A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  “You could’ve handled him. But it’s my responsibility to step in when a customer starts treating my people—regardless of gender—like shit. It’s not because I don’t think you can hold your own. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah.” She stared at the floor. “Just annoys me.”

  “Me too. Believe me.”

  Reese released a breath. “Anyway, I do appreciate you stepping in.”

  “Anytime. Especially since blood really is a pain in the ass to get out of concrete.”

  She laughed. “Fair enough, fair enough.” She paused, eyeing me, and a smirk slowly grew on her lips. “So what’s his name?”

  “Huh?”

  Reese rolled her eyes. “Oh for God’s sake, Aaron. Don’t act like you’re not the most transparent man on the face of the earth.”

  I blinked.

  “Even before that asshole showed up, you’ve been in another world. You were daydreaming all day yesterday, and you’ve been smiling like an idiot today.” She winked. “And either it’s my imagination, or you’ve been moving kind of carefully too.”

  “Hey now.” I tried to shoot her a disapproving look, but we both laughed. My relationship with Reese was completely different from all the other employees. She’d been working here since she was twelve, working for me since she was thirty-five, and knew the business better than I did. She really did know cars better than me too, and that was saying something. Her dad would’ve given her the business, but she just wanted to fix cars, not do paperwork.

  As long as we’d known each other, we’d behaved more like a couple of high school friends who communicated through relentless and merciless snark but absolutely had each other’s back no matter what.

  “Okay. Fine.” I leaned back in my chair, hands laced behind my head. “His name’s Shane. I met him the day after that storm. Down where they shoot Wolf’s Landing.”

  “Ooh.” Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Actor?”

  I laughed. “No, I think we can all agree they’re out of my league. This guy’s a grip.”

  “A what?”

  “Technical stuff, I guess.”

  “Figures you’d hit it off with a techie guy.” She inclined her head. “And I take it you have hit it off with him?”

  “You could say that. He wants to meet up tonight, actually.” I glanced at my phone, which was silent and dark. “For dinner.”

  “Oh, sounds like an actual date.” Her lips quirked. “Getting serious, huh?”

  I shot her a glare.

  “I’m kidding.” She nudged my shoulder playfully. “But good luck. He must be something else if you haven’t already weaseled out of a second date.”

  She had a point. With most other guys, if they proposed dinner or drinks instead of another hookup at this stage, I wouldn’t even consider it.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just—”

  “Aaron, for God’s sake. Go have a date with the guy.” She rolled her eyes like the answer was so damn obvious. “Have a good time and see where it goes. It isn’t like he’s asking you to meet his parents or visit a realtor.”

  I nearly choked.

  Reese laughed. “He isn’t doing that, hon.” She paused. “Gotta save something for the third date, right?”

  I finally laughed too, and shook my head. “Shut up.”

  “Well, he’s obviously got your attention, so ignore your commitment-phobia for a night and—”

  “Hey. I’m not afraid of commitment. I just haven’t had much luck with it.”

  She didn’t say a word, but her eyes called bullshit.

  “I like my life the way it is,” I said. “I’m not looking for someone to show up and turn it on its ass.”

  “See, that’s the funny thing about people and about life.” Her lips quirked. “It doesn’t matter if you’re looking for someone to show up and turn everything on its ass—they’re going to anyway, and you’re gonna like it.”

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  Reese laughed. “Oh it is, because you sound like someone who’s just asking for Mr. Right to come strolling in while he’s looking for Mr. Tonight. In fact . . .” She pulled out her wallet and fished out a twenty. “Mr. Jackson and I think you’re going to fall ass over teakettle for this guy.”

  “Isn’t it supposed to be ‘head over heels’?”

  “For most people, yes.” She pinned the twenty to the corkboard above my desk. “But I don’t expect you to be quite so graceful about it, so . . . ass over teakettle.”

  I eyed the twenty, then her. “Don’t you have some work to do?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait until I’ve finished giving you hell.”

  “Get to work.” I pushed myself up, trying not to visibly wince at the twinges and aches Shane had left behind. “I need to get a few things done myself, so . . . out.”

  She didn’t budge. “So does this mean when I tell you to get a grip, you’ll—”

  “Out.”

  She giggled, and I laughed as I playfully pushed her out of my office. Well, at least she and I had cleared the air. Maybe now I could breathe for the rest of the day.

  Yeah, right. Not when I’m seeing Shane tonight.

  Oh God . . .

  Chapter 7

  Shane

  Eric was finally satisfied with the shoot, and we were blessed by his distaste for artificial outdoor lighting—instead of sticking around past twilight, he wanted us back bright and early tomorrow for the next scene.

  Of course, that meant by the time I pulled in the driveway, I had less than an hour to make arrangements for my kids, clean myself up, and get to the restaurant to meet Aaron. I reminded myself I could always text him and let him know I was running late. Shit happened, after all. Hopefully he wouldn’t think I was a flake. I’d been early the first time, though. That counted for something, right?

  I desperately needed a shower, but first, I needed to figure things out for the kids.

  My daughter was doing her homework at the kitchen table, so I leaned in the doorway. “Hey, Des?”

  She looked up from her books. “Yeah?”

  “You want to earn thirty bucks?”

  Desiree laughed. “You’ve got another date, don’t you?”

  Jesus, was I that transparent?

  “Uh . . .”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” She turned her attention back to her textbook. “I’ll watch the boys.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try to be home by about eleven, eleven thirty. That okay?”

  “Sure.” She glanced up at me again and smiled. “Have fun.”

  “Text me if there’s any problems, okay? And—”

  “Dad.” She tapped her pencil on her book. “I know. Same rules as every time. I’ve got your number. No friends. Lock the door. Boys in bed by nine. Clean up anything we use in the kitchen. I got it.”

  “And put—”

  “And put book bags by the door. I got it, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “I promise.”

  “Okay. And . . . you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not for thirty bucks, I don’t.”

  “Fair enough. Thanks, kiddo.”

  She flashed me another smile, then went back to studying while I headed to the boys’ room to let them know what was going on. Never failed—any time I left her to babysit her brothers, I felt guilty as hell. They were my responsibility, not hers. Leaving them home alone so I could quite possibly go get laid? Father of the Year right here.

  On the other hand, all three kids were pretty independent, and she’d been pushing for some more independence—including being able to stay home without supervision. She didn’t mind the money, either. For that matter, unless it was something I absolutely couldn’t get out of, like a late night at work when Leo wasn’t available, I always gave her the option to back out. I didn’t want her resenting her brothers or feeling chained to the house while I went out to have a good time.

  But it was only one night, so with a stomach full of nerves and a chest full of l
ingering guilt, I’d go meet up with Aaron again.

  And God knew where we’d go from there.

  * * *

  The second I walked into the restaurant and laid eyes on Aaron, I caught myself wishing I’d left the kids with Leo again after all. That grin from the other side of the room. The way just seeing him made my pulse pound. I could spend the night with him and still work tomorrow, right?

  No, I told myself as I crossed the room, I wouldn’t stay out as late tonight. Dinner. Nothing more. Maybe a quickie if we didn’t get too carried away. But I’d be home by eleven thirty just like I’d promised Desiree.

  “Sorry I’m late.” I joined him in the booth, sliding into the bench across from him. “That storm really fucked up our production schedule.”

  “I can imagine.” He smiled. “Glad you made it, though.” Were those nerves lurking in his expression? “Been looking forward to this all day.”

  “Me too. But, um, it’s gotta be a short night for me, I’m afraid. I, uh, don’t like leaving my kids alone much past eleven or so.”

  Aaron straightened. “You have kids?”

  Oh. Crap. Did I show that card already?

  Well, it wasn’t like I could pretend I hadn’t, so I nodded. “Three.”

  “Really? How old?”

  “My daughter’s fifteen. The boys are almost nine.”

  “Twins? Wow.”

  “Yeah.” I chuckled. “Double trouble, let me tell you.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “So, yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I guess I wanted to see you again. Even if . . .”

  “Even if there isn’t much we can do tonight?”

  “Exactly. I mean, assuming that’s okay?”

  Aaron’s smile gave me goose bumps. “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh. Good. Perfect.” I managed to smile despite feeling like a nervous idiot. “I figured we could have drinks tonight, and then when there’s time for a rematch, we can skip this part.”

  The smile turned to a devilish grin. “I like that idea. And I think our first night will tide me over until we have a little more time to ourselves.”

  I shivered. Would it tide me over? Because with the way he was looking at me just now, I was starting to think a rematch couldn’t wait after all.

  “So.” He tapped one of the menus. “Should we get something to eat? Or stick with drinks?”

  “Something to eat would be great. I’ve been dying for something that isn’t from the catering service.”

  He opened his menu and glanced at me. “They don’t feed you decently?”

  “Oh, the food’s fine.” I skimmed over the menu. “It just gets kind of old after a while. There’s only so much variety. Especially with this service.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. They’re not bad, don’t get me wrong. But I think I got a little spoiled with one of the ones we used in LA. I’d be working my tail off for hours on end, and still put on ten pounds while we were making a movie.”

  Aaron laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. The food was that good.” I paused to read the description of their Cobb salad, decided it would do for tonight, and closed the menu. “This one is sort of . . . I mean, it’s like going to the same restaurant twice a day, every day. Sooner or later, even if you order different things each time, you’re going to want a change.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” He closed his menu too. “There’s a sandwich shop across from my garage, and we all eat there enough that sometimes we have to stop for a month or so because we’re sick of it.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  The waiter showed up and took our orders—the Cobb salad for me, a sandwich for him. After he’d gone, I said to Aaron, “So, you really own a garage and work as a firefighter?” Oh God. Stupid. I cleared my throat. “I mean . . .”

  “Yep. Full-time at the garage, and I work a few shifts a month at the firehouse.”

  “How long have you been doing that?”

  “I bought the garage about five years ago. Joined the firehouse around the same time.” He paused for a drink. “Before that I was a firefighter in Eastern Washington for almost twenty years. Spent ten of those as a smoke jumper.”

  “Whoa, really?”

  He nodded, smiling faintly. “Had to hang that up, though. Body can’t handle firefighting as a full-time gig anymore, but I couldn’t stop completely. I thought I could, but I started getting restless after I moved here, so I joined the volunteer department.” He scowled, shrugging. “Isn’t quite the same, but it gets the job done.”

  “I was going to ask if you miss it, but I guess that answers my question.”

  “Oh, I do. All the time.” His eyes took on a distant look. “Once it’s in your blood . . .” He shook his head as he trailed off.

  “Even the smoke jumping?” I folded my arms on the edge of the table and leaned over them. “That always sounded dangerous. And kind of terrifying.”

  “It absolutely is.” He met my gaze, and his eyes had a gleam in them I hadn’t noticed before. “You have to be a little bit crazy to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. You have to be a certifiable adrenaline junkie to jump out of one into a goddamned forest fire.”

  I laughed. “So what you’re saying is . . . you’re a certifiable adrenaline junkie.”

  Chuckling, he nodded. “When they said on the news this storm was coming in? The one that fucked up your soundstage?” He grinned like he was trying to look sheepish, but failed miserably. “My mom and my sister both called me up to make sure I wasn’t going to go out and do something stupid.”

  “Yeah, one of our producers had the same conversation with some of our stunt guys.” I shook my head. “So what did your family think you were going to do?”

  “Don’t know. But they did both mention the time some of my buddies and I thought a Category 2 hurricane was a good time to go kayaking.”

  I stared at him. “You’re joking.”

  “Nope.” He laughed as he picked up his drink. “Fortunately we were living in the barracks at the time—this was when I was in the Army—and the sentries wouldn’t let us leave.”

  “Oh, what a shame.”

  “Right?” Aaron flashed a sharky grin. “And my mom and sister have never let me hear the end of it. I can’t do stuff that’s that crazy anymore, though. The mind is willing, but the body has seen better days. I already had to quit smoke jumping after I fucked up my knee. Took a hard landing during one of the big fires out in Eastern Washington and had to be medevac’d out.” He whistled. “And trust me—you do not want to be immobile with a wildfire on your six. If the wind hadn’t changed when it did, I’d be a dead man.”

  “Whoa. Shit.”

  “I said about the same thing. Except maybe, uh, louder.” He laughed dryly. “Anyway, the docs managed to repair it enough that I didn’t need a full replacement, but they said it was time to slow down and that my skydiving days were over.”

  “Especially skydiving into forest fires?”

  “Yep. And even after I’d healed, I realized I couldn’t handle firefighting anymore. Not every single day, anyway. The volunteer gig is all right—I can work one night and recover for a few days before the next one.” He sighed. “Believe me, the first day or two after a shift, I remember exactly why I couldn’t continue full-time. I really shouldn’t even be doing this much, but I’ll probably keep doing it until my knee gives out or they make me retire.”

  “Which do you think will happen first?”

  “Depends on how hard I am on this damn knee.” He smirked. “Or how much I keep pissing people off.”

  “You?” I laughed. “I barely know you, and I’m already not surprised.”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, nothing!” I put up my hands. “Just . . . you don’t really strike me as the type who likes to be micromanaged and told what to do.”

  Aaron threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, that sums me up pretty
well.”

  “I figured as much.” But, secretly, I was relieved I hadn’t managed to put my foot in my mouth. I was prone to that when I was nervous, and God knew I was tonight. Why wouldn’t I be nervous as hell with the undivided attention of a man who’d already fucked me senseless?

  “So what about you?” He eyed me over the top of his glass. “What exactly does a grip do?”

  “Basically, I work on camera support, handle the rigging for the lights, shit like that.”

  “Bet you’ve had your work cut out for you since the storm.”

  Groaning, I rolled my eyes. “God, you have no idea. While the sets are being repaired, we’ve had to move a bunch of scenes outdoors that were supposed to be filmed indoors.”

  His forehead creased. “They’re going to be fixing all that shit for a while, aren’t they?”

  I nodded. “The insurance adjusters had to inspect everything, and now the crews have to make sure there’s no water damage that could cause mold or mildew, not to mention electrical problems. Once all that’s done, the sets have to be rebuilt, and we’re still waiting on some replacement equipment to show up.” I scowled. “We’d probably have the lights on their way to us by now if the powers that be weren’t killing so much time looking for the absolute cheapest place to get them.”

  “Well, I would imagine they want to save money . . .”

  “Of course. But when they’re done, they’ll have wasted so much time, it’ll more than make up the difference in lost production time. Especially since the longer it takes to get the soundstage back up and running, the more we’re going to have to get creative and rejig scenes to be filmed outdoors. And, I mean, the lights we’re using are literally thousands of dollars. They have to be insured to hell and back when they ship, and now they’ll probably have to be express shipped, so that alone is going to cancel out any money they saved.” Laughing dryly, I reached for my drink. “Especially since they’re going to ‘save money’ by ordering them from New York instead of LA.”

  “Jesus.” Aaron shook his head. “All that from a windstorm.”

  “A windstorm and a hundred-year-old tree. Good times.” I took a swallow and set the glass back down. “Anyway, it’s been kind of hectic since the storm, and it probably will be for the next few weeks, but it’s not a bad job.” I shrugged. “I enjoy the hell out of it, actually. I like building stuff and fixing things, plus I get to make movies and TV shows, so . . . what’s not to like?”