Chapter 13 #2
“No, Neil,” I say, a note of warning in my voice. I didn’t want him framing Cindy like someone who’d completely lost her mind, but I should have known he’d bite onto this bigger fish and run with it.
“Yes, Eli. It’ll be great for business, mate, trust me.”
I slump in my chair as the next five minutes are a blur of Dijon coming back to re-powder my nose, the crew rearranging the furniture, and the whole room buzzing with excitement.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out.
REESE: Buckle up!
ELI: I take it all back! We’re not even!
REESE: Eleanor Rigby…
She types out the first lines of the Beatles’ song, making me scowl-laugh. Unbelievable.
Everyone who believes in the ghost nonsense at Rolling Hills—Jude, my dad, maybe Chelsea—says it’s the ghost of Eleanor Cleary.
But before I can say anything else, Neil claps my back, the cameras are rolling again, and someone hollers ACTION! Under the glare of those fucking TV lights, with a face conformed to a deeply serious expression, Neil asks me point blank, “Eli, is there a ghost at Rolling Hills?”
The minute we’re through, I unclip my mic, scanning the crowd for her. I pull my phone out, ready to text Reese. But then I spot her, standing at the back of the crowd, clearly trying to hold in laughter.
My chest heats up with how perfect she looks. How much I love seeing her smile. I almost want to give it to her. But I can’t let her off the hook so easy.
“You liked that, did you?” I ask, scowling.
“I did.” She laughs. The sound sends a tingling skittering across my skin.
“And you know what? It almost—almost—made this whole thing worthwhile.”
That little grin on her face is the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever seen, and between that and the laughter I’m so distracted I almost don’t hear the little voice in my head. What did she mean by whole thing? The show? Or the fake dating?
I want to give the voice volume, but I can’t, not with everyone milling around next to us.
“I’m so glad,” I say. I meet her eyes, but I can’t keep mine narrowed. Not when all I want to do is kiss that smirk right off her face.
And that’s dangerous. We’re not supposed to do that.
She must see it in my expression though, because her laughter fades. But her lips stay parted, and her tongue darts out, just slightly.
My crotch jumps.
“It’s probably weird if we just stand here staring at each other,” I whisper.
“What should we do?” she whispers back, glancing sideways.
There’s a whole fuck of a lot I think we should do. But I settle for sliding my hand over her hip. I run my hand over the warm curve of it, wanting badly to tug her shirt out of her pants so I can feel the heat of her bare skin without the burden of fabric between us.
Then I pull her toward me, gently but firmly, until her pelvis is a hairsbreadth away from me.
“Eli,” she breathes, her eyelids fluttering. She inches herself forward, but I increase the pressure of my hand on her hip, keeping her from touching me. If she does, she’ll feel my hardness. Plus, I want to torture her a tiny bit back. Because at least in this moment, I know she wants to touch me.
I can feel it.
For a moment our eyes stay locked, and I don’t know if she’s daring me to pull her close or daring herself to do it, because her hand slips up against my ribs, her fingers dancing against the fabric of my shirt.
Then my phone shrieks.
“Fuck.” I never turned the volume down from when my phone was in my drawer. It’s a miracle it didn’t go off while the cameras were rolling.
I look down at the rectangle still in my hand, readying to stab it silent for interrupting that delicious moment.
But the caller ID says it’s Sam, the guy Seamus has doing the job at the Waterfront Block.
“I have to take this,” I say.
“It’s fine, we have to get ready to open.” They’ve been keeping shorter hours at the restaurant while the show films every morning.
“Please wait,” I say, taking her hand. “I’ll just be a minute.”
I don’t know why I want her to wait. I just can’t let her go yet. Not when it feels so good to be around her.
She’s like a drug.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, answering the call. “You got good news for me?”
“Do I ever call you with anything else?” Sam asks on the other end of the line.
I smile. Seamus wasn’t lying, Sam’s been perfect.
He got all the materials for the job under budget and has been totally resourceful in making the little project work, with only a couple of emails to me to ask for specifics, as he’s never done a job like this before.
He hasn’t done any job on his own before, but I needed a favor fast, and Seamus said he’d sent his dad over to check in on his work and said he was doing better than half the guys who’d been with him for years.
“No man, you’ve been great, honestly.”
I can almost hear Sam’s pride through the line. “Okay, the good news is, I’m this close to being finished. Like, I think I’ll be able to do a walk-through with you on Friday.”
A little thrill hits me. Or is it nerves? I try to meet Reese’s eye, but one of her staff has stopped to talk to her, seeing I’m on the phone.
I’m still holding her hand, my thumb doing unconscious circles across the back of her hand.
“That’s perfect,” I say. “Hey, is there any chance I can come by and take a peek today?”
“Sure, but I won’t be there; I’ve got class at eleven.”
That was the other thing with Sam, he was doing all this around doing some kind of schooling or apprenticeship. We hadn’t talked about details.
I tell him that’s fine, I just want to see it so far. I don’t know how I’m going to get Reese out of here, but I know I have to show her now, while we’re flying high like this.
Even though she might flip out when she sees this thing.
“Seamus was right about you,” I say to Sam. “I’ll make sure I tell him what a great job you did when I see him.”
“Thanks, man. There’s just one more thing though. I’m doing the hookup with the electrician tomorrow, but they have some questions about the sound I don’t know how to answer. Do you think you can ask Stu about specs?”
Stu’s been kindly answering all my questions about building the studio—he built some himself before he was a big shot producer.
Reese’s staff person has left, and Reese pulls her hand from mine, miming pointing at a watch. I spot that little tattoo peeking out under the inside of her wrist as she does it. The one she’s always touching like she’s self-conscious about it. She sees my eyes on it and tugs her sleeve down.
“I’ve gotta go!” she whispers.
“Listen, Sam, I’ll send you Stu’s number and you can ask him yourself. That okay?”
“Can I call him now?” Sam asks. “Where is he?”
“He’s in LA, but it doesn’t matter. He always picks up.”
We hang up, and Reese lifts a brow. “Who’s Stu, your agent? You get a taste of fame being on TV?”
“Just an old friend,” I say. It’s peripherally the truth. I did meet him once, when he came to one of the monthly poker games I play with Seamus, Ben, and a few other friends. He played with Ben’s band after college, and now happens to be a music producer.
But I don’t tell her that. Instead, I say, “I need to show you something.”
“Eli, no. I really have to go.”
“Sophie can look after things for a bit, right?”
Reese raises an eyebrow. “Yes, but—”
“Tell her I said you have to join me for an important meeting.”
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Is it bad how much I love the curiosity warring with stubbornness in her expression?