders. “Really?”
A pink flush colored her cheeks. “Last night. Just one,” she added a little irritably.
Pure male satisfaction spread through his veins. “Why?”
“To see what all the fuss was about, of course.” With a tsk, Callie turned and started walking, her shoulders set.
Jake hurried to catch up with her. “You sure it’s not because you have a little crush on me?”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t the world have a crush on you?”
“Is that a yes?”
She glanced at him, amusement brimming in her eyes. “I’m not telling.”
“That’s totally a yes.”
Her flush deepened, and she quickened her pace. Jake stopped. His heart rose like a balloon.
“I have a crush on you, Professor,” he called after her. “Not a little one either.”
A few passers-by clapped and hooted in support.
Callie didn’t break her stride. “Nothing you have is little, Heartthrob.”
More hoots and approving catcalls flew around them.
Jake grinned. Turned out it felt pr
etty good here, right in the middle of the danger zone.
Chapter 12
Turned out it was a lot harder to focus on a book about mythology when Jake Ryan kept replacing all the Greek gods in Callie’s mind.
The Sunday after their impromptu boardwalk date, she woke with the intention of working all day…only to find herself staring out the window and wondering how hard it would be to make deep-fried pizza for him one night.
She tried to regroup by doing some drawing, but just looking through her sketchbook was like a raincloud encroaching on her warm feelings. Her pencil and charcoal sketches all seemed lifeless and drab—inert images of books, old shoes, even a frosted cornflakes cereal box that she’d inexplicably been inspired to recreate on paper.
Around five, she opened the refrigerator to find something for dinner, but the leftover quinoa and roasted vegetables from last night looked entirely unappealing. She headed out to the grocery store, picking up items for both herself and Eleanor before going to her mother’s house.
“The market was out of blueberry muffins, so I got you banana nut.” She plunked two bags of groceries on Eleanor’s kitchen counter and pulled out a box of muffins. “The chicken breasts were on sale too, so I’ll make chicken Caesar salad for dinner.”
Eleanor set down her tablet and pushed away from the kitchen table. “Honey, I just went grocery shopping yesterday.”
“Good, then you’ll have plenty of stuff.” Callie opened the fridge to put away the chicken.
“You don’t have to make dinner tonight.”
“I know I don’t have to.” Callie set a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter in the cupboard. “I want to.”
“Callie.” Affection warred with exasperation in Eleanor’s voice. She took Callie’s arm, turning her so they were face to face. “I love you more than life itself, but I will do my own grocery shopping and make my own dinners.”
Callie shut the cupboard unnecessarily hard, her shoulders tensing. “I’m not trying to be controlling, you know.”
“I know. You’re trying to be a helpful, loving daughter, which you always have been.” The light in Eleanor’s eyes softened. “You don’t need to bring me groceries to prove it.”