“It’s a moped, isn’t it?” Cooper said, laughing in earnest for the first time in hours. “Fuck me sideways, no private jet and now a moped.” Miller shot him a dark glare and shook his head.
“No, it’s the”—he punched the key fob a few times, and I whipped my head back around to see the headlights of a compact Kia flashing rapidly, illuminating the place. He was right, it wasn’t what I was used to, but I didn’t care. There was so much more to worry about than what car took me to point A to point B.
Like the migraine that was gradually forming in the center of my skull.
Like my parents still not calling me back; like the money that would be deposited into my account in a few days and the fact I was going to start shooting the remake of a movie in a couple weeks.
Like Cooper.
“It’s small,” I said, sticking my hands into the pockets of my tight denim shorts. I looked up at my bodyguard and cocked my head doubtfully. “Can you even fit in that thing?”
Miller paused at the curb, lifted his eyebrow at me. “I’ve fit in smaller.” Then he grabbed our luggage and ambled to the Kia.
I didn’t know how to take that, so I just nodded.
Cooper began to walk away. Frantic to make things right, I grabbed his upper arm, curling my fingers around muscle. “Wait, I need to talk to you,” I said. His eyebrow shot up, but he lagged behind. “Look, what happened in L.A. with that kid . . . it wasn’t what you thought,” I said.
A smile quirked the corners of his lips. “I know it’s not. It’s not even about that. It’s just you. You’re going to bring out the worst in me.”
The worst in him? He was at least a half foot taller than my five foot six, so I tilted my head back to stare up into his blue eyes. “Because I’m an actress?” I demanded.
Cooper’s halo of golden hair drifted when a hot breeze whispered through the garage, and he moved his head slowly from side to side. He pulled his arm out of my grip then placed his hands on either side of my shoulders. Tossing a quick glance at Miller, who was waiting quietly inside the idling Kia and glued to his phone, Cooper dropped his voice to an uneven whisper. “Because I can already tell you’re going to give me a hard time, Wills.”
“You don’t even know me enough to judge,” I snapped. He grimaced.
“Stop jumping to conclusions,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care what you’ve done in the past, okay? I’m worried about what’s going to happen in the future.”
I scraped the bottom of my foot anxiously across the concrete as I waited for him to explain. It was the least he could offer me since that lip-numbing kiss I’d craved—correction: was still craving—was obviously out of the equation.
“I make it a point not to hook up with people I’ve been hired to work with,” he said.
My head spun for a moment, and I just stared up at him, letting his fingertips dig into my shoulders. Could this guy get any cockier? “Okay, for starters, you’ve known me for, like, two seconds. Two . . . what makes you think I’d even go for it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re Willow Avery—everyone knows you.” When I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip to hold back a rude reply, he added, “And besides, you wear your emotions on the sleeve of your”—he dropped his gaze to my blouse, plucking a piece of fabric between his fingertips—“flannel shirt.”
I scoffed, finally breaking away from his grip. I leaned back and crossed my arms over my body. “Thought you said I was mechanical.”
“Not when you’re flustered.” He took a couple steps backward, making his way in the opposite direction of our rented Kia. “Goodnight, Wills,” he said once he reached the exit.
“Wait—where the hell are you going?” I called out, frustrated.
He opened the door, glanced over his shoulder, and then said in what could only be described as a Hollywood exit, “I live here, remember? Long term parking, where I left my car.”
No, I didn’t remember that he lived in Honolulu because he’d never told me. Up until now I’d assumed he’d come to Los Angeles from Australia, because of the accent. I watched his body disappear around the corner then stalked across the concrete, to the Kia. When I slammed into the passenger seat, Miller shot me an amused glance that clearly told me what he was thinking.
“It’s not even like that,” I snapped.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he answered immediately, stifling a laugh. He stared straight ahead, but the big ass smile threatening to slide across his face said it all.
Once we escaped the airport chaos, traffic was scarce. I spent the entire ride drinking in the sights as the sun slowly set and chewing a piece of gum Miller gave me. Thirty minutes later, he parked the Kia into a driveway belonging to a small, wood-framed home that was more garage than house. I opened the car door and the moment I slid out, I heard the rush of the sea nearby. I could smell and taste the salt hanging in the air, even though this place wasn’t oceanfront.
“It’s empty,” I murmured, feeling a surge of panic rush through me. It was just after eight and there was practically nobody outside, except for a few kids playing basketball at the end of the cul-de-sac. This place was empty and organized with none of the commotion that I craved. Pulling in a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down, to focus on the positives. Like the sound of the waves.
Loud and distracting, just the way I liked it.