15 Shades Of Pink

by Scott, Lisa

  Michael nodded.

  “What picture?”

  “She stepped in paint, so I carried her outside to wash off.”

  Larry’s eyes widened. “Just like in the movie,” he whispered. He started fanning himself. “I’m going to faint.”

  Michael looked at her. “So, are you in?”

  She stared him down. “No women and no hangovers?”

  “On my honor,” he said, holding up two fingers like a Boy Scout.

  She held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

  He shook back and she was sure she felt a little squeeze in there. “Deal. You won’t regret it.”

  Somehow, her Michael Sullivan daydreams had never involved a deal like this. Although, a few did involve her paying for the privilege.

  ***

  Larry left to catch a plane back to New York, and Michael helped her finish cleaning the brushes and folding up the tarp.

  “Who was that nice gentleman?” Grandma asked.

  “My agent,” Michael said. “He wanted to meet Molly.”

  She didn’t want Grandma to be in on the lie. There was also a very good chance Grandma couldn’t keep it quiet the next time a photographer came looking for a drink—and a scoop. “Michael and I are dating, Grandma.”

  Grandma closed her eyes and smiled. “I thought I saw a spark between you two when he showed up yesterday. I just had a feeling about you kids.” She pinched Molly’s cheek. “I couldn’t be happier. Now you two run off and do something together. You shouldn’t be hanging around the house with an old lady when there’s so much fun to be had!”

  “You want to catch dinner?” he asked.

  Remembering the butt cheek from the night before, she shook her head. “And face another flock of fans?”

  He grinned. “Well, then I’ve got the perfect plan. I’ll pick you up at seven. No need to dress up.” His eyes swept over her. “In fact, what you have on right now looks great.”

  But of course, she changed after he left, wondering the whole time if this was a huge mistake. But why fight it when the whole world was going to believe it anyway? Since she’d brought only one dressy outfit, there was no problem picking out something casual. She put on a flowing peasant skirt and a pale gold tank top and wondered what her first fake date as Michael Sullivan’s girlfriend would be like.

  He showed up at seven with a picnic basket and a blanket. “There’s a quiet spot just up the beach. And don’t worry, I only brought one bottle of wine, so there’ll be no hangover, and as far as I know, no fans are lurking in the trunk.” He paused. “But I should check, because it’s happened before.”

  She laughed. “Sounds good.” She climbed in the car, her hair swirling in the wind as the convertible hit the road. “If you want the publicity, shouldn’t we be going somewhere people will actually see us?” she shouted, over the noise of the wind and the road.

  He grinned at her and she wondered if his smile would always have a woozy effect on her. “Not yet,” he said. “I still owe you a nice date. Last night didn’t work out like I planned.”

  They drove to a quiet beach a bit further down the Cape. A few people strolled along the surf as the sky turned lemonade pink. They spread out their blanket back by the dunes and Michael poured them both a glass of wine.

  “You’re not thinking about going for a swim, are you?” she asked. “I’m all for getting back on the horse, but two saves in two days? I can’t make any promises.”

  He laughed. “I’ll stay on dry land. Unless those girls start chasing me again. Aquaman, I am not.”

  Her hair grazed his hand, and he fiddled with the tips; catching strands, then curling them round his fingers. Lucky hair, she thought. “So, no more Heartbreak Beaches, huh?”

  “You can’t possibly mean you’d want to see another one? Give me a few years and I’ll be ready for Heart Attack Beach.”

  “Oh, stop.” Sighing, she dug her toes in the sand, feeling very much sixteen again. “That movie was the definitive movie for girls my age. Even now, it makes me feel young and hopeful about romance, when my real life is anything but.” She wrapped her hands around her knees and shrugged. “I’d love to see another one. I can’t imagine anyone looking down on you for that. It’d be a dream come true for thousands of obsessed fans.”

  “Jack Tyler’s not real, you know. No guy’s like that, not really.”

  She shrugged. “I know, but the love seemed real. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced real love with a guy. Lust, sure. A serious relationship and all that. But not love. I just want to believe it’s out there for me. Another movie would mean a lot to me. The first one made me expect more from men. Maybe the next one would restore my faith in men.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

  She nudged him with her knee. “Nothing you haven’t heard before; the typical story. Picked the wrong guy. Or maybe my standards are too high. You ruined me for other guys.”

  He nudged her back, and kept his leg against hers, the hairs tickling her skin. “Good,” he said. “Or you probably wouldn’t be sitting here with me.”

  That line required a long sip of wine to swallow. But she was going to savor it, just like the expensive-tasting chardonnay he’d brought. “So, what’s the game plan? Do we need to be seen certain places? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

  He fought back a smile. “Just spend time with me. We’ll see what happens.”

  He was close enough that she thought he might kiss her. But he reached for the basket and pulled out a gorgeous little tart. And not the kind he usually ended up with; one with glazed fruit and mascarpone cheese. Her kind of tart.

  Darkness came quickly at the beach—and so did the bugs. While slapping away little no-see-ums buzzing about, they packed up their things and drove back to Grandma’s. She sucked in a breath when she saw the red Miata parked up over the curb. She bit her lip and turned to him. “Super stalker fan alert. You might want to run.” She was only half-kidding.

  But before he had the chance, the front door flung open and her best friend, Colleen, ran over.

  Molly hopped out of the car. “What are you doing here?” As if she had to ask.

  “Since someone is ignoring her cell, I had to come down here and find out for myself. Are you really dating…” she sucked in a breath, and whispered, “Michael Sullivan? The Michael Sullivan whose poster is still hanging in your room at your Mom’s? The Michael Sullivan you wrote a fan letter to? The Michael Sullivan you always said was the hottest guy in the world?”

  She could hear Michael chuckling inside the car, and before she could answer—or hit the girl to shut her up—he climbed out.

  Colleen’s eyes widened and she screamed. “Oh. My. God!” And she ran inside, slamming the door behind her.

  “I swear to God we really are twenty-five.”

  Michael looked at her, smiling. “Which poster?”

  She opened and closed her mouth. “I can’t even remember.” The shirtless one, where you’re standing in the water with your khaki shorts on, she thought. “And I never heard back from that fan letter, either.”

  “Hate to tell you, most of the letters never made it to me.”

  “And Colleen sent you five, for the record. Hang on, let me see if I can bring her back to earth.”

  She dashed inside, where Colleen was waving her hands to cool herself off. “You gonna make it?” Molly asked.

  “How could you not tell me about this? This is exactly why they invented cell phones. You could have at least tweeted it.” She looked entirely offended.

  Molly turned up her hands. “It just kind of happened.”

  “So, it’s true?”

  She sucked in a breath and nodded. This is really happening, she thought.

  Colleen fell back on the couch, kicking her legs in the air.

  “And don’t ask him to autograph your butt cheek. He won’t do it.”

  And then Michael walked in.

  Molly cleared her throat and
Colleen stopped squealing. She sat up, smoothing her hair and crossing her legs, the picture of poise. “Hi, I’m Colleen.”

  “And she had more posters of you in her room than I did,” Molly said.

  “I suppose I should take them down now that you’re taken—by my best friend.” She bit her lip, probably trying to stifle another scream.

  “You staying down here long?” Molly asked. For the first time ever, she hoped the answer was no.

  Colleen sighed. “I’ve gotta work tomorrow morning. I was just waiting for you to get back to see for myself if it was true.”

  “And you’ve seen. So I’m going to head out now,” Michael said, gesturing to the door.

  Molly walked over to let him out. They stood there, looking at each other. He smelled good. It would be a nice smell to wake up to.

  Colleen stood with her arms crossed, and raised one eyebrow. “Don’t be shy because of me.” She jerked her chin, urging them to get on with business. “Kiss her,” she whispered.

  Molly pursed her lips and turned to Michael. There was an awkward pause, where they both must’ve been realizing that yeah, this was part of the deal. He slipped his hand over her shoulder and gently swiped his lips across hers. She figured it would be a quick kiss. But once his lips touched hers, it was hard to pull them away, and she found her fingers curling around his shoulders.

  Finally, he pulled back. “I imagine that’s a little bit better than my first attempt,” he smirked.

  Without thinking, she licked her lips. “A bit.”

  He slid his hands down her back; she hadn’t realized he’d taken her in his arms.

  Colleen cleared her throat. “Well, good night.” Putting her hand to her ear, she made the universal call-me sign, then slipped out the door.

  Michael turned to her. “Hope that was okay. It would hardly have seemed convincing if I didn’t kiss you.”

  She crossed her arms. “You’re absolutely right. And it was a very good kiss, by the way.” He’d certainly honed his skills on the movie set.

  “Thank you. And you as well,” he said, now sounding strangely formal. “And I’ll probably have to do that again, you know. Fair warning and all.”

  She nodded, hoping she didn’t look too eager, even though she’d be holding her breath until the next one.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He closed the door behind him quietly and she sank onto the couch before her wobbly knees could give out. Oh, if a fake kiss could cause this kind of reaction, what would happen if he’d kissed her for real?

  She frowned. Not that you’ll have to worry about that.

  ***

  His first instinct was to go out for a drink, but he’d promised Molly he wouldn’t. How else am I supposed to get her out of my mind?

  It was the kiss that’d done it. He’d thought she wasn’t interested, but that kiss had been a newsflash—something was there. It’s not like having a Jack Tyler poster in her room when she was growing up meant she was interested in a has-been actor she’d found drunk on the beach. But he felt desire and need in that kiss, and in the way she’d grabbed his shoulders. He’d have to score another one to find out for sure.

  In the meantime, jumping in a cold pool back home seemed to be the best cure for his current problem. Which was impressive, because in the past, it would have been a couple of cold ones instead. Molly would be proud.

  ***

  He picked her up the next morning and drove her to the beach. “I figure if we stroll along holding hands, enough people will see us, take pictures and spread the word to get the ball rolling,” he said, as they hopped out of the car.

  “Sounds like a plan.” She pulled a sundress out of her beach bag and put it on over her suit.

  He looked at her, confused. Why cover up that beautiful body? He’d been looking forward to seeing it.

  “I don’t want to see what I look like in my bathing suit in a tabloid.”

  “Why not? You look great.” And he’d meant it. But she just raised an eyebrow at him, like he’d announced he liked boiled liver.

  They walked down the wooden pathway to the beach, and he reached for her hand. He squeezed it and he was pleased she squeezed back.

  It didn’t take long for people to sit up, slide down their sunglasses, and nudge their friends. And yes, there were a few not-so-hilarious comments.

  “Going for a swim?”

  “You’re still washed up!”

  Molly looked up at him with those big dark eyes of hers and he thought he might nearly drown again. “No, you’re not.”

  Swallowing hard at her sweet words, he squeezed her hand again. Harder and longer this time. Finally, they stopped walking and he set up their chairs and umbrella.

  “Do you think people are going to watch us all day?” she asked.

  “Yep. I’m sure of it. Let’s just stay here for a bit, then we’ll go back to my place and swim in the pool.”

  She took off her sundress and lay back in the chair. Her skin was smooth with just a hint of a tan. The last two girlfriends he had—loosely meaning women he’d slept with more than twice—had been devotees of the tanning bed. He’d had a few wallets the color of their skin, and just as rough feeling, too. Women like that always tried to stand out at the beach. Molly seemed like she’d be happy to crawl into a shell.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Relax, it’ll be fine.” She smelled good, like coconut and flowers and rain.

  She nodded, and then he kissed her cheek. “Just trying to make it seem legit,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  He rested his arm next to hers on her chair, aware that curious beach-goers were still strolling by, some trying to discreetly take a picture with their phones, others pointing and whispering to friends.

  She drummed her fingers; she wasn’t relaxing at all.

  They stayed at the beach for an hour, then retreated to his rental, where she promptly jumped in the pool. He followed her in. He didn’t have a reason to be close to her, but he wanted to. If he wasn’t careful, he could destroy his fake relationship by trying to start a real one. He hung back and let her float in the deep end, staring up at the sky.

  Finally, she swam up to him. “Can I trust you not to drown in here? I need to go home and get to work on the bathroom. I’ve only got a few weeks left, and there’s lots to do.”

  “Molly, we’re taking care of everything—the roof, the fence, the rest of the painting.”

  She twisted her lips. “Oh. Right. I keep forgetting. I hope you don’t think I’m horrible, accepting all this help.” She looked down, her cheeks pink.

  He pulled her toward him. “Not at all. You’re doing it for your grandmother. It’s really sweet. And you’re helping me.” Not many people had gone out of their way to help him. Usually, they were looking for something from him.

  She looked up at him with wide eyes and he kissed her. He felt her draw in a breath and then relax as she slid her hands up his arms.

  He stepped back before he slid his arms around her waist, and over her rear. “I’m getting used to this,” he said. I’m getting used to you. And while it felt awesome, it was not a good thing. Staying away from alcohol had been easier than he’d expected. Staying away from her probably would not.

  “I should go,” she said, climbing out of the pool, doing her best not to look at him. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “First thing.”

  ***

  Neither of them admitted it, but their pretend-relationship was quickly becoming more than that. Michael could’ve just spent an hour or two with her each day, being sure people saw them together. But neither of them seemed to want their time together to end.

  They spent each day together, from the time she woke till the time she went to bed. Their kisses had become longer, more passionate, and more frequent, and his hands no longer hung at his sides when he kissed her; they ran across her back, or over her shoulders, along her hips. She was having a hard time imagining what it would
be like without him around. Five days into it, and she knew she as falling for him. She’d better enjoy him while she could, because they only had a few more weeks left together. The thought made her throat tighten. So she tried not to think about it.

  She woke up early Friday, excited to see him. They planned to drive out to Provincetown. In all her years on the Cape, she’d never been down there. She went to his house, as planned, but he wasn’t there. However, his agent, Larry, was. “He’s down at the beach,” he told her.

  “Thanks!” She carried her beach bag down to the spot they’d made their own after the last few days. From the photographers gathered near the shore, she figured that’s where he was. But why were photographers taking pictures now? Surely this had to be old news, but there were so many of them down there.

  She stopped a few feet away from him. He wasn’t alone, and the woman next to him looked familiar. Wait, it can’t be. Trisha Tegan? His co-star from Heartbreak Beach. Her jaw dropped.

  The photographers spotted Molly and moved closer, snapping shots. Michael turned to see her, Trisha still wrapped in his arms. He tried to pull away, but Trisha kept his hand in hers as he came toward Molly.

  Molly started walking backwards, shaking her head. Her mouth went dry and she hoped she didn’t look as devastated as she felt because the photographers were capturing the whole thing, swinging around now to get shots of Michael heading toward her. “Molly!”

  Molly tripped in the sand and fell, then stood up, brushing herself off, but still unable to take her eyes off Michael and Trisha. Whether or not it was real didn’t matter. He clearly was finished with her.

  Trisha sidled up next to Michael and slung her arm around his shoulder and planted a kiss on his cheek as the photographers clicked away.

  Molly was finally able to swallow. “Go away.” It came out in a whisper; he probably didn’t even hear her. But her role in this charade was done. Spinning around, she ran back to her grandmother’s.

  Workers were installing a new fence, and a crew was tackling the roof. She stormed past them toward the house, wondering if they’d stop work once Michael’s agent found out she was bailing on their deal. Didn’t matter. She’d work it out somehow; take out a loan to finish it, if she had to.