9. Chapter 9
Presley
“Briggs!” I scream after he does some sort of double-bouncing thing that shoots me up so high off the trampoline, I can see above the houses and to the ocean in the not-so-far distance.
I can also feel my dinner flopping around in my stomach. Is there a rule for how long after eating you should wait before jumping on a trampoline? Like with swimming?
We finished dinner with his family, ending with some delicious peach cobbler and ice cream, and then Briggs told me he wanted to show me something in the backyard. I actually squealed when I saw the trampoline sitting in the corner of the well-manicured lawn.
I immediately ran over to it, and with a little help from Briggs, I climbed up and started jumping.
It was everything I thought it would be as a kid. I never got to jump on one because it was always in my contracts to stay off trampolines and away from basically anything that might cause me to break a limb or dislocate a shoulder. No skiing, on snow or water, rock climbing, or extreme sports of any kind. Nothing that could delay production of a film or show. I surely have the same clause in my latest contract, but I don’t really care. No one is here to hold me to it.
“Have you had enough?” he asks, looking up at me and smiling as the next bounce throws me much less high.
“I think I might need a little break,” I say as I flop on my back and bounce lightly there until I come to a complete stop. The air is thick with humidity, but the ocean breeze makes it tolerable.
Briggs comes over to me, his steps on the flexible mat forcing my body to roll toward the center of the trampoline before he flops down on his back next to me, the bottom of his light-gray T-shirt moving up before he yanks it back down.
I look up at the night sky, bright and beautiful and full of stars without all the city lights to dim it. How long has it been since I’ve seen a sky like this?
“So, how did your first time on a trampoline feel?” he asks, his arm brushing up against mine.
“Well, except for the possibility of my dinner coming back up, it was amazing.”
“Sorry if I bounced you a little too much.”
“I think I just ate too much. Your mom’s macaroni salad was amazing. ”
“That was your favorite part?”
“Pasta is my favorite thing in the world, and I never get to eat it because I’m always on a diet for my next role,” I say, my tone sounding slightly dramatic on purpose. I am an actor, after all.
He nudges me. “Don’t you have a role coming up?”
“Yes, I do, and don’t remind me.” I probably need to up my cardio game while I’m here to start getting myself ready since I don’t have a trainer or anyone forcing me to do it now. Of course, I might not even have the role anymore. Negotiations could be happening right now to take me off the movie and I would have no idea. It’s so weird to not be in contact with anyone—not my manager, or my mom, or my assistant. And I’ve stayed off social media, so I don’t even know what’s going on there. I’m kind of proud of myself for that, for not breaking down and finding a computer at the hotel to use. Every once in a while, I get the notion to see what people are saying, to have a little peek. But then I remember that a tailspin is not what I need right now.
“What’s the role? Or are you not allowed to say?” Briggs asks.
“I’m not supposed to say much, but you’re already keeping my secrets, so why not one more?”
He chuckles, and it’s rich and warm, and my stomach does a little spinning thing that has nothing to do with the food in my belly .
“It’s a movie adaptation for the book Cosmic Fury ,” I say. “Have you read it?”
“I haven’t,” he says.
“Well, it’s kind of a big deal. It’s a beloved book in the fantasy world.”
“That explains it,” he says. “I only read rom-coms.”
I snort out a laugh. “Ones about rule books and love hypotheses?”
“Exactly,” he says.
“Well, in this adaptation, I’m playing a character named Callis who heads up a team of warriors tasked with defending the galaxy against an ancient evil.” I can’t help the voice change that happens when I mention ancient evil . I do it every time I give the elevator pitch for this movie.
“That sounds interesting,” he says, turning his head toward me. I realize I’ve been staring at the side of his face like a weirdo since the chuckle that did strange things to my insides, and I quickly look away.
“I think it will be good for my career,” I say to the twinkling sky above us.
“Why’s that?” Briggs asks. “Isn’t it pretty similar to other roles you’ve taken? Like the Zenith Trilogy?”
Ah, the Zenith Trilogy. That was a fun one, and where I first worked with Declan Stone. It wasn’t until the third movie came out that we started fake dating, which turned real for a bit before it turned fake again. And then it just got weird, like so weird. Too weird to even think about right now.
It’s all a big publicity game. That’s the part of this work that I hate the most--putting on a show outside of movie making. If I could get rid of any part of the job, it would be that. Oh, and probably not being able to go to Target anytime I want to without the paparazzi following me everywhere.
“Yes, but this one is the most epic,” I tell Briggs. “It’s epic-er than the other ones I’ve done.”
“Epic-er?”
“The most, most epic,” I say, feeling silly but also comfortable enough to be this way around Briggs. It’s refreshing— he’s refreshing.
He turns his body toward me, now on his side, his arm tucked under his head, and I do the same, turning toward him.
“If you could have any role, what would it be?” he asks.
I let out a breath. “I don’t know. I like doing all the sci-fi and fantasy movies, but I think I’d like to try my hand at a rom-com sometime.”
“A remake of Notting Hill ?”
“Heck no,” I say, giving him my best appalled look. “That movie is perfection and should never be remade.”
“Agreed,” he says. “I’ve only really seen it the one time, but it should never be redone.”
“Never, ever. ”
“Why do they keep remaking movies? Have we run out of new ideas?”
“Guaranteed audiences,” I say. “Humans love nostalgia.”
We stare at each other for a bit, the sound of the ocean tides and buzzing and chirping insects in the background.
“I’m sorry about your stepdad,” I tell him after a little while.
I know it isn’t my fault that I didn’t know he’d passed away. I’ve learned to be good at reading people—you kind of have to be in the business I’m in. I’ve gotten very good at catching the small details, the nuances. A solemn glance, a sad smile. But nothing registered with me at dinner tonight. And Briggs hasn’t been very forthcoming about himself, I’ve noticed.
“Thanks” is all he says.
“Were you close?” I prod, deciding I’m going to get him to talk right now on this trampoline under the stars.
He rolls over to his back, weaving his fingers together and laying them atop his chest. He’s quiet for a few seconds, and I wonder if maybe I won’t be able to get him to open up. But then he takes a resigned-sounding breath, a clear sign he’s going to talk.
“We weren’t all that close, no,” he begins. “He was my mom’s husband for more than half my life. But it was mostly strained, and I blame myself for that. It was hard for me to treat him like a father-type person when I already have a dad. At the end of the day, Keith was a good guy. It was incredibly sad when he passed away. Especially watching my mom and Scout and their grief.”
I continue lying on my side, once again studying his profile as he talks. His glasses are off because glasses and trampolines make a bad combo (he’s apparently broken a pair or two on this very trampoline). I like the glasses on him—they only add to his attractiveness. I know I called him cute-bookshop-boy previously, but he’s more than cute. With that perfect-shaped masculine nose, and that well-defined jawline, as well as his thick head of dark-blond hair . . . cute is not the right word. Cute is for bunnies and puppies and little trinkets you can put in your pocket. Briggs isn’t any of those things. He’s handsome. Attractive. Dashing.
“What about your dad? Where is he?” I ask, still looking at his profile like a creeper. I don’t even care. It’s a pretty place to look.
“He lives in Naples,” he says.
“Italy?”
He chuckles. “No, Naples, Florida. It’s a beach town about an hour and a half from here.”
“Oh, got it. So, what’s your relationship with him like?”
“We’re good. I saw him in April. He remarried not that long ago, and his new wife, Kate, is pretty nice.”
“Do you feel like you need to be around your mom because of what happened to your stepdad? ”
He lets out his breath heavily through his mouth. “I did feel like that when it first happened, but I was also in the middle of getting a start-up off the ground and couldn’t be here as much as I wanted to be. It was a tough time for all of us.”
“I bet,” I say. “Your mom and your sister seem to be doing okay, though?”
He turns his head toward me. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You’re not really an open book, are you?” I say, reaching over and poking him on the arm.
“Sorry,” he says, with a lilt. “It takes a lot for me to open up.”
“You don’t say,” I tease.
He rolls over onto his side, facing me again. “What else do you want to know?”
I place an index finger on my chin as I contemplate. “Ever been married?”
“Oh, no. Not even close.”
I laugh. “Me either. Um . . . let’s see . . . last girlfriend.”
“Wow. You’re really grilling me now.”
“This is my subtle way of asking if you’re dating anyone.”
“The last boyfriend for you was Declan Stone, I’m guessing?”
“If you want to call it that,” I say. “And stop trying to bring it back to me. I’m asking the questions now.”
“No girlfriend,” he says. “And the last one was probably three years ago. I’ve mostly been focused on work. ”
“And that is not running a bookshop?”
He makes a sort of uncomfortable-sounding laugh. “No, the bookshop was me coming back home after a business I started in Fort Lauderdale failed.”
“Oh yeah, that’s rough.”
“You ever own a business?” It’s so dark out here in this backyard, I can barely make out the ribbing eyebrow lift Briggs gives me.
“Nope, but I once played a cyborg who owned a trinket shop, and we were having a hard time getting supplies because of an intergalactic war that was going on. So, I’m basically an expert.”
He laughs, and I can barely see the white of his teeth. “It’s . . . a little different than that.”
“What kind of business?”
“Software,” he says. I think that’s all he’s going to tell me but then he takes a breath and continues. “AssistGen was the name. At its core it was a virtual assistant app we designed to anticipate the needs of the end user. It could do a bunch of things, like schedule appointments and manage tasks and even offer personalized recommendations based on preferences.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t take you for a nerd.”
He chortles. “A nerd who lost his company. So not a very good one.”
“I wonder how many times Steve Jobs had to start over. ”
“Yeah, he didn’t, really.”
“Shoot, I was going for something inspiring,” I say.
“Thanks for trying. There are plenty of them out there to inspire me. But right now, inspiration isn’t enough, and I’m not sure what I want to do next.”
“I’m sure whatever you decide to do, it’ll be great,” I say.
He lets out another heavy breath. “I’m not so sure right now. Maybe you should ask me next year.”
“I will,” I tell him, and I mean it.
Slowly, we’ve been inching toward each other as we’ve been talking. Not on purpose, but I’m guessing because of the trampoline mat and probably something to do with physics, which I have zero understanding of, but it must be science that’s happening here. It’s science that’s drawing us toward each other. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. I don’t want to think it’s possible that we’ve been doing it on our own, like a magnetic sort of attraction that can’t be avoided.
Briggs is so close right now that if I leaned in, just a little, I could kiss him. If I wanted. Do I want to? I kind of do. But I also don’t because I already did that once and it was a total foolish jerk-girl move. It was a really great kiss, though . . .
Presley James, stop it right now.
There will be no kissing. I’m grateful to Briggs for wanting to help me get through this summer, and I need to keep things on the friendly side. It’s for the best. Plus, and this is a big plus, except for kissing me back the other night, he’s shown no signs of wanting anything other than friendship. This is a good thing. I’ll keep repeating that until I believe it. This. Is. A. Good. Thing.
Briggs and I can be friends, and that’s exactly what I need for the summer.
I turn away from him, lying on my back, looking at the twinkling stars above us. That was a good decision to put some distance between us. I’m proud of myself.
I, Presley James, solemnly swear to keep my lips and hands to myself this summer.
It’s how it must be.
“You don’t need to do this, you know,” I tell him as we walk back to the resort, the humid air and the lovely sea breeze surrounding us. We took a pathway along the coastline, and honestly, it’s kind of a perfect night.
Just like Saturday night, I escaped via bicycle, which Briggs, glasses restored to his handsome face, is currently walking back, his big hands on the handlebars as he guides it.
“I don’t mind,” he says. “Since I can’t drive you back, this is the next best thing.”
“Do you even have a car? ”
He chuckles. It’s low and deep. “I do—it’s on the mainland. Parked in a lot near the port where the ferry stops. We go there often, since there aren’t a lot of options for food and clothes on the island.”
“It feels so secluded here, like another world,” I tell him, keeping my eyes on the darkened path we’re on.
“It’s definitely unique.”
“It’s also really dark out here,” I say, a little tiny chill creeping up my spine. There are hardly any lamps along this path. Anything could jump out at any moment.
He bumps me with his elbow, and I look over to catch a smile on his face, even in the limited lighting. “You scared, Presley James?”
“No, Briggsy,” I say, my tone mocking.
“Ah, you remembered,” he says.
“I filed it under things to keep forever,” I say, tapping the side of my head.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about the dark, because we’re not really known for crime around here. Or gator attacks.”
“But . . . there are gators?” I ask, moving slightly closer to Briggs. Not because I think he can save me, but because he is much more muscly than I am and would probably be a better meal.
He chuckles again, and I swear the sound is like a warm blanket. I also love how easy it is for Briggs to laugh. I feel like most of the men I’ve spent time with don’t get my humor, or they just don’t really laugh. I think Declan Stone was born without a humor gene. The man is so full of himself.
Briggs and I are silent now, our feet padding along the walkway, with the sounds of the bicycle wheels and the waves breaking against the shore as our background soundtrack.
“Thanks for tonight,” I finally say. “I had a summer barbecue and jumped on a trampoline. Look at me.”
“You’re a summer gal already,” he says.
“I do feel like a summer gal,” I say, lifting my chin.
“How have you never jumped on a trampoline?”
“Neither of my parents had one, and then there were contracts forbidding it so I didn’t get hurt.”
“I’d never thought of that.”
“I haven’t done a lot of things because of contracts,” I say.
“So I’m guessing you don’t do your own stunts?”
I snort out a laugh. “No way. I mean, I’d love to fall off something onto one of those big, huge, stunt airbags they use. But alas, they’ve never let me do it.”
“Hmm,” Briggs says. “That does sound like fun.”
“Got one of those around here?”
“Sadly, no. It’s a very small island.”
I chortle. “So, what’s next on the list and when can we do it?”
“I have to work for a little bit tomorrow, but I have an idea for the afternoon. Should we say around two? ”
I reach up, putting an index finger to my chin. “I better consult my schedule first. I’m very busy, you know.”
“Yeah, right, of course. How silly of me to assume you had nothing to do when you keep telling me you have nothing to do.”
It’s my turn to laugh. Bantering with Briggs might be my new favorite thing.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise, remember?”
“I don’t know why I told you I love surprises the other day. I actually don’t . . . love them.”
“You shouldn’t have told me that. It only makes me want to do it more,” he says. “Just be sure to wear a bathing suit.”
“Something on the beach, then? Wherever will we go to find one around here?”
We both look over as a large wave crashes against the shore, the moon hanging just above it.
Briggs looks to me. “That’s a good question. We’ll just have to make do.”
I feel so light right now, walking toward the resort with Briggs. Lighter than I have in a long time. Like I could float away right now, not feeling that heavy weight I’ve been carrying around for so long, even before that stupid video.
And I think it might all be because of the man walking next to me.