Page 7 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

I have a date with Jesse Hendry. The Jesse Hendry: famous heartthrob and man of a thousand abs. When I spin and walk away from him, our date arranged, I feel like the sea breeze could snatch me right up and toss me around beneath the white puffs of cloud.

We still have a full day’s work to go first.

And damn, it takes forever.

First, one of the sound booms breaks in the middle of a take. It ruins the footage, and makes the sound department grumpy as all hell. Next, the radios go on the fritz, making Franklin’s instructions extra crackly and confusing.

There’s a mid-morning rain shower that delays filming for an hour; then the sun comes back out and one of the actors gets mild heat exhaustion.

We run out of cookies at the snack table.

It’s a whole-ass day .

By the time we’re packing up the set in the early evening, everyone is crabby and short-tempered. The actors flee to their trailers or to the extras tent, leaving the crew to their manual labor, and there are a lot of sunburned faces and tired eyes all around.

Not me. I’m bouncy and bushy-tailed, too excited about tonight.

“Do I want to know why you’re beaming like you’re in a toothpaste commercial?”

Franklin drops the bulky gray backpack he brings to the set everyday into the sand by my feet. He grabs a trash bag, then starts stuffing it with used cups and abandoned bottles from the actors’ rest area.

He’s the director. He doesn’t need to lift a finger to help with the clean up if he doesn’t want to, but that’s not Franklin’s style.

Our dishwasher at home, now, that’s another story. But hey, nobody’s perfect.

“I have a date tonight.”

My uncle grimaces, his mustache shifting. “Ugh. No details, please.”

As if. The big baby. And he makes it sound like I talk his ear off with these things, but the truth is, I hardly ever date. I’ve never even kissed someone before. Not an adult kiss. Nothing beyond awkward middle school pecks during the school dance.

I refuse to count Jesse’s scripted kiss of life. It’s too tragic, and besides: those damn thumbs.

“Do I know the guy? Or gal?” Franklin adds, hedging his bets.

Hmm. To tell or not to tell?

It’s no use. The gossip on a TV show set is worse than in a small town church.

“You do.” I watch my uncle out of the corner of my eye. Will he give me a hard time over this? “It’s Jesse.”

Franklin stills. He stares at the trash bag in his hands for what feels like an age. Then slowly, so slowly, he starts grabbing paper cups again, stuffing them into the crinkly recesses of his bag.

“You’re surprised.”

Franklin grunts, and I bury the pinch of hurt. There’s no point coddling myself: if Jesse and I ever date properly, lots of people will be surprised to see a guy like him pick a girl like me. And they’ll have plenty of loud, ugly opinions about it too.

“Well, he likes me.” So there.

My uncle’s mouth twists. He grabs an empty bottle of soda and shoves it in the bag. “That’s not the surprise, Darla. I just didn’t think… didn’t think Jesse would be your type.”

Um. Why not? What’s not to love?

His sweetness? His sly humor? Those muscles ?

“Jesse’s a great guy.” I say it a bit too loud, my voice echoing across the sand, and a group of nearby actors glance over. The girl who plays Jesse’s sister on the show, Haley, looks like she sucked on a lemon.

I clear my throat, looking away.

“I know. I know that.” Then why is he ruining this? Popping my good mood like a helium balloon? “But you’re going places, Darla. And Jesse…”

What?

No. No, I won’t have this show thrown in his face. “ You direct this show, Franklin.”

“And I love it.” My uncle tugs at the brim of his baseball cap, dragging it an inch lower over his eyes.

We’re still cleaning up, still shoving trash into our bags, but we’re doing it kind of aggressively, despite our lowered voices.

The plastic keeps rustling. “But part of what I love about Riptide is that it’s cozy.

Familiar. I’ve worked on this show for nearly eight years, Darla, and I’ll probably work on it for eight more.

And guys like Jesse Hendry—like me, too—we’re big fishes in a small pond.

Right? We’re not like you. You’ve got drive. ”

It’s so harsh. So unfair. To Jesse and to Franklin.

And who cares if Jesse wants to play Hanson forever? He’s great at it. People love him in this role.

“He’s cooking me dinner.” I throw the statement like a dart.

Franklin sighs. “Jesse’s a good guy.”

I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We finish the rest of the clean up in silence, and when Franklin shoulders his backpack and wanders away, I breathe out a long sigh.

* * *

“Hey. I was wondering where you—”

I shove Jesse against the side of his trailer by the shoulders, the metal clanging loudly in the quiet parking lot. There are probably people nearby, people to witness my madness, but I don’t care.

I flatten my body against his.

I’m sweaty and red-faced and windswept from a long day at work. My polo shirt is covered in sand and smells kind of musty.

I don’t care.

“Damn.” Two strong hands grip my hips and squeeze. Jesse stares down at me and drags me closer, his gaze hungry. “Hey, Darla.”

“Hi.” A soft white t-shirt covers Jesse’s chest, and I grip two handfuls of the fabric, twisting it taut. I’d never admit it out loud, but I’m kind of relieved he’s fully dressed right now. It makes me slightly less flustered. “Are we still on for tonight?”

The star’s smile is sinful. “Definitely.” And when he ducks his head, tracing the tip of his nose up my neck, my breath chokes off in my throat. “I hope you’re hungry, Darla,” he says against my skin. “I’m gonna pull out all the stops.”

Thank god. There was a tiny, untrusting part of me that was braced for a passive-aggressive salad.

“Oh yeah?” I press even closer to Jesse, sealing our bodies so tight that I can feel his heart thump. Can smell the sweat and salt and suntan lotion on his skin. “Does that mean dessert?”

Teeth scrape at my neck. “Of course. Have a little faith in me, baby.”

Baby. I shiver, hissing through my teeth when Jesse bites down gently on the curve of my shoulder.

We’re shameless right now. Putting on a show. And I’m sure the gossip will spread like wildfire, it might even make it to the gossip rags, but I’m too hazy and flustered to care.

I’m not the only one, because Jesse shifts so that his thigh presses between mine, gathering me impossibly closer. I rock my hips against him and he growls. “What brought this on?”

Nothing really.

Just wanting him all day.

No: just wanting him for half my life , and finally coming so close. Finally being able to touch him.

Then hearing those words from my uncle, and feeling something crack open in my chest, spilling all this warm tenderness through my insides for Jesse Hendry.

“I want a kiss.” I tilt my chin up, aiming for brazen, though the evening sun is in my eyes. I’m definitely squinting. “A real one. No thumbs this time.”

Said thumbs are drawing slow, teasing circles on my hips. And if any part of me still doubted that Jesse meant it when he said he wanted me the other day—well. New evidence has surfaced. Exhibit A is digging into my belly.

“People might see,” Jesse murmurs, and my heart sinks. I go to move away, but his grip on my hips tightens, holding me in place. He lowers his voice. “You sure you want to be seen kissing a guy like me?”

Gah!

My heart feels like it’s been chafed with sandpaper.

“Yes,” I tell him, hating every word that Franklin said back there. What does he know, anyway? “ Yes. I’m super sure. I should be so lucky.”

The smile that Jesse gives me could light up the town’s switchboard, his dark hair tugged by the wind. When his lips press to mine, they taste like salt, and they’re just as plush as they look on screen.

Somewhere across the parking lot, an empty drink can scrapes over the concrete, tumbled along by the sea air. A strand of my hair sticks to my lips, and I swipe it away, then go back in for more.

“Mmph,” I say. I’ve never felt so warm and gooey. I’m a human fondue.

Jesse tilts his head and kisses me harder, moving his hands to cradle my face. And it’s so similar to the screen kiss—the way he’s touching my cheeks, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his face—but it couldn’t be more different, too. The brush of his beard makes my toes curl.

During those takes, I was stiff and awkward, with a sharp knife of need in my belly.

Now I’m relaxed and melting, sighing into his mouth.

Oh, the need’s still there. Believe me, it’s still there. But it’s like he’s coaxing a slow burn out of me, starting a fire that will smolder for the next few hours until he’s ready to bank it into an inferno.

“You’re a hell of a woman, Darla.” Jesse presses the words against my lips. Says them like a confession.

“You—” I break off. You too , I nearly said. Brain cells: overloaded. “I can’t wait for tonight,” I settle on instead.

Jesse’s palm spreads over my lower back, firm and possessive. Every nerve in my body crackles in response. “Me neither.”