I decided not to tell him how Cooper had made me practice pop ups for days and switched the game on me with paddle boarding at one point. “We tackled small waves today,” I said. It was the truth and I’d only fallen once, taking in a mouthful of salt. Cooper had told me I looked better than some of the people he’d trained for months, and I’d blushed like an idiot.
No matter how much I pushed him away, that guy was slowly unraveling me.
“Small waves are good,” Kevin spoke up enthusiastically, and I imagined him fidgeting with his lower lip as he prayed I wouldn’t say anything screwed up during this call.
“I completely agree,” Dickson said. He hesitated for a moment, then he asked, “And you’ve got the script down?”
“Not only have I watched the original like 20 times now, I know Alyssa Mayer better than I know Willow Avery,” I said, referring to the girl I was about to become for at least the next month and a half of my life, maybe even more. I liked the escape of being someone else for a little while, even if that imaginary person had already been played by another actress.
Dickson sighed. “Perfect. I’ve got to go to dinner with my wife, but I’ll see you at the end of the weekend. You be good, Willow.”
“Can’t wait,” I said. As soon as the conference call was disconnected, Kevin called me back and asked a million more questions. I answered them as I shuffled around the kitchen preparing my dinner—tilapia and half a baked sweet potato.
As I stared at the fish in my plate, I found myself wondering what Cooper, Paige, and Eric were eating tonight.
“Willow? Willow?”
I sat down alone at the kitchen table and pulled a rush of air through my clenched teeth. “Yes?”
“You’re distant tonight. You’re not . . . doing anything are you? Tom Miller refuses to answer any of my messages so . . .”
Dropping my fork onto my plate, I demanded. “You’re pumping my bodyguard about me?”
Kevin was unapologetic. “We need you at your best for this film.”
“Thanks for f**king believing in me, but the answer is no, I’m not on anything. Leave Miller alone.”
When we hung up shortly thereafter, I hoped Kevin wouldn’t call back anytime soon. I knew he meant well—in his own way—but space from him was often a good thing.
The next morning, when Miller came downstairs to take me to surf lessons, the conversation with Kevin was still fresh on my mind. “Not quite done dressing,” I said, holding the door open for him to come inside. He sat in the recliner close to the door, staring at the toes of his white, K-Swiss sneakers as I rushed to find the black tank top I’d picked out for myself earlier. When I located it between the couch and one of the side tables, I heaved a sigh.
“I need to clean up,” I muttered and Miller shook his head in agreement. After I pulled the top over my head and tied my dark hair up into a high ponytail, I sighed. “Miller, I’m just going to get this out right now—thank you.”
He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head to one side. “For what?”
“For making these last several days not completely suck. For not wanting to . . . well, you know. For not reporting my every move to my agent.”
Miller had tanned recently at the nearby gym he’d joined, but his flush was still vivid. He shuffled his feet together. “Have to say, Willow, you’re creeping me out.”
“I know that I can be . . .” The words Cooper had directed at me played in my mind again, and I trembled before slinking down on the edge of the couch to put on my shoes. “I know that I’m difficult, but thanks for not talking to my agent about me.”
Miller lifted his giant shoulders. “I’m here for you. Not your agent or your parents or James Dickson. And truth be told, I’m doing a shitty job.”
Biting my lip, I frowned and clutched my flip flop, bending the rubbery material. “What do you mean?” Had I misread him?
“You’re not exactly hard to guard. You go to your lessons, to your community service, and you go home.”
Relaxing, I slid my shoe on and grabbed my bag from the floor. “Thanks for reminding how boring I am.” When I winked at him, he chuckled. “Ready?” I asked, walking to the front door.
“You’ve got it, boss.”
When we arrived at Cooper’s place, not only was Paige’s gray Grand Caravan there, parked behind Eric’s truck, but when I went inside, Cooper met me in the foyer with his finger over his mouth.
“They’re asleep in the den,” he mouthed, sliding his hand into mine to guide me outside. Delicious tingles crept up my arm, through the rest of my body, and as the warning bells in my head went off, I ignored them. “Ready to bomb?” he asked once we were on the deck. I cocked an eyebrow and he laughed, shaking his head. “Shit, surfer talk. Um . . . you ready to try a big wave?”
“Totally amped,” I said.
As he turned to pick up our boards from the deck floor, I stopped him, wrapping my fingertips around his forearm. He stared at me with questioning eyes as I leaned in close to finally read the tattoo running up his side. “And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over,” I murmured aloud.
“It’s a quote. John Masefield.”
Nodding, I took things a step further, reaching out to touch him. He went still, but he didn’t stop me as I traced my fingertip over each intricate letter.
“If that were only your tongue,” he said once I was finished. He grabbed the boards and stood to face me. Even though there were several inches of fiberglass wedged between our bodies, I could practically feel his on top of mine. I wet my lips, and he groaned. “I wasn’t exactly talking about on your own lips, but that works.”