Beyond the Stars

by Stacy Wise

  “Not even close.” He smiles, but the tightness in his jaw doesn’t escape me.

  I slip off my jacket and rest it on my lap. “So how did you grow up?” I look at him, and his eyes lock on mine. I feel like he’s trying to get into my head, maybe to see if he can trust me. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I was just curious.”

  He taps my leg with his. It feels playful, familiar. “No, it’s cool. We were piss poor.” He shrugs off his own jacket. “I didn’t know it when I was a little kid. I thought all kids went to bed hungry half the time. But then my sister took my brother and me to a friend’s house for dinner. I was amazed. There was so much food. I remember watching her mom do the dishes, wishing I could bag up all the leftovers.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “It’s just how it was.” He spins his mug in little circles on the table. “We were happy enough. Just hungry.”

  “Is that why you know how to cook? I was impressed with your pizza-making skills.”

  His gaze moves to meet mine. I take a mental photograph of the way he looks right now. His eyes blaze with something that feels like trust. “Yeah. My parents fought about money more and more as I got older. Or maybe I was too young to notice before. My dad took odd jobs here and there, and my mom worked nights in a restaurant. Maybe it was a bar. Anyway, no one was making us dinner, so we did it on our own.”

  “I can’t even imagine. That’s rough.”

  “Then one day, I got home from school, and we had steak and potatoes for dinner. I was like, yeah. This is cool. My dad started hanging out with this new guy who had moved to town. They were always out in the shed doing something.” He looks at me as if I can figure the rest out myself. My mind races around from porn to identity theft.

  “What were they doing?”

  His jaw tightens again, and I want to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about this any longer. But before I can, he says, “Making meth. My dad was selling it. I didn’t understand what was going on. My mom started using. She turned into someone I didn’t recognize anymore. My dad ended up getting arrested. Child services took us from my mom. By then, my sister was eighteen, and she appointed herself guardian of my brother and me. I have no idea how she knew to do that. I was eleven.” He pauses again. “I developed a stutter.” He says it like he’s surprised that ever happened. “My friends at school turned on me and called me all kinds of rude names. My sister promised my brother and me that it’d get better. I believed her with everything I had.”

  My eyes burn with the threat of tears. I don’t want to cry for him. The last thing he wants is pity. But, my God. What a hellish thing to go through. “I would’ve been your friend if I had known you then,” I say quietly.

  The energy between us charges with something almost palpable. Then he grins, and it’s gone. “You would’ve kicked my ass in archery.”

  I smile back at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks for what you said. About being my friend, that is.”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual, like it’s an everyday thing for him to brush his hand through my hair while talking about our friendship. I wish I could reach out and pull him to me. He’s close enough that I could.

  “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Yeah.” No. I want to stay here all night playing darts, drinking tequila, and being friends.

  He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the mass of chairs as we walk toward the main section of the bar. His touch feels good, protective. I wish I didn’t like it as much as I do.

  Once outside, I have to pull my jacket closer to me. It feels like it’s going to rain. “You okay?” he asks. “You look like you’re freezing.”

  “I am. It’s cold.”

  He rubs my jacket-covered arms. “Let’s get moving. You can take a hot shower when we get back.” He turns and hops on the motorcycle. I climb on behind him.

  I hang on tight and close my eyes. Images of Jack standing in the hot shower tease me, and I flick my eyes back open and stare at the road. My heart pounds. I feel dizzy. It makes me hold on tighter.

  We finally roll through his gate and up the driveway. I really don’t mean to trail my fingers down his back as I slide off the bike, but I do. I let him take my arm to steady me. And then my brain kicks in and I move away from him. I busy myself with taking off my helmet and trying to comb my fingers through my hair. There are too many knots, so I swirl it into a bun and pull it tight.

  Jack finishes closing up the garage, and I follow him to the front door. He punches the code in for his alarm. I watch as he taps the numbers. He keeps his nails neat and short. His hands look capable, like he could build a lean-to or tie a sturdy knot if he were ever stranded on a deserted island. He turns to me. “I better check on Leo.” He pauses, brushing his hand down his mouth as though feeling for a beard that isn’t there. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  “Okay, thanks. For everything.”

  “No problem, Jess. Sleep well.”

  I slip through the door of the guest room and stand with my back against it, breathing deeply, hoping it’ll allow me to focus. But instead, I get a noseful of leather and Jack. I run my hands down the arms of his jacket, the buttery texture smooth beneath my fingers. I really should return this to him—now, before he goes to sleep. I pull off the jacket and breathe it in one last time before stepping back out into the hallway with purpose. The kitchen area is empty, but the sound of a TV catches my attention. There’s Jack, sprawled across the sofa in the great room.

  “Hey. Sorry to bother you.”

  He pauses the TV and turns to me. “You’re not bothering me. What’s up?”

  I hold out his jacket. “Here. I didn’t want to forget to return this to you.” I walk over and hand him the jacket. “Thanks for letting me use it.”

  He takes it and sets it on the sofa. “Anytime.” He pauses. “I need to wind down and Pulp Fiction is on. Care to join me?”

  “Um, okay. Sure. It’s a classic, right? How can I say no to that? Anyway, I’m not really tired, either.” All of my senses start pinging at once as he pats the spot next to him.

  I ease onto the sofa, leaving a respectable amount of space between us. My mind grabs onto an image of us flying through the night on his motorcycle, my body plastered against his. Heat spreads across my chest and creeps up my neck. Jack hits play and grabs the throw blanket from the back of the sofa. He folds half of it across his lap and moves closer to spread the other half on me. I stare at the television screen, but his leg, mere centimeters from mine, has me transfixed. His hand suddenly shifts and brushes my leg. Okay. I know he doesn’t mean to do this. And I don’t mean for the hair on my neck to stand at attention. I force myself to focus on Samuel Jackson and John Travolta.

  My mind is slow to wake. The hand on my back feels so good, so lifelike. But I have to be dreaming.

  Oh my God! I’m not dreaming. Jack’s hand is rubbing my back. I fell asleep on him. I really should let him know I’m awake, but then he’ll stop making those heavenly circles across my back. Even though I want to stay like this for another hour, I force myself to bolt upright, faking that I woke up suddenly. His hand drops as I move. Damn.

  “Hi there. You feel asleep.”

  A Zumba infomercial has replaced Pulp Fiction. “Yeah, I guess I did. How long ago did the movie end?”

  “Only like thirty minutes ago or so.” His voice is sleepy. Sexy.

  “What! Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I don’t know.” He lets his gaze fall on me. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” He rubs a hand across his chest, the same one that was on my back. I stare at it, wishing I could have it on me again.

  A full grin spreads across his mouth, teasing me. “You talk in your sleep.”

  I cover my face with a small throw pillow and look at him sideways. “Oh,
great. This just keeps getting better. Did I say anything interesting?”

  “No. Mostly mumbling. I bet Megahot thinks it’s cute.”

  I set the pillow back on the sofa, wondering if I’m awake after all. “Seriously?”

  “What? Isn’t Megahot your boyfriend?”

  The blanket slips from my lap as I turn to him, laughing. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Meg changed her name in my contacts. That should’ve been a warning for me.”

  He leans into the sofa. “No shit.”

  It feels like I should add something, but I’m at a loss.

  He stands and takes the blanket. “You ready for bed?”

  “Yeah.” I can’t look at him anymore. All I see is that blanket and him and me wrapped up, and I’ve clearly lost my mind. We walk in silence to my room.

  When we reach the door, he places a hand on my lower back. “Sweet dreams, Jess.” He leans in and brushes a kiss across my cheek.

  “Thanks. You, too.” I’m about to step into the room, and without thinking, I turn to hug him. As soon as my arms are around him, I realize I need to stop. He’s my boss. I pat his shoulder. “Night.”

  He starts to say something, but instead slides his fingers through his hair and walks down the hall to his room.

  I force myself to walk through the door and close it. There’s nothing to get flustered about. I’m certain I’ve hugged plenty of bosses in my time. While at their house and readying to sleep in their guest room? Okay. So perhaps I can’t make the comparison. But this job is different. I’m like Aunt Marnie to him. That’s all. I’ll take a nice shower and leave early in the morning to take my things to the sorority house. End of story. I turn on the hot water and strip off my clothes before stepping into the shower. The water blasts over me, stinging my skin and clearing my head.

  The towel is oversized and fluffy. After drying off, I dress in my flannel owl pajamas. I look at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. You’re not Corinne Dahl or Nichole Antocci. You’re his assistant. I spit out the toothpaste, rinse my mouth, and shut off the light. I’m only his assistant, I repeat to myself as I crawl into the luxurious bed. I close my eyes and wait for sleep. But the feeling of Jack’s hand trailing circles down my back taunts me, making sleep impossible.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After putting my things into my bag, I take one last glance around the room. The bed looks exactly as it did when I first walked in. There’s no evidence I was ever here. Good. I ease open the door and tiptoe down the hallway. It’s early—barely six a.m.—but I want to unload all my stuff at the sorority house before coming back here for work. As I reach the end of the hallway, I’m startled by Jack’s sleepy voice behind me. “Hey, Jess.”

  He’s shuffling toward me, his hand ruffling his messy hair. He wears low-slung pajama bottoms and no shirt. I try not to stare at the way his abs taper into a slight V. I try not to look at his beautiful skin, remarkably still golden even though summer’s long gone. Jesus. My duffel bag slips down my shoulder, and I catch it before it drops to the floor. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

  “Yeah, so are you.” He gives me a sleepy grin. “I have an early call.” He lifts my bag back to my shoulder. At the touch of his hand, currents of electricity zap through me. I focus on the giant potted plant that sits at the end of the hallway so I don’t have to look at him.

  “Did you sleep okay last night? Did you have everything you needed?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. The bed was super comfortable.” Oh, man. Why couldn’t I have said the towels were nice or something? Why did I mention the bed? Hopefully he didn’t read anything into that.

  “Good. Are you heading home?”

  “Yeah. I just want to drop off my stuff and then I’ll be back.”

  “Okay. I’m getting picked up soon. I’ll text you from set if I need anything.” We reach the door, and he holds it open for me. I’m surprised when he follows me out in his bare feet. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, and I try not to notice how it makes his bicep take on a glorious shape. “Looks like it’ll be a nice day.”

  “Yeah.” I toss my bag in the front seat and turn to him. “See you later.”

  He holds up his hand in a wave. All I see is naked torso. I suddenly can’t wait to get into my car. He turns toward his house, and I watch. I don’t mean to. I really don’t, but I can’t tear my eyes from his muscular back. He’s all male. There’s no doubt about that. I yank my eyes away from his perfect body as he’s about to walk through the door. God knows I’d be mortified if he caught me staring at him. I don’t know what’s come over me.

  Yes you do, a little voice in my head whispers. You’ve fallen for him.

  Where did that come from? Of course I haven’t.

  Yes, you have, the voice says.

  Gripping the steering wheel, I turn out of his driveway, telling the voice to shut up. But it’s still there, calm and unrelenting. Jack McAlister got under your skin. Go ahead. Admit it.

  Oh, hell. I can’t. I mean, I don’t. But the voice is goading me, softly, gently. It’s like I’m being hypnotized.

  I reach a red light at Sunset and brake harder than necessary. I don’t want to have this conversation with myself right now, but my subconscious is winning. I’ve fallen for him.

  My admission is like a release. It frees my mind to flow like rushing water to forbidden places. Someone honks behind me, and I realize the light is green. With a wave of my hand, I thank the person and ease into the intersection.

  I don’t want to like him. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But something changed last night. Maybe it changed before last night. I feel happier around him than I’ve ever felt around anyone. “I’ve fallen so hard for you, Jack McAlister,” I whisper. “I want to do things to you that I’ve never wanted to do with anyone.” My heart’s racing. How can I have such a profound reaction to him when he’s nowhere near me? And then I start to worry about the words I just said. What if Mr. Paranoid somehow bugged my car? What if he did it so he can make sure I don’t gossip about him? And now I’ve just told him…

  Oh, no. I’ve got to get a grip. He didn’t bug my car. He couldn’t have, right? No. He couldn’t have. But, oh God. Now I’m going to be all nervous around him.

  Stop it. I’m not going to act on it. I can’t. There’s no way I’ll get involved with an actor again. Besides, who am I kidding? He dates movie stars and underwear models. And you’re a mid-range. Meg’s stupid theory on dating sneaks into my head. Double shut up.

  I’ll never get to kiss him and run my hands down his ripped stomach to the top of his striped pajama bottoms. I’ll never get to play with that little string that holds them up. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Nothing will happen. It’s fine. I’ll finish this job, go back to school, and it’ll be over.

  The voice doesn’t whisper this time. It’s never going to be over.

  It already is. I refuse to like him. So there, voice. I can control my feelings. This was clearly just a weak moment that stemmed from the fact that I’ve had a stressful few days. It could happen to anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I pull into the Highland Studios lot and tell the guard my name. He checks his list, and I cruise through the gate. I’ve come a long way since my first day trying to get onto the Trident Pictures lot.

  Jack forgot his reading glasses, so I’m bringing them to him. He also wanted me to bring his guitar. I weave my way through the trailers. Some are Star Waggons. Jack has his own Airstream. Nichole Antocci does, too.

  I tap on the door to Jack’s trailer and am surprised when he opens it. I assumed he’d be on set. “Hi,” I say, taking in his slicked-back hair and sharp business suit. “You don’t look like yourself.”

  He grins. “I’m about to morph into Bill Haygood, husband of Anna Haygood, artist extraordinaire.”

  “Right. I guess I’m not used to the hair being so…in place.” My face burns, and I look away.

  “Come on in,” he says, taking the guitar with o
ne hand and holding the door with the other. I set his glasses on the small table. I love that his trailer is such a reflection of who he is. It’s tidy but comfortable. He covered one side with “Wall of Shame” tabloid shots of his actor buddies, who have signed the photos. Some drew mustaches or horns on their pictures. There’s one of Nichole. It’s a tabloid shot of her stepping out of the ocean in some exotic location. She drew a crown on her head with cat ears sticking out, and a long tail. What is that? Cougar Queen? Maybe that’s what she aspires to be one day.

  “You want an energy drink?” he asks, holding up a tiny bottle. “It’s all natural.”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  He slugs back some of his. “I need this. I stayed up too late last night.”

  Hearing him refer to last night makes my stomach flip. “But at least you got to see the end of the movie,” I say, trying for light and breezy even though my heart is slamming in my chest. In my mind, all I see is the way he looked at me when I woke up on the sofa, my body touching his.

  “Yeah.” He nods. “I couldn’t sleep after that. I went back into the kitchen and had a midnight snack with Leo.”

  Lucky pig. “I guess it is kind of an intense movie to see before bed.”

  “I don’t think it was the movie,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  A loud knock on the door startles both of us. “Jack! They need you on set!” a voice shouts.

  “Be right there!” He turns to me. “Thanks for bringing me my stuff,” he says more quietly.

  “Sure. Happy to do it.”

  “Hey, why don’t you come to the set with me? You can watch us film.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Come on.” He tosses the energy drink bottle into the trash can and holds open the door for me. It’s a narrow doorway. I don’t mean to brush against his body, but I can’t help it. I inhale his scent as I pass. He looks like his character, but he still smells like Jack. I trip on the last step, and he grabs my arm to steady me. “You okay?” he asks, his body angled toward mine. I wonder if he feels the energy sparking in the space between us.