“That’s a cop-out answer if I’ve ever heard one.” And I do know her name . . . just don’t want to let him know that I follow his life in skewed tabloid ink.
He shifts to turn and look at me. Eyes intense, head angled to the side, irritation obviously awakened. “Really?” he says dryly. “Considering the coals I’ve been raked over lately regarding Jenna and the accusations made about my character, I’d think saying I don’t have a girlfriend is a logical answer.” His expression is severe, lips tight as he waits for me to respond. There must be something in my countenance that questions him because he shifts and purses his lips. Starts to talk. Then stops. Starts again. “Go ahead and ask the question, Saylor. Ask me or believe them. Your choice.”
And as much as I want to know if he cheated on his girlfriend, as important as it is for me to know he didn’t, I don’t say a word. There’s something about the look in his eyes, the irritation over the fact I might believe the rumors, that stops me from continuing. Because asking means I might be convinced it’s true and therefore don’t trust him.
“Don’t believe everything you see, Saylor.” His tone is wry. A warning. “Even salt looks like sugar at first glance.”
His comment makes me rethink my assumptions and puts me in my place. “No questions, Hayes.” I lick my lips and glance down to my fidgeting hands before looking back up at him. I wonder what is the truth and what is a front in a town that thrives on earning a living out of playing make-believe. “And honestly, I was talking about Tessa. Not Jenna.” I need to make myself clear. Let him know I was fishing but not about Jenna.
“Oh,” he says, shy grin sliding over his lips. “Sorry. I get a little touchy on the Jenna thing.”
I nod. Understand. I want to ask more but don’t because obviously there’s more to the story than meets the eye. He’s allowed to be upset over their breakup, considering how long they dated.
“Well, in that case . . .” He laughs, his tone is teasing, and the mood suddenly eases again. His smile returns and there is mischief in his eyes.
“Ah, Tessa.” It’s all I say. My own smile spreading despite the pang of jealousy that hits a little harder than I’d like to admit.
“We’re working together.”
I roll my eyes. “So you’re sleeping together.”
“On screen, yes.” His voice is unapologetic and yet a small part of me feels like he is toying with me. Gauging my reaction.
“And off screen.” I chuckle but question why I care. Jesus, Saylor, stop asking.
“Is there a reason you care?” He steals the thought from my head and doesn’t stop staring, so I shift my gaze to the ocean ahead, wondering the same thing.
The difference is I know why. I care because of that fluttery feeling I get when he smiles at me, the warmth that flushed through me when he put his arm around me on the way out of the little restaurant where we grabbed a quick bite to eat. I just don’t want to admit it.
“No. Not at all.” Uncomfortable under the weight of his stare, I let the silence fall between us. A steel drum is heard somewhere in the distance. The intermittent buzz of tourists’ laughter or shuffling of footsteps meandering through this sleepy Caribbean town can be heard behind us. I watch some local children play in the water, some in suits, some not, as their parents watch from the ocean’s edge.
“It’s nothing serious,” he says unexpectedly. “In fact I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”
“Huh.” I let the comment settle between us, enjoying the fact that he didn’t have some huge farewell session with some beautiful starlet before coming to hang out with me.
“You’re awfully quiet, Ships.”
I can’t help my smile. The nickname not so bothersome now. “Yeah. I’m just trying really hard to enjoy tonight. To not think about the next few days. To—”
“Enjoy the company of the handsome man beside you.”
I laugh out loud and love that he can do that to me. Just like he did earlier as we sat in the local recommended favorite, Fresh Catch, while we ate our appetizers and sipped our cocktails. When we talked about our childhood escapades and arguments, steering clear of everything that happened after there was an us, and the aftermath I still don’t understand. I had promised myself I wouldn’t bring it up again while here.
It’s the least I can do considering he’s here, doing who knows what for me in this atypical situation.
I look over to him—wind-ruffled hair and dimples deepening—and think he’s so much more than handsome. He’s comfort and my past, mysterious yet familiar, funny and yet aloof.
“Yes. That too.”
“Why are you nervous?”