Chapter 3
Scottie
ME AND KEYS DO NOT GET ALONG
I’m a sucker for a man with tattoos. Not to mention a thigh tattoo.
He should put a warning label on himself.
Thigh tattoo: might cause temporary insanity.
I hadn’t meant to straight-up stare at him, but once I got a clear view of it in all its glory, it took divine willpower—and maybe mild self-preservation—to force my gaze elsewhere.
How did I not know he was rockin’ that underneath his clothes?
I’ve never been that close to Gavin before—close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin, to hear the slow drag of his breath.
In that small bathroom, the space between us felt even smaller.
Every shift he made sparked through me like static, my pulse ricocheting between panic and something far less appropriate.
If oxygen had a taste, I swear I’d know exactly what his felt like.
In my defense, I’ve only seen Gavin in passing over the past few years—and never in a situation where he wasn’t fully clothed. For all I know, he’s had that intricate tree design etched into his bulging, muscular thigh for years, and I was none the wiser.
And to be fair, I wasn’t supposed to be here. I said no to the party, didn’t bring a gift, and technically I’m not crashing. I managed to misplace my key—again—so Elyse told me to stop by and grab the spare she had on her. Simple plan. In and out.
But then my agent called, and I’m so desperate for good news I practically tripped over myself answering.
Hoping it’s a role. An audition. Anything that might mean my acting career isn’t totally dead.
I came inside to find somewhere quiet, somewhere I could talk without a chorus of screaming kids and pool splashes in the background.
I thought I was wandering into a hallway or a home office—or literally anywhere else.
Not Gavin’s bedroom. Not his bathroom. Not his naked—thigh-tattooed—self.
So, really, none of this is my fault. I am simply an innocent bystander.
Finally escaping his room before I make an even bigger fool of myself, I’m half tempted to swan-dive into the pool just to cool down.
My face is on fire, my heart’s still doing jumping jacks, and I’m ninety percent certain I’ll never recover from the image of that towel and the outline of what was underneath.
It was a big outline. The kind of big I imagine might cause a girl to walk funny the next day.
Not that I’m imagining it, because I’m definitely not.
I am.
I don’t even know why I said half the things I did. “Coma—caused by penis”? Who says that? Who is that? Apparently, me.
I make it to the bottom of the stairs and immediately start scanning the yard for Elyse.
She’s near a tree, picking up remnants of colorful crepe paper off the grass with Dominic’s help, both of them moving in sync in that easy, familiar way couples do.
Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to remember how to breathe.
I smooth a hand through my hair and try to pretend I didn’t just see my best friend’s brother basically naked.
Elyse spots me and waves. “You got here fast.”
“Sure did,” I say, aiming for casual but landing on breathless mess.
She grins. “You need another key, right?”
I nod, stepping closer. “Yeah, sorry to interrupt. I lost mine again.”
Elyse laughs. “You know, I love you, but I’m starting to think I should just have copies made in bulk.”
“That’s fair,” I admit. “Me and keys do not get along. It’s been a lifelong struggle.”
She digs into her tote bag and pulls out a small keychain with a gold heart. “Here. Spare key number three.”
“I swear I’ll keep this one forever,” I say, accepting it like she’s handing me communion.
“Uh-huh. That’s what you said about the last two.”
Before I can respond, Dominic’s radio crackles, and Elyse turns to him, distracted. I take that as my cue to retreat before she can ask why I look like I just stepped out of a sauna. I’m not about to tell her the reason my skin is burning. Yeah, no thank you.
“Thanks for the key!” I call out, already halfway toward the gate. “And tell the birthday girl I said happy birthday!”
The second I’m in the clear, I press a hand to my chest and exhale. Maybe someday I’ll laugh about this. Not today. Probably not tomorrow either.
Because when I close my eyes, I still see him—abs for days, firm ass, broad shoulders, and that yummy thigh tattoo.
And now that I know it exists, I can’t stop thinking about what other secrets he’s hiding.
The worst part is, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for this kind of distraction—not when I’m already drowning in the humiliation of being back here.
So I keep walking, slipping through the side gate before anyone can spot me, the noise of the party fading behind.
I’m not ready for questions or pity—or for that look people give when they realize I’m the girl who left to chase big dreams and came crawling right back.
It’s been a week since the bathroom incident, and I’m mostly recovered. If only my career could bounce back as fast as my embarrassment. Every actress knows she’ll be irrelevant someday. I just didn’t think my expiration date would come this soon.
“Scottie,” I repeat to the woman on the other end of the line. “S-C-O-T-T-I-E…yes, like the dog…mm-hmm…okay, thank you so much! My number is—”
And she hung up. Bitch.
God, I hate it here. And by here, I mean my life. Though, Red Mountain’s not helping. Basically, it’s a mess on all fronts.
Slumping my shoulders, I slide down the wall until my ass hits the carpet.
I’m so fucking tired. Tired of making cold calls.
Tired of this ridiculous mess. Tired of people I thought were my friends turning their backs on me.
No one in the industry will touch me with a ten-foot pole.
I’m tarnished. Tainted. Washed up. And, worst of all, blacklisted.
“What am I going to do?” I groan to no one but the empty townhouse.
As if on cue, my Dexcom app buzzes—a low-glucose alert lighting up my screen, because of course my blood sugar has the audacity to be just as much of a mess as the rest of my life. It’s my own fault; I thought I could get away with skipping breakfast. I know better.
Standing, I drag myself into the kitchen and rummage through the pantry until I find the bag of peach rings I keep for moments exactly like this.
They’re fast sugar—quick to hit, quick to help—so I pop two before I even think about it.
Then I grab the container of clementines I sectioned earlier in the week.
Those are for the slow-and-steady rise, to keep me from crashing again.
As I choke down the clementines—stress has obliterated my appetite—my gaze sweeps across the space.
Elyse was gracious enough to let me stay in her old townhouse and take over the monthly payment now that she and Dominic are busy renovating their dream house.
It’s a decent enough place, she even left behind some furniture for my benefit, but it feels as temporary here as the rest of my life does.
I never expected to be back in my hometown, and the reality of having no other choice but to return with my tail between my legs, only intensifies the utter sense of failure eating away at me.
When you grow up in a town as small as this one, sometimes having big dreams gets you more eye rolls than support.
I was never quiet about wanting to become an actress, and I don’t think very many people took it seriously.
So when I actually succeeded, those who doubted me, started the countdown to my downfall.
In their eyes, it was only a matter of time before my career crashed and burned.
If there’s one thing society loves more than watching a woman rise to success, it’s indulging in the perverse pleasure of watching her fall.
Moving back out of the blue, isn’t really dispelling the narrative. I’m exactly who everyone expected me to be. And, fuck, if I don’t hate them for finally being right.
I’ve been in Red Mountain nearly two weeks, and still haven’t stepped foot on Main Street. I’ve resorted to grocery shopping in the next town over and making disgusting coffee out of an ancient coffee maker. I don’t want to be seen, and most of all I don’t want to explain.
Despite keeping a low profile, word about my return spread like wildfire, and something tells me the town gossips have been chomping at the bit to uncover all the juicy details about why I’m back. Red Mountain runs on wine and gossip—two things that, unfortunately, pair very well together.
But that all ends today. I agreed to meet Elyse at Novel Teas and Coffee—her sister Ariana’s coffee shop—for some girl time. It’s my first real public outing, if you don’t count Lily’s birthday party.
After lying low for as long as possible, I figured it was time to face the town and get it over with—ride out the gossip until someone else does something more interesting.
The drive to the heart of downtown takes longer than I was expecting. Tourist season is in full effect, a detail that somehow slipped my mind. I guess I still find it somewhat baffling people choose to vacation in the town I couldn’t wait to escape.
The sidewalks are packed, visitors wandering from tasting room to tasting room, some already looking tipsy and it’s not quite lunchtime yet.
A live jazz band is playing in the gazebo nestled at the center of downtown, and the music drifts through the small opening of my rolled down window.
I can’t help but smile. There’s just something about a little jazz tune that loosens the tension in my shoulders, and lightens the ever present pressure that lives in my chest.
Music has always played a part in soothing the rough edges of my soul. It’s probably why I feel the most like myself when the music is loud enough to drown out everything else.