Текст книги "Stalk Me"

Автор книги: Jillian Dodd

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Wednesday, May 18th

This is important, people.

Lunch

During fourth period, my cell buzzed with a text. I practically ripped it out of my bag, trying to see if it was from Brooklyn.

I was surprised to see Vincent’s name.

Unknown caller:  Hey, it’s Vincent.

Me:  Hey . . . how are you doing today?

Vincent:  Better. I want to attempt to repay you for your kindness yesterday. Would you be available for dinner tonight?

I thought about it before I replied. I don’t really know Vincent very well, but he seems nice. I felt so bad for him yesterday. Last night, when I wasn’t counting up the hours it’s been since I’ve spoken to Brooklyn, I admit that I thought about him a little. About how strong and sexy he seems, but how emotional and deeply sad he was.

I thought about texting him. To check on him. I still have his business card sitting on my desk. I didn’t, though. I was afraid he’d think it was weird. But what he said to me when he left—about his grandmother being happy he met me on her beach—made me happy. Made me feel like maybe this project, if it does end up coming to fruition, would be something I should do.

The way he seemed to idolize his grandmother, and her old Hollywood-style ways, make me trust him. Make me want to do whatever I can to make him happy again.

Me:  You don’t have to repay me. I was doing what anyone would do. 

Vincent:  I disagree. So dinner? And if you’re nervous about it because you don’t know me that well, why don’t you choose the restaurant and meet me there? 

Me:  I’m not nervous, Vincent. I trust you. As far as dinner goes, how about Moon Beams? We can sit on the patio and enjoy what’s left of this beautiful day. 

Vincent:  I’m glad you trust me. If we’re going to have a relationship, trust is important. Six o’clock?

Me:  Sounds good. See you then.

Now, I’m sitting at our lunch table, thinking about him.

Not really him specifically. I know he’s too old for me, but I was thinking it might be nice to date a guy that didn’t act like such a boy.

Especially the kind of boy that would hook up with you and not call you.

Maybe I should start looking for a man. The kind of man who would tell you that you don’t have to have sex to be sexy. Who would say you have an expressive face. Who would want to risk his dream project on an unknown like you.

I think about what it would be like to kiss a man. A man who looks like Vincent. A man who has more experience than a boy could even imagine. A man who would treat you with respect. A man you could trust to call you.

I imagine being in a scene like the one at the end of his grandmother’s movie. Jumping into a man’s strong arms. Getting twirled around as he confesses his love for me. Then laying me back in the sand and kissing me as the waves curl up around our feet.

Of course, they didn’t show anything beyond that in the movie. Movies from the sixties were quite clean, sexually. But we all know what happened next.

They totally did it right there in the sand.

Unfortunately, when I picture doing that, I see Brooklyn’s face instead of a man like Vincent.

“Gonna be weird here next year,” Cush states loudly, wiping out my daydream.

I look around, notice the empty table, and remember that today is Senior Skip Day. The only people at our table are me, Vanessa, RiAnne, and Cush.

“That’s why we need to plan ahead,” Vanessa says.

“Plan for what?” I ask.

“Who we want to sit with us next year,” she replies in a condescending tone. Like we’re idiots who should have totally already known this.

She gets a portfolio out of her Chloé bag and hands us each a small presentation binder. She flips hers open, and we all follow suit.

Mostly because we wonder what the hell she has planned.

“Okay, so first off is Alexander Littleton. Prom prince. Quarterback. Obviously popular with the juniors. Good looking in a boyish way. Dad plays for the 49ers. Mom, a former Miss Kentucky is on a local morning show. Seems a little squeaky clean for me, but I'll see what I can do with him at the party.”

I flip through the profiles and can’t believe all the work she put into this. “What party?” I ask.

“Saturday night at Cush’s.”

“Um,” Cush says. “I can't Saturday night.”

“What could you possibly have to do?” Vanessa snaps at him.

He looks insulted. “Soccer tournament, all weekend.”

“Friday night then,” she says.

“Naw, I gotta be asleep early. We have to be on the bus at like seven.”

Vanessa gestures toward the other tables. “Take a look out there. All those people are wondering how to take over this table next year. This is important, people.”

“Why don't you have the party at your house, Vanessa?” I suggest. Her house is not nearly as impressive as Cush’s.

She waves her hand. “I’ll figure out the details later. Next up is Isabella. Mother is an Italian movie star. Father owns a vineyard in Sonoma. They split their time between the two, which means their 22,000 square foot house would be a great place to party.”

I wonder if RiAnne and Vanessa had a conversation like this about me before we became friends.

“What about Mallori Blaine? I’m surprised you don’t have her on here,” Cush says after flipping through the pages. “She’s hot.”

“She wears tennis shoes to school,” RiAnne says, like it’s a crime.

“And her grandfather owns a chain of hotels. She always had the funnest pool parties when we were kids,” Cush counters.

“Really? How did that get past me?” Vanessa looks perplexed. “Good catch, Cush.”

Cush and I share a glance. I can’t be part of this. Choosing friends this way. It just isn’t right.

“Um, I have to go to class early,” I announce.

Cush gathers up his tray. “Yeah, me too.”

Vanessa says, “So you took my advice and lost it to Cush? Is that why he’s chasing your tail all over school?”

I suck in a breath of air. Shut my mouth and walk out.

Cush follows me. “What the fuck?”

My eyes tear up. I can’t look at him. I don’t stop at my locker. I walk straight out the back door and run down to the soccer fields. I stomp up the bleachers, sit down, and then put my face in my hands and cry.

I don’t even know what to do. Part of me wants to tell Vanessa that it’s true. That Cush and I had sex. Then she’d have nothing to hold over me. But the last thing I want is another fake boyfriend.

I can’t believe I’m letting Vanessa’s stupid remark get to me. I should be proud that I want it to be special.

“I’m confused,” Cush says as he sits down next to me. “What did Vanessa mean by lost it to Cush? What did you lose?”

I let out a big sigh and decide to tell him the truth.

“You were right about Sander not doing it for me. The reason my hair was never a mess, the reason I always looked perfect was because we never had sex. Sander said he wanted to wait until he got married, but it wasn’t just that. We didn’t really do anything. Like, we kissed. That’s pretty much it. I was frustrated about it one day and stupidly told her. That’s what she’s been holding over my head. She threatened to tell everyone that our relationship was a sham and, even worse, that I’m still a virgin.”

Cush shakes his head back and forth, trying to come to terms with my confession.

“But Sander. He acted like you guys did it all the time. He was always all over you. Rubbing your back. Kissing you.”

“I know.”

“I never had sex with Vanessa,” he admits.

“You didn’t? She told me you did. Said it was amazing.”

“Yeah, that’s the lie. I, um, well, I couldn’t perform that night. It was one of the few times I got really, really drunk. She got pissed and told me I better never tell anyone.”

“You couldn’t get it up for her? Ohmigawd. That’s so awesome!”

“I didn’t with RiAnne either. She passed out. So last year before I started sitting at your table, you guys make a card like that for me? What’d it say? Mom never home. Throws a good party?”

“I don’t know. We started sitting there when Sander and I started dating, but I’ve always suspected she only became friends with me because of my mom.”

“Abby Johnston’s daughter. Yeah, that is impressive. Your mom’s . . .”

“Don’t you dare say it.”

“Say what?”

“That my mom’s hot.”

He laughs. “I was gonna say talented.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Shit. This is a mess.”

“Wanna know something?”

“Probably not,” I say with a laugh.

“I think it’s cool that you’re a virgin. So speaking of big secrets, you do realize tomorrow is Thursday night. You better be taking me dancing.”

I give him a hug. “You wanna chill Friday too? I know you need to get home early, but maybe we can figure out what we’re gonna do next year.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says and hugs me tightly back.

You definitely have the face.

5pm

I pretended to be sick, so Coach let me leave soccer practice early. I tore home, showered, fixed my hair, and did my makeup. Then I stood in my closet and tried on about 37 different outfits.

I can’t decide how I want to look. I don’t want to look so young that he thinks I’m too young. I don’t want to look like I’m trying to look older to impress him. I don’t want to be too dressed up, since we’ll be out on the deck overlooking the ocean. But I also don’t want to look too casual.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I guess it’s the whole movie thing. Although I’ve never admitted it to anyone, I do think I want to act, so I want to make a good impression on Vincent. I want him to see me as old enough for the job, but young enough to have that innocent look that my mom had.

I decide to wear my hair down and straight, but at the last minute, I pull my bangs back into a barrette. It’s windy on the deck, and I don’t want my hair flying all in my face while I’m trying to eat. I also decide on an outfit. I’m wearing a sheer, cream lace embroidered dress. It looks sweet and innocent, but the top is very sheer and kinda sexy. I pair it with some cute brown wedges, ivory chandelier earrings, and cream Gucci sunglasses that have tortoiseshell accents.

I drop my car off with the valet and walk out onto the deck. The deck overlooks the ocean and has great lounge furniture and gorgeous views. I immediately spot Vincent. He’s leaned back on one of the platform lounges that is almost bed-like. There’s a silver wine bucket next to him that’s wrapped in a white napkin so it doesn’t sweat all over. He’s been staring out at the ocean, but he turns, looks at me, and gives me a little wave. Like in case I didn’t see him.

I smile and slowly walk toward him. He looks very handsome in a white cotton shirt, pale yellow shorts, dark yellow driving loafers, and black wayfarers.

He stands up to greet me, gives me a couple air kisses, and then takes my hand and sits down.

I perch daintily on the edge of the lounge, letting my feet dangle off the side.

“I’m really glad you agreed to meet me,” he says.

“I’m glad you asked.”

He holds his index finger up in the air, and the attentive waiter brings us two glasses that he fills with Chardonnay.

When the waiter walks away, Vincent leans close to me, clinks his glass softly against mine, and says, “To the beach.” He takes a drink then puts his head down slightly. Like maybe he’s saying a silent prayer.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” I ask.

“Yes. Thinking about work helps.”

“Oh, so this is about work?”

He grins, takes a sip of wine, then says, “Now that I’ve found the perfect lead, work is about all I can think about.”

“What are you going to call the movie? Hopefully not something bad like Another Day at the Lake or A Day at the Lake: Part Deux.”

He laughs. “Those do sound bad. How about A Bad Day at the Lake?”

“Or Just Another Day at the Lake.”

“I actually like that one,” he says.

“So I don’t really get what my character will be doing besides screaming in a bikini.”

“She’ll kick ass in a bikini.”

“You mean I won’t get a cape and some tights? That’s it. I’m out.”

He laughs again and says, “You’re funny.”

“I wasn’t joking,” I say with a straight face to tease him.

He studies me, so I remove all trace of emotion from my face. Give him my poker face.

“Remind me not to play poker with you.”

A smile breaks out across my face. “I suck at poker. I always smile when I get a good hand. I can usually do a joke straight faced, but I’ll be honest. I’m not that good of a liar.”

“The key to lying is to convince yourself it’s the truth.”

I tilt my head and think about that. “So you have to lie to yourself first. That’s interesting.”

I drink a little more wine. Neither one of us is talking now. We’re looking at the ocean. Looking at each other. Drinking our wine. It’s a surprisingly comfortable silence. I don’t feel the least bit nervous around Vincent. I look at his expensive clothes, his handsome good looks, and wonder why he chose to be behind the scenes in the movie industry rather than in front of the camera.

“So why aren’t you an actor? You definitely have the face for it.”

“Well, thank you. I guess I’m more fascinated with what goes on behind the scenes. And I’m sort of a Type A personality. Very meticulous, very organized. Grandmother said you need to be very creative to act. I’m much more right brained. Facts, figures, deadlines. I’m good at those. Grandmother taught me a lot about the craft: how to spot talent, about the creation of the story—characters, story arc, plot tension, how special effects should enhance the story line not take the place of it.”

“It sounds like we have a lot in common. I grew up hearing about all those things too.” I take another sip of wine, and he immediately refills my glass. “And I’m pretty creative, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how you’re going to add special effects to A Day at the Lake. Are aliens gonna attack? Will I have to fight off a pack of rabid sharks?”

“Aliens. The movie blurb is gonna be, Saving the world, one bikini at a time.”

At first I start to laugh, but he looks serious.

“Ohmigawd, it's a spoof movie!? No way I'm doing that!”

He puts his wine glass up to his lips, and I notice his mouth break into a little smirk. He's got one knee bent up on the couch and I slap my hand down on it when I realize he’s lying.

“Oh my gosh! You’re doing it. You're lying to me.”

He laugh and then covers my hand with his.

It’s at this point I realize that I am touching his naked knee.

And that I probably shouldn’t have done that.

But Vincent doesn’t look offended. Instead he grins and says, “Part of me wants to teach you to lie. The other part of me loves that you can't. I watched four different emotions cross your face while you figured it out. I know you thought it was just a pickup line, but I was serious when I said you have a very expressive face.”

He’s rubbing his thumb across the top of my hand as he speaks. I don’t think he realizes that it’s making me feel kind of breathless.

He leans toward me. “So, just how old are you?”

I regain my composure and whisper back with a completely straight face. “Twenty-one, of course. Almost twenty-two.” I’m pretty good at this lie, because I tell it often. So often, I almost believe it myself.

He leans back on his elbow and studies my face.

I notice he has a dark eyelash loosely dangling dangerously close to his eye. I automatically reach out to brush it away.

“Close your eye.” I gently grab the eyelash when he complies. “Okay, you can open now. You had a loose eyelash. See? Now you have to make a wish on it.”

He leans into my hand, closes his eyes, and blows warm air across my fingers. “I wish you were twenty-one.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because then this would be okay." He leans forward and places a little kiss on my cheek. “That’s for being so sweet to me yesterday.”

“What does my age have to do with a kiss on the cheek?”

“Let’s table that discussion for now. So is there anyone special you’d like to work with? Someone to play your boyfriend in the movie?”

“A boyfriend? Do I really need a boyfriend? I’m sort of sick of boys. You’re a man. Do you treat women well? Different than you did when you were a boy?”

He doesn’t answer. Just raises an eyebrow at me and takes a sip of wine.

I look at the appetizers that were brought to our spot a few minutes ago, at the wine chilling in a bucket, and at the platform bed he chose for us to lounge on rather than a booth or the ottomans. I laugh. “Of course you do.” I wave my hand across the spread. “Look at all this. Boys don’t really do dates like this.”

“Are we on a date?” he asks with little smirk.

“Oh no,” I say, embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant. I know this is all business.”

“It’s not all business,” he replies.

My cheeks flame thinking about being on a real date with Vincent. “Okay, then it’s a thanks-for-being nice-to-you thing. Dinner, whatever.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I’m not sure what I think, honestly. I just said that because you’re obviously too old for me.”

“And you're probably not old enough for me.” As he reaches over to grab the bottle of wine, his hand brushes across my knee. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an accident. “Now, tell me how old you really are, Miss High School Drama,” he says as he refills my glass again.

“You’re serving me alcohol,” I whisper. “Do you really want to know the answer to that? Plus, I can't tell you here; they think I'm old enough.”

“Then tell me quietly.”

I look around and notice the waiter is giving me a stare down. I decide it’s best not to say it out loud, so I put my index finger on top of the scrolling Abby tattoo on his forearm and draw my finger down it in a straight line.

“The first number is a one?” he asks.

I nod. Then I trace an eight and tell myself it’s the truth.

“Well, that's a relief,” he sighs. “People are already looking at me like I'm robbing the cradle. At least you're legal.”

Vincent squints his eyes at me, and I think he’s just figured out I’m lying. Damn, I tried to use my most trustworthy look.

He taps his finger a few beats on one of the pillows. “You’re lying to me. Tell me the truth this time,” he says in a stern voice.

I trace another one down his forearm. Then I trace a six.

“Seriously?” he says, holding my gaze. “You do not look,” and then he takes his finger and slowly traces a sixteen on my forearm.

I close my eyes and let out an involuntary, “Mmhmm,” when his finger glides across my skin.

I should not have done that, because Vincent looks concerned by the fact that he practically made me orgasm just by tracing a number on my arm.

“When will you be?” He traces a one slowly on my wrist.

I swallow hard and try not to act like a horny, sixteen-year-old boy. But I can’t help wondering what that finger could do to the rest of me. What a man could do to the rest of me.

Okay, Keatyn. Stop.

Stop this.

You're being ridiculous. He wants you for a movie, nothing else. Stop with the silly school-girl crushing and be professional. That's Mom’s number one rule. Don't get involved with anyone in your movie.

When he traces the figure eight, I don’t sigh. I pretend like it didn’t affect me.

“Next August,” I say flatly.

He leans back on his elbows across the platform, and I can tell he’s doing some mental calculations.

“So, technically, I have fifteen months until you're legal.”

“I won't tell if you don’t,” I flirt.

“Unfortunately, you will when you fill out the paperwork,” he pauses. “Assuming you'll want to be paid for the role?”

“Uh, well sure.”

“You have to put your social security number down, and we’ll have to follow child labor laws until you graduate from high school or turn eighteen.”

Child labor laws? He’s talking about how many hours I can legally work? Oh, I'm so dumb! He’s not the least bit interested in me. He’s not flirting with me. I deserve dumb boys, not this gorgeous man.

I can't hide the disappointment from my face.

“What’s the little pout for?” he says.

“Nothing,” I sigh. “Just wishing I was older.”

He cocks his head at me. “Are we talking about the movie?”

I just shrug my shoulders and gulp down some more wine.

He refills my glass again.

I know he’s just being polite and gentlemanly and all, but I’m not completely sure how much I’ve had. He’s never let my glass get empty.

The wind blows a piece of my hair out of my barrette and across my face. Vincent slides his hand gently across my forehead, catching the offending strand, and tucking it behind my ear.

The way he touches me is so tender.

Our gazes are fixed on each other.

The waiter comes by and checks our now empty wine bottle. “Another, sir?” he asks, which breaks our little moment.

Vincent gives the waiter an irritated glare. “Yes, please.”

He turns back toward me and says seductively, “So do you want to make a movie with me?”

I answer with a breathless, “I do.”

Vincent pours wine out of the new bottle and pops a shrimp in his mouth.

“I think we're gonna need to do this a lot.”

“What? Sit on the deck and get drunk?”

His face sobers. “Shit. Are you getting drunk?”

“No, I'm just teasing. But I should probably have some water before I drink much more.”

“I like getting to know you,” he says softly.

“I like getting to know you too.”

And I do. He has his sunglasses up on his head now, so I’ve been studying his dark, thick eyelashes. His deep mocha eyes. When the sunlight hits them right you can see the blue of the ocean reflected in them.

“I’ve just decided something about the movie.”

“What’s that?”

“Whoever we cast as your love interest will be ugly, and there will be no kissing scenes.”

“You can't do that if you want a blockbuster. People are suckers for romance. And happy endings.”

The look that crosses his face makes my cheeks feel warm, and I’m sure I’m blushing. “I mean, uh, they like happily ever after and all that.” OMG, I am such an idiot. I can’t believe I just said that!

“I know. I was just teasing you, since you said you’re done with boys. I used to say that about girls when I was in high school. I always thought I was so mature. I wanted a woman. I’ve always kind of had a thing for older women.” He stares at me for a few beats then says, “So, I know you can surf, which would help if I change the title to something like A Day at the Beach, but what other talents do you have?”

“Well, I’ve had years of dance classes. I play soccer, and I've been a Varsity starter since I was a freshman.”

“That’s impressive.”

“I also do kickboxing workouts with Tommy’s trainer. He says I have a strong right hook and a good jab.”

“That’s excellent, since you're gonna kick somebody’s ass in the movie.”

“Tell me more about the script.”

“Would you like to order dinner first?”

“Sure. I’m actually pretty hungry. The little shrimp aren’t quite doing it for me.”

“And would you like to stay here or move inside? Somewhere a little more private.”

 “Somewhere more private. We don’t want anyone overhearing your movie details,” I whisper.

“Good. Because people are starting to stare at me.”

“Why would they stare?”

“I suspect it’s because I look like an older man trying to seduce a much younger woman.”

“Well, you are aren't you?”

He doesn’t reply, just gets up, and gestures for me to do the same. He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the bar.

When we reach the end of the bar, I see someone I know. She hops off a barstool, says, “Keatyn, darling,” and air kisses my cheeks.

Vincent moves past our conversation, but he stops to wait for me.

When I rejoin him, he guides me to a private table in the corner. He pulls out a chair for me that lets me view the ocean, but puts my back to the rest of the room.

“So back to seducing you,” he says sexily.

“So you are, huh?” I raise my eyebrows and smile.

“That wouldn't be very professional of me.”

“I know. I meant you’re trying to talk me into making your movie. Seducing me to do it.”

Vincent licks his lips.

I realize what I just said. To do it. That might have been the wrong choice of words.

I bite my lip, because I’m pretty sure doing it just crossed Vincent’s mind.

He touches my lip and gently pulls it away from my tooth. “I love when you do that. When you try not to smile, you do that. You bite down on the side of your lip. But when you're upset or thinking hard, you bite your front teeth down across the middle. And when something makes you happy and you try to hide it, you lick your bottom lip. It’s very sexy.”

“I think you've been looking at my mouth an awful lot.”

He runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip.

It feels so sensual that I close my eyes, wrap my lips around it, and give his thumb a little kiss.

I slowly open my eyes. Vincent’s expression is indecipherable. He looks both amused and a little offended.

I back away quickly and nervously take a big gulp of water.

“I shouldn’t have touched your lip like that,” he finally says. “I gave you the wrong impression, but you’re right. I have been spending a lot of time looking at your mouth. At your face. I feel like a little kid right before Christmas.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because in you, I can see my dream again.”

We watched the sun sink below the horizon, ate dinner, had dessert, and talked more about the movie. He does have some really cool ideas, and it’s easy to get excited just because he’s so seriously passionate about it. I didn’t drink any more wine with dinner. I realized when we got up earlier that I was a bit tipsy.

He looks at his watch. “Do you need to be home soon? It’s getting late.”

“No, not really. I’m good.”

“Let’s go for a walk on the beach, then.”

My phone buzzes as I pick up my purse. “It’s my mom. I should probably answer.”

As we walk out of the restaurant, I say into the phone, “Hey, Mom.”

“Where are you?”

“Just finishing up with dinner. Why? What’s up?”

“Are you having dinner with a much older, smoking hot man?”

“Um, no. Tommy had a business meeting tonight. Didn’t he tell you?”

Mom starts laughing. “That’s not what I meant. Millie’s friend, Barbara, called her and wanted to know who the hot man that you’re having dinner with is and why she’s never seen him before. She also said she prays he’s your uncle, and you can set them up. Millie said she sounded a little drunk, though.”

“Can we talk about that when I get home?”

“So you are at dinner with a hot older man?”

“He’s not that old, and yes. Bye, Mom.”

“Gossip flying already?” Vincent asks.

“You have an admirer.”

My car is parked up front, so the valet hands me the keys. Vincent follows me to my car. He keeps taking steps closer to me and, pretty soon, I’m leaning with my back up against the side of it. His entire body is about six inches away from mine.

“Is it you?” he asks.

I laugh. “The lady from the bar. You did say you like older women. Want me to set you up?”

“Probably not.”

“So, when will you have the script done?”

“I’m shooting for August.”

“I can't wait to read it. So, I think I better skip the walk on the beach and get home.”

He cups his hands on my shoulders and slides them slowly down my arms. “I had a nice time tonight. You have my mind going a million places.”

“Where is it going?” I ask.

“Just all the things we talked about, brainstormed. I need to get home and write them all down. This isn't a slam to your mom's talent, okay? She’s one of the best actresses around.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll admit we’ve been struggling a bit with the script. I think because I was still picturing her in the movie. And even though we knew we wanted a kick-ass heroine, I was having a hard time imagining your mom doing any of those things. You're right. She did just stand around and scream. Now that I’m envisioning someone else in the role, I can see it more clearly.”

“That’s good, right?”

“You want this as bad as I do, don’t you?”

I smile. “Yeah, I think I do, so you better get finished.”

He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. It’s the kind of kiss your dad might give you, except he holds his lips there way longer than a dad would. It’s sweet, sexy, and sort of confusing.

He pulls back, studies my face, and shakes his head. “Hmmmm. Well, we can’t have that.”

“Can’t have what?”

“I’ve gotten good at reading your face.” He softly touches my other cheek. “This side is jealous.”

He chuckles at himself then gives my other cheek a matching slow kiss.

“Um, so, thanks for dinner, Vincent.” I get inside my car quickly. Mostly because I almost asked him if my lips looked jealous too. I can’t help it. Part of me wonders what it would be like to kiss a man.

“We’re doing this again soon,” he says as he shuts my car door.

Mom meets me in the entryway. “Were you actually on a date? With a man?”

“No.” I roll my eyes.

“So who were you with?”

“His name is Vincent Sharpe.”

Mom squints her eyes. "I know that name."

“You should. He’s been in on the financing for a couple of your movies. He's also Viviane Sharpe’s grandson. You heard she passed away, didn’t you?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t. That’s so sad. She was an amazing actress. So how do you know Vincent?”

“Brooklyn and I met him the other day. He’s buying a house down the beach. Actually, it’s really sad. He was buying it because it’s the same piece of land where Viviane and her husband used to live. He was going to surprise her with it on her birthday next month. He was all alone on the beach yesterday. I helped him spread her ashes. We’ve kinda gotten to be friends.”

“That was sweet of you, Keatyn, but how old is he?”

“I don’t know, maybe late twenties, early thirties. I didn’t ask. And it was not a date. It was a thanks-for-being-nice-to-me dinner. We also talked a lot about a movie he’s working on. He wants me to be in it.”

“Keatyn, I’ve warned you about that.”

“I know. I know. But he owns the rights to remake your old movie, A Day at the Lake. He said he’s been having a hard time finding someone to fill your shoes. He thinks I look like you.”

“Hmm. I know a lot of people say that, but when I look at you, all I see is your father. So are you going to get to see a script soon? Do you want me to call my agent? Is acting even something you want to do?”

“Not yet. The script won’t even be done until this fall.”

“Okay. Just use your head.” She gives me a kiss and says, “I’ve got to get to bed. I have an East Coast phone interview to do at five am, then I have to get on set. Night.” She starts to head toward her bedroom then turns back around. “Oh, hey, Brooklyn stopped by earlier looking for you.”

“REALLY!? What did he say!?”

Mom looks at me kinda funny. “Uh, he said to tell you to come down to his house when you get home, like he always does.”