Fall: A Seaside Novel (The Seaside Series)

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  Next door? She was out on the balcony, and she looked like hell. Her face was smudged with something dark and her pajamas looked like they’d been playing with the fires of hell.

  “Are you alright?” I blurted without thinking.

  She screamed.

  Then I screamed.

  She tripped.

  I dropped my coffee mug over the ledge, thankfully missing anyone who might be combing the beach for shells.

  “Stop screaming!” I lifted my hands into the air in peace.

  She nodded, and then her eyes narrowed. Aw, shit I knew that look. Every woman has one. It’s the look that says, “You. Evil. Bastard.”

  “Jaymeson?” Her voice was low as if my name actually made her growl.

  “Yes?” I said in a higher pitched voice, hoping to even the playing field.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not stalking you.” I laughed lamely, only stopping when her eyebrows narrowed even more. Crap! I needed to get my shit together and fast.

  She crossed her arms. Closing herself off completely.

  “I uh…”I scratched my head and cleared my throat. “I’m here for a few months on… holiday.” Shoot me now. Shoot me now.

  “Holiday?” she repeated.

  “People take vacations from time to time. It’s normal, for people, to uh… vacation.” Seriously, I should just jump now and get it over with.

  “Vacation.” Her teeth ground together as her jaw flexed.

  “Yeah.” I bit my lip and nodded as I slowly approached the railing closest to her, we were separated by two feet, maybe three.

  “Here?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I grumbled.

  That brought a smile to her face. “Well, welcome back.” She gave a curt nod and started to walk back toward the door.

  “Pris—” I yelled. “Are you okay?”

  She turned, her eyebrows drew together as she pressed her lips together. “What do you mean?”

  I nodded. “Your clothes, and face, you just, you look like you had a rough night, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t need to kick anyone’s ass.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you need an ass to kick just look in the mirror, Jaymeson. Make it easy on yourself.”

  Ouch.

  The sliding glass door clicked shut.

  And I was left without my hot coffee and without my balls. Because clearly she still held them in a viselike grip that made me want to both bow down and run screaming at the same time.

  Cursing, I stomped back into the house and grabbed my phone, pulling up our instant messaging.

  Me: Morning beautiful. How’d you sleep?

  Priscilla S: Good.

  Me: Just good?

  Priscilla S: Until the fire.

  Me: WTF!

  I swear my heart started pounding so hard I thought I was going to have a heart attack; I started pacing waiting for her reply.

  Priscilla S: It was fine. I mean, I’m fine. I’m going to go back to the house this morning and grab some clothes so that I have something to wear, I’ll collect my stuff, call my parents… it will be fine.

  It seemed like she was trying to convince herself that she was fine, even when she wasn’t. I knew that trick. I used it all the time. Pasting a smile on your face and saying something over and over again did not actually make it true.

  Me: What can I do to help?

  Priscilla S: Show me how to use my coffee maker? I’m at a friend’s house until I can go back to mine and everything is way too high tech.

  Me: Wish I could help but I’m in LA L

  Priscilla S: Wish me luck!

  Me: Good luck.

  I threw the phone onto the couch and stared at it. I was doing a lot of that lately. Staring at things, as if they would suddenly start talking back to me and give me advice on my crappy life.

  I threw on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, grabbed my keys so I didn’t lock myself out, and ran over to the condo, the whole time my brain chanted, What the hell, man, what the hell, but I told my brain to shut up.

  She needed help.

  I could reign in the lust.

  And this didn’t mean I was proposing. I laughed aloud. I was just helping, and if I just so happened to see her smile or maybe get caught staring at her ass? Bonus. That’s all it was, a freaking bonus.

  I knocked twice.

  She answered, in the same smoke-stained PJs.

  “Jaymeson, I have a really busy day and—”

  I side-stepped her and walked into the condo. I’d gone with Demetri and Lyss when they’d picked out furniture and everything else in the place. I also knew that Lyss had an entire closet full of clothes that she could care less if Pris wore.

  I made it a few steps into the house and turned. “You coming or not?”

  “Huh?” She slammed the door. “You can’t just waltz into people’s houses and—“

  “I didn’t.” I grinned. “Besides, it’s not your house. Now do you want help or not?”

  “Help?”

  “Stop repeating what I say before I lose my damn mind. I’m English not Russian. I barely have an accent. Do I really need to talk slower?”

  She shook her head as blush stained her cheeks. Damn it. Curses, curses, lots and lots of curses. I loved that blush, I loved it way more than I loved coffee and that was saying a lot. I almost cried when I realized I was out after my cup took a leap off the ledge.

  Clearing my throat, I looked away. “Follow me.”

  I walked into the master bedroom like a man on a mission. The bed didn’t even look slept in. Did she sleep on the couch or the spare bedroom? Why wouldn’t she sleep in the nice room?

  Shrugging, I stormed into the walk-in closet and pulled out a pair of leggings, boots, T-shirt, and grey cardigan, then made my way over to the sock drawer, and dug out a bra and panties as well as a scarf.

  I heaved the clothes onto the bed and crossed my arms. “Problem solved.”

  Priscilla nibbled her bottom lip. “I can’t wear her clothes, it wouldn’t be right and—”

  I rolled my eyes. “AD2 brought in over twenty million on endorsements alone last year. Believe me when I say Alyssa can afford to loan you some clothes.”

  Priscilla’s eyes widened.

  I was being rude, curt, direct. Normally I was smooth but being smooth with this girl? Yeah, it meant me not keeping my pants on. And I really, really needed to keep my pants on lest she find a sharp knife and end my future.

  With slow movements, Priscilla reached for the clothes and felt them between her fingers as if she’d never felt clothes before in her entire life.

  “They don’t feel like mine,” she whispered.

  I rolled my eyes. “I know they don’t feel like yours but you have to wear something. You can’t walk around in your smoke-damaged PJs.”

  “No.” She laughed softly. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant they’re softer than mine, you can tell they’re expensive.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I really had no words, because I’d never actually been in a position where I was wearing any type of clothing that wasn’t expensive. It made me feel like an ass — a regular occurrence around Priscilla.

  She stared at the clothes like they were precious.

  Nobody had ever stared at me like that — nobody but her. And I’d broken her heart. Clearing my throat, I scratched my head and started backing out of the room. “Take a shower, put on the clean clothes, and I’ll see about getting you some breakfast.”

  “What?” She whirled around so fast I thought she was going to pull a muscle. “What do you mean breakfast?”

  “Glad you asked.” I smirked. “Breakfast is a derivative of the idea to break one’s fast —considering all night you fast and then—”

  “Still an ass, aren’t you?”

  “You said ass.” I chuckled.

  “Make me breakfast.”

  “Oh, so now she wants breakfast,” I teased.

  “Be
tter than an etymology lesson,” she said sweetly.

  “Touché.” My smile hurt it was so big. “I’ll just be in the kitchen… breakfasting.”

  “And a verb, nice,” she called back as I danced into the kitchen. It took me an entire five minutes to settle down and another five to remind myself who I was and why I was there.

  She’s not for you. My brain reminded me.

  And my heart, once again, went on lockdown.

  Chapter Ten

  Priscilla

  I’d slept on the couch, so the hot shower did wonders for my sore muscles. I’d felt guilty sleeping on their bed or even in the guest room. Everything was so white and pristine — I hated to ruin it with my presence. It just felt… wrong. And they were nice enough to let me stay.

  Unfortunately, Jaymeson did have a point — curse him. I needed to put on some clothes. As it was, I was already going to have to call a taxi or walk back to my house so I could grab my car. I hated to do that in PJ’s that looked like I’d just survived a building collapse.

  How did he know it was smoke, anyway?

  I wrapped the towel around my body and grabbed my old PJ’s and sniffed. Yeah they reeked of smoke. No wonder. He probably couldn’t stand the sight or smell of me. How great. One of the most famous movie stars in the known world had not only rejected me with disgust but had now seen me at my worst.

  Shaking, I leaned against the sink and looked into the mirror.

  Big brown eyes stared back at me. They looked afraid. I felt afraid. Honestly, Jaymeson freaked me out more than the fire. I was alone with him and he was… cooking. It just… it seemed weird. He didn’t strike me as the hero type, which meant that this was his way of apologizing or he was trying to get into my pants. Again.

  I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I could do this. I could put on clothes, walk out of the bathroom, and face him.

  My entire reaction was stupid. On the outside it seemed like he didn’t affect me, I did it on purpose because he was the type that looks for a chink in someone’s armor. Jaymeson appeared like a goofy player just out for a good time, but he was way too perceptive for his own good. If he saw weakness, even a brief weakness, he’d pounce. And I’d somehow end up rejected again — especially when I didn’t give him what he wanted — sex.

  I toweled off and quickly, threw on the clothes, then finger combed my hair. I searched a few drawers and finally found a hair tie so I could put the wet mess into a ponytail.

  When I was finished I stared at the door for a good five seconds.

  I’d always believed myself to be really calm and collected. I think everyone assumes that when they meet a movie star or someone famous — that they won’t lose their heads and go crazy, but it’s hard. Especially when someone like Jamie Jaymeson was standing in front of you.

  It was impossible not to stare.

  Believe me, I’d tried.

  But he was beautiful. At around six-foot-three, he was the perfect mix of height and muscle. His skin was bronzed but not too much, and he had the clearest green eyes I’d ever seen in my entire life. His hair was usually on the longer side, constantly pushed behind his ears, but he’d cut it since I’d last seen him. It was still long, but one side of his head was shaved, revealing a tattoo on his neck and a piercing in his ear that I hadn’t noticed before. His wavy dark hair fell over part of his face, shading it so that he looked even sexier.

  He was just a guy — just another human being.

  Just like me.

  I pep talked myself for another few minutes then opened the door and waltzed into the kitchen.

  The minute I saw him, I froze.

  Scratch that.

  He was nothing like me.

  A pink apron that said, “Naked Chef,” was tied around his waist and he was humming.

  Holy crap! Jamie Jaymeson was in the kitchen, cooking me breakfast and humming. My mouth dropped open as he swayed his hips and then hummed something that sounded suspiciously like an AD2 song.

  “Oh.” He turned around as he flipped a pancake into the air. “You’re here.”

  “Pancakes?” I pointed at the stove. “How the heck did you find pancakes?”

  “I’m an explorer at heart.” He grinned. “I rummaged through cupboards, looking high and low, and when I was just about to give up… brilliance struck.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I went next door to my stocked pantry and pulled out what I needed.”

  “Smart.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Probably to someone like you.” I smiled sweetly.

  He winked. “Thanks, love.”

  I froze.

  Love? That’s what Jamie Hudson called me.

  “What?” Jaymeson flipped the pancake into the air again. “Don’t tell me you have a gluten allergy.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t that. You know what? Never mind.” I reached for my phone and sent a quick message to Jamie.

  Me: All is well, found some clothes. You around?

  As soon as the message sent. Jaymeson dropped the skillet onto the stove making the loudest bang of all time.

  “Sorry.” He cursed and grabbed a plate. “It slipped.”

  “It’s okay.”

  His face reddened a bit as he scooped up a pancake and put it on one of the plates then shoved some syrup in my direction. “Be right back.”

  He left me alone with the most amazing looking golden pancakes. My mouth started watering as I poured the syrup over the yummy goodness. How did he even know how to cook? Didn’t people do that for him?

  My Facebook alert went off.

  Jamie Hudson: Sorry, I was surfing.

  Me: Rough life.

  Jamie Hudson: Catch you on the next wave…

  I smiled and set the phone onto the counter.

  “Something amusing?” Jaymeson said interrupting my girlish moment.

  “Nothing you would understand.” I forked a large bite of pancake and stuffed it into my mouth.

  He leaned his muscled arms against the counter and tilted his head. “Try me.”

  “It’s nothing,” I said, mouth full.

  He grinned.

  Holy crap, that grin alone made me feel hot all over.

  “Stop smiling,” I snapped.

  Jaymeson’s smile only widened. “So, tell me about him.”

  “How do you know it’s a him?” I took another bite of pancake and chewed. Holy pancakes, what the crap did he put in those? Legal addictants? They were so good!

  “The smile.” He sighed and piled five pancakes onto his own plate. “That smile screams crush.”

  “I’m eighteen. I don’t crush.”

  “Age reminder, nice.” He winced.

  “And how old are you again?” I twirled my fork into the air. “Twenty-three going on forty?”

  “Eat your damn pancakes.” He hit my fork with his and dug in like he hadn’t eaten in ten years.

  “Uh, hungry?”

  “Starved.” He barely took a breath as he devoured three pancakes in less than a few minutes.

  I finished my last pancake only to get another one tossed onto my plate.

  I glared.

  “What?” He shrugged. “You’re too skinny. And I know skinny. I live in the skinny capital of the world. You need to get fatter.”

  “Tell me…” I stabbed the pancake imagining it was his face. “Does that line work on every girl?”

  “Sweetheart, the girls I screw think laxatives are one of the five food groups.”

  “Gross.”

  He snorted and stuffed another pancake into his mouth.

  “Eat,” he said between bites.

  I cut another piece of pancake.

  “Is he hotter than me?” Jaymeson asked.

  I dropped my fork.

  “So that’s a no.” He gave me a smug smile.

  “You have syrup on your face.” I pointed to his cheek.

  “I know.” He sc
owled and rubbed his face. “And you lie.”

  Shrugging, I answered, “Could have sworn I saw some.”

  “So, he’s ugly?” Jaymeson cleared his throat.

  “Why are we talking right now?”

  His grin seriously had the power to melt the clothes right off my body. “Aw, love, would you rather be doing something else?”

  “Stop being creepy,” I said breathlessly.

  “Is that why your pulse picked up?” He leaned in. “Because I’m creepy.”

  “Fear,” I blurted. “Fear makes a person’s heart race.”

  “I don’t doubt you’re afraid.” He bit down hard onto his pancake and chewed, his tongue licking his full lips so slow it was almost hypnotic. “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re afraid of me or yourself.”

  “Myself?”

  Ignoring me, he checked his watch and cursed. “We gotta go.”

  “We? Since when did we become a we?”

  “Since I rescued your naked ass this morning.”

  “I was not naked—”

  “You looked like death.”

  I blushed and looked down, nothing like having People’s Sexiest Man Alive two years running telling you that you looked like death.

  “Hey.” Suddenly he was in front of me; his fingertips grazed my chin, forcing me to look into his smoldering eyes. “I didn’t mean you looked like death as in you’re not beautiful. I meant you looked like you had a rough night. Trust me, you could get run over by a dump truck and I’d still think you were the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.”

  I jerked away from his touch. “We should, uh, go.” I needed a reality check… fast. The church was waiting and so was my burnt house.

  “Yeah.” He cursed. “We should.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jaymeson

  I told Pris to give me ten minutes. I ran back to my house and brushed my teeth, grabbed my keys, wallet, phone, and sunglasses then briefly contemplated running my face through the glass window.

  What the hell was wrong with me? I’d come on to her! I’d basically hit on her! After she survived a freaking house fire! Groaning, I banged my head against the door a few times, maybe the pain would make my lust die down.

  But she had been beautiful.

  And in my experience, there was nothing worse than an insecure girl and the last thing I wanted was to be the reason for her to feel anything less than what she was. She was gorgeous and she needed to know it.