by Avery Flynn
He grinned, showing off a dimple in his right cheek deep enough for someone to get lost in. "No worries."
While she was still getting all lusty about a dimple, Carter pulled the hem of his shirt that had been tucked into the waistband of his shorts up. The move revealed a slice of abs as hard as his biceps and a very unusual wine-colored birthmark shaped like an A.
Aubrey's sorta-undercover-scoping-out gaze jerked to a stop on that birthmark. Suddenly her face was ten-thousand degrees and her palms were sweaty. She knew that A—not like personally or anything but she'd spent plenty staring at it on the screen in a dark theater because The Admiral movies were always about the fan service when it came to showcasing America's favorite superhero without his shirt on. And she knew from the many pics she'd posted on her Insta that the A birthmark wasn't movie magic, Carter Hayes had been born with it.
OH! MY! GOD!
He—Carter motherfucking Hayes—was still talking but she couldn't hear any of it over the roar of oh-my-fucking-God in her ears. How had she missed it? Sure, he'd bleached his usual dark hair (cutting it short enough that he could be mistaken for a Marine recruit), had on a dorky outfit, and was wearing a pair of glasses that her cousin in the military had called birth control glasses but still, she was a real fan. If any of her half a million Insta followers knew that she'd been fooled by this disguise she would never hear the end of it.
"Aubrey, are you okay?" He cocked his head to the side and shot her a questioning look. "You kinda glazed over a little bit there."
"I'm fine." A slightly hysterical giggle started working its way up from her belly. "More than fine." She clamped her jaw shut in hopes of not letting the unhinged laughter out and said through her teeth, "Never been better."
She took the stack of pants he was holding out to her.
"So, I guess I'll be seeing you around?" he asked.
Clutching the pants to her chest, she nodded like a bobblehead glued to the dashboard of a car doing a hundred down a pothole-filled road. "Most definitely."
Okay, her ability to talk while freaking out was nowhere near the level she'd hoped it would be if this day ever happened, but who in their right mind would ever think they'd run into one of the biggest movie stars on the planet on a singles cruise. He wasn't even in the fancy suites. He didn't have a handler or people to, like, go fetch his coffee or anything. Maybe she was wrong. It wasn’t like she'd gotten a great look at the birthmark. Maybe it was a common birthmark. Maybe there was a whole Facebook group dedicated to people who had birthmarks shaped like letters. Or maybe she was standing in front of Carter Hayes and her little brain had just broken in half. Yep. That definitely seemed like the most likely option.
"Don't worry, I won't use this door again." He held up his hands palms forward in the universal sign of I'm-not-a-serial-killer-intent-on-wearing-you-like-a-skin-suit. "I just noticed your friends were still out in the hall. Sorry for forgetting to give you the pants that you stole."
She nodded because her mouth had forgotten how to make word-sounding noises.
"Well, bye." Face screwed up in a look of half concern and half WTF, Carter reached past her, grabbed the doorknob, and closed it between them.
A second later the click of the deadbolt being engaged on his side sounded.
That had gone about as well as eating one of the rock-hard bear claws she'd made back when she'd moved home to Salvation after her gran had first gotten sick. Her donuts were basically lethal weapons. Sorta like The Admiral's shield and trident. OMG. The Admiral!
Adrenaline making her hands shaky, she yanked her phone out of her crossbody purse and prayed for the little bars showing she still had signal.
"Yes!"
A few minutes later she had the perfect image—a GIF from Carter's latest movie showing him as The Admiral in disguise, strutting near the water, bonus points as it showed his amazing ass—and caption posted up on her Insta account.
Spotted on board? Still awaiting confirmation, but all signs point to The Admiral being in disguise on a singles cruise making its way down to the Bahamas. Tell me, what would you do if you spotted the very sexy Carter Hayes on your cruise? Thirsty me wants to know!
She closed the app and flopped down spread eagle on the bed, a little bit of guilt scratching at her conscious. Her anonymous super fan Insta had been her lifeline since she'd moved back to Salvation. Posting pics of The Admiral, chatting with fellow fans, and being generally a total dork about her totally-never-gonna-meet-him-so-it-doesn't-matter crush had been the one fun and silly thing she still did that reminded her of the fun person she used to be. Part stress relief, part hobby, it was a harmless escape from the three in the morning alarm waking her up in time to get the bakery open, the fear that the cough her gran hadn't been able to kick was something more serious the older woman refused to go to the doctor about, and the realization that everyone who'd told her that getting her degree in feminist history so she could write amazing non-fiction books sharing the real stories of women who'd done extraordinary things was a pipe dream was probably right. It was just for fun. It couldn't hurt anyone—especially not someone like Carter Hayes.
Still…she couldn't ignore that guilty-feeling. She opened up Insta on her phone to delete the post, but all of the signal bars were gone.
"Fucking A." Her groan was bone-deep and of the why-do-you-always-do-this variety.
Now she was going to have to go pay the GDP of a small country to get an hour of cruise ship internet so she could delete this post. And this is what she got for acting on impulse. Again. When would she ever learn to think before she acted and actually listen to her head and not just her gut?
"Way to be a total creeper, Carter. What woman wouldn't freak out when a strange man knocked on the door connecting their rooms—all while they were trapped on a cruise ship together for the next seven days?" He rubbed his palm over the spiked-fuzz of his short hair that he still wasn't used to. "And please for the love of good beer and better women, do not start answering yourself."
Yeah, because he wasn't already treading that total weirdo line as it was. If she heard him mumbling to himself—and answering—that would be the thing to really drive Aubrey into avoiding him.
"Whatever you say, buddy."
Carter had spent almost every day since he started noticing women around the most beautiful of them in the world. His parents were Hollywood royalty and that meant that everyone who was anyone, or who wanted to be, ended up at their champagne-drenched and cocaine-powered parties. Sometimes those folks took an extra interest in him. In the beginning, he'd thought it was genuine. He'd been an idiot. Of course, it wasn't. That wasn't the Hollywood way where every relationship was transactional and the best ones were those that either vaulted the other person from the B to the A list. That culture was so ingrained that everyone just assumed that the success he'd had on the screen was because of his parents. Now, Carter would be the first to admit that he had opportunities that others hadn't because of his parents, but no one placed the mantle of a billion-dollar movie franchise on a person because of who their parents are. Producers loved their money way too much for that.
Still, the need to prove himself as a man able to do the work and carry a movie without the help of his last name or the world's most talented special effects department was what lit a fire in him hot enough to burn down the Hollywood sign.
Right on cue, his phone rang.
"Carter, my man." His brother and agent, Byron, didn't sound the least bit winded even though odds were he was calling during the middle of his workout. The sicko trained hard and with the dedication of a body builder for the fun of it, not because the studio made him. "How are you and are you ready for me to send the rescue helicopter yet?
Carter glanced toward the sliding glass doors leading to his balcony. He could still see the New York skyscrapers in the distance. "We probably haven't even hit international waters."
"Did you get my gift?" his brother asked in one of his trademark oh-look-a
-squirrel change of topics.
"I did. The condoms are a nice touch."
There was mountain of fruit, wine, cheese, and a box of condoms in a plastic wrapped basket that had been waiting in the middle of Carter's double bed when he'd opened his door. In addition to being his brother and agent, Byron was also the biggest troll alive so there was no doubt he'd included the condoms just to rub it in that Carter wouldn't be getting any during this cruise. The last thing he needed was getting his cover blown by getting a little too up close and personal with a rando or having someone spot his stupid birthmark.
"Hey, just because you’re the uptight nerd version of Carter doesn't mean you have to stay celibate," Byron said as if he didn't know well and good that the very opposite was true. "My therapist says that it's important to express yourself and not bottle things up."
Carter rolled his eyes. "Isn't your unlicensed therapist also your weed dealer?"
"Hey man, it's L.A., everyone has to hustle."
"Speaking of hustling for work, is everything lined up for New York when I get back?"
Allyson Hernandez had all but triple-dog dared him into making this trip. It had happened during one of those awful Hollywood lunches at a restaurant almost no one could get reservations for. With several shelves full of awards for her movies, she didn't need Carter to get a table, however, being seen with him and even having it whispered that he might be attached to her next project could do wonders for getting financing for her next award contender. Meanwhile he wanted a shot—a real shot—at the lead part of a single father with a genius kid who had an attitude problem. So it was a transactional meeting, yes, but the tolerable kind where everyone involved was in on the real situation.
He'd made his case and Allyson had called over the waiter, asking the guy who she was sitting with. His answer? The Admiral. She called over a couple of others from the staff and got the same answer every time. He'd asked for one shot to prove he could disappear into a character, he'd do anything, all she had to do was name it. She'd told him about the cruise. He'd booked his spot right there at the table.
"I'm hurt that you'd doubt me on making that meeting with Allyson happen," Byron said with a huff. "We are brothers, you asshole."
"Exactly," he shot back. "That means I know you better than you know yourself."
And the truth of it being that his brother wasn't so thrilled with giving up guaranteed work for a chance at a maybe. Byron only believed in sure things.
"Such a dick. If only America knew what a pain in the ass The Admiral is." He paused, drawing out the moment as if they both didn't already know the answer. "Yes, it's all set up. You know she doesn't think you can carry it off. She says if you dock in New York and everyone on the boat hasn't made you, that she'll add another point of the box office if your audition is good enough for you to get the part."
"I don't want the points." How many times did he have to have this discussion with his numbers-obsessed brother? "I want the project. The story is amazing, it's—"
"Snore fest," Byron interrupted, his voice taking on the no-nonsense, cold-ass shark vibe that had earned him the reputation of being one of the scariest agents in the business. "Look, I love you, Carter, but I care about the points and believe me when you're too old to play The Admiral and get that kind of stupid money you will too. No one wants to end up like Mom and Dad."
Now that was the truth. It was amazing that when the parts dried up, the champagne ran out, and the cocaine dealer stopped delivering on credit how fast everyone fled. By the time their parents had to sell their house, the ranch in Wyoming no one ever visited, and all of the flotsam and jetsam from film sets that they'd collected over the years, there wasn't anyone left by their sides except for Carter and Byron. Their parents hadn't taken it well—that was one way to describe what happened, the tabloids had called it a Hollywood nightmare murder-suicide.
"I'm not crashing my career," Carter said, retreating from the edge of all those bad memories. "I'm diversifying. It's smart."
"I know, I know, just don't get too classy to think about the bottom line," Byron warned. "I know you love acting, but it's still business."
"That's why I have you." Byron was the one person in the world who he could trust to always have his back.
"And you're damn lucky for it." The unmistakable beep of the treadmill being turned off echoed through the line. "Have fun, nerd."
Carter chuckled. "You too, meathead."
"Always, man," his brother said, the booming, cocky confidence back in his voice. "It's hard to be as good looking as I am and not have fun."
Carter was still smiling when he hung up, but he couldn't totally shake the oh-fuck feeling in his gut. This part mattered and he would do whatever it took to make this cruise a success and prove to Allyson that he could disappear into a part so well that no one saw even a hint The Admiral when they looked at him. Everything was riding on him staying under cover.
Three
At the mandatory safety briefing Carter was sandwiched in line between a pair of guys who looked like they'd lifted so much their necks had permanently disappeared and the petite, just graduated from college-aged brunettes who had already hit the pool bar hard—all of whom ignored him as if he was just some regular guy in a stupid Hawaiian shirt. It was amazing. It had been years since he'd been ignored and he was kinda digging it.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and his gut sank. His brother wouldn't be texting unless there was bad news about the audition. Something had happened. He pulled out his phone and tapped the notification then took off his glasses so the face recognition would work.
BYRON: The gig is up.
Sliding his glasses back on, he looked around at the rest of the people out on the deck waiting for the safety briefing to start.
CARTER: What are you talking about?
BYRON: Your fav stalker Insta busted you on the cruise. That chick has fucking spies everywhere.
The Admiral Super Fan account had gone viral as soon as it had popped up. There were half a million subscribers and Carter's team was constantly battling it out about whether to find a way to shut it down or to just embrace the sorta-creepy but mostly-cheeky-and-funny vibe of it. For him, it was just one more reminder that for some people his life wasn't really his own so much as pre-packaged for their enjoyment. Mostly it was harmless. A few times—like after he'd come home to a fan swimming naked in his pool—it crossed the line. The ASF, as his team called it, wasn't one of the scary ones but they were a pain in the ass anyway. He couldn't take a trip to the gas station without it showing up on that feed. And now she knew he was here? Fuck him.
CARTER: No way.
A message alerting him of an incoming photo came in instead of a response from his brother. The downloading icon turned and turned and turned taking long enough that Carter had to check the urge to scream out a curse. He wasn't exactly known for his patience and this was fucking testing him.
Finally, the image loaded. It was a shot of him from the second The Admiral movie, an outtake scene where he'd been doing what one of his co-stars called the ass walk while still in costume for a scene in which The Admiral had been undercover. The caption didn't name which ship he was on but there was enough information included—singles cruise, Bahamas—to have everyone on board doing double takes at likely suspects.
CARTER: Fuck
BYRON: Want me to send a rescue helicopter? The ship has a landing pad.
If only his brother was joking. He wasn't. Growing up like they did, they learned the importance—and the rarity—of actual loyalty.
CARTER: I'm not giving up. If that pain in my ass actually had a pic of me, she would have posted it. This could still happen. This could actually help.
BYRON: How's that?
CARTER: Shows I have skills.
It's one thing to hide in plain sight when no one was looking, but when someone was? That was even better.
BYRON: More like shows you have big dum-dum energy.
CAR
TER: I have one chance to get this part, to move beyond being The A. I'm not going down without a fight.
BYRON: Fine. I'll work my magic on this end. I'll get her to take it down, give you some more space.
CARTER: We've been trying to figure out who's behind the account for the past six months. You got a lead?
So far all they had was that the account was headed by a woman, because that's what she called herself, and that she had used every burner email and phone account known to man to set up her account. The whole thing was very clandestine and over the top.
BYRON: Twice you doubt me in one day. If I had actual feelings, I'd be hurt.
CARTER: Good thing we're safe.
BYRON: For now anyway.
Yeah. His brother may be a paranoid agent, but he wasn't wrong. Carter was only golden for as long as he could keep the Carter from Iowa cover in place. Stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he glanced around, trying to gauge if anyone was staring a little too hard at him, pretending to take a selfie while actually taking a pic of him, or getting a little too close—the basic annoyances of being a celebrity in public. Sure, he loved his fans. They were amazing and the reason why he got to do the job he loved. However, some days it would be nice to just be Carter the dude in the weird wiener-dogs-wearing-grass-skirts shirt.
"Oh my God, your shirt is just amazing," one of the women behind him said, her words coming out slow enough to let on how hard she was having to work to make herself not slur. "How do you make the dogs dance like that?"
Carter turned around while looking down at his shirt, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. "Huh?"
"The sweetie little dachshunds." She giggled. "They move on your shirt." Then she looked up at him and lowered her oversized neon sunglasses. "Wait, you look familiar. Do we know each other?" She paused, screwing up her mouth and cocking her head to the side. "Have we banged?"
And yeah, this was not the kind of attention he needed to keep his cover. Still, he wasn't an actor for nothing. Figuring bad flirting would go over better than coldly shutting her down, he faked a nervous laugh. "No such luck on my part."