“Is that smart to do? What if it bombs and you lose all your money? You haven’t even seen me act yet.”
“I’ve seen you surf. I’ve seen your emotions. If you can be yourself on camera, we’ll both make more money than we’ve ever dreamed about. Why don’t we get started tonight? I’m dying to get you on film. I know it will inspire me even more.”
I don’t reply, just take another sip of wine.
He leans closer to me, causing our shoulders to touch.
I don’t want to make him mad by saying that I don’t know him well enough to go anywhere with him. Mom has warned me about stuff like that. About photographers who say they’re going to make you the next supermodel, they just need to “take a few photos” first. About producers, who promise to make you a big star, they just need you to “come read” for them first, but what they really want is to get you on the casting couch.
“You always go to parties like this?” I ask him. I’m trying to be polite.
“Free drinks and beautiful women. Who wouldn’t?” he says.
“You trying to meet that special girl on the beach?”
“I already met a special girl on the beach. Fine. I get it. You don’t know me well enough yet, right?”
I touch his forearm. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re smart. There are a lot of men out there that lie about this kind of thing just to get girls. I’m not one of them, though. I usually don’t have a problem finding women.”
I look at his handsome face and laugh. “I don’t suppose that you do.”
“So go for a walk with me. I’m in mourning. It’s the least you can do.”
“I can’t. I’m here with my . . . um, like, we’re friends, but . . . ” I roll my eyes, thinking about Brooklyn. “Story of my life, apparently.”
“All the more reason for a mind-clearing walk on the beach. The party is getting pretty revved up. No one will even notice you’re gone.”
“Keatyn! There you are,” I hear Millie say. “Get your ass in here and come dance with that handsome date of yours before all the old women try to get their hands on him.”
“Thanks for the offer, Vincent. It’s sweet of you, but I don’t think anyone can solve my boy problems.”
“Maybe you need to solve them yourself.”
I had just started to walk away, but I turn back around. “What do you mean?”
“If a guy is interested in you, really interested in you, he’ll let you know it. If he doesn’t, he’s not worth it.”
I walk back to him and give him a hug. “Whatever I did to help you the other day, we’re now even. That’s exactly what I needed to hear. Have some fun tonight, okay?”
He raises his glass to me as I walk back inside.
When Cush leads me out on the dance floor and holds me tight, I start to feel better about getting ditched by Brooklyn. Cush is adorable, fun, and he seems to like me. And Vincent is right. I should stop wasting my time on a guy who doesn’t really like me.
We have so much fun dancing that the next time I looked at my phone it’s almost one. There isn’t a single text from Brooklyn, but many bitchy ones from Vanessa. I ignore those. I’m in too good a mood.
“Cush, I’ve kept you out so late, and you have soccer tomorrow!”
He runs his hands down the sides of my arms. “I’ll be fine for soccer. And it’s not like my mom’s waiting up for me. She’s in Milan this week. Or maybe it’s Thailand. I can’t remember.”
“Do you wanna just stay at my house? It’s close, and you can crash on the couch in my room.”
“That sounds better than going home to a big, empty house. I’m also really not ready for this night to end.”
Please say yes.
1:15am
Back at home, I go into Tommy’s closet to grab a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt. I run back in my room and throw them at Cush.
“Here. You can put these on.”
“Will you untie this tie for me?”
“Sure.” I slide the white dinner jacket off his shoulders, fold it in half, and lay it over my chair. Then I untie his tie.
Then I realize that I’m undressing him.
And I don’t want to stop.
I take the cufflinks out of his sleeves and set them on my desk. Then I slowly unbutton his shirt. I get to see a sliver of his chest at a time. It’s kinda like unwrapping a really cute present.
I smile at Cush. I know his reputation, but we’ve been friends for a year. He confided in me about his dad, carried me down the hall when my feet hurt, and he’s looking at me so adorably right now.
“So, I was thinking,” he says.
“About what?”
“Us.”
He pushes my hair back behind my ear and runs the back of his hand down the side of my neck.
It gives me goosebumps. “What about us?”
He replies with a soft kiss and then trails his tongue across my jawline. I tilt my head, close my eyes, and run my hands through his hair.