Page 20 of Take 2

Chapter Seventeen

“I wish I didn’t have access to dry clothes,” I say as I get into the passenger seat.

“I’d be willing to suffer through being cold if it meant you’d have a pay a shit ton of money for soaking the seat of the rental.

” James was worried about this trip being Preston’s opportunity to kill me, but it’s going to be the other way around.

Preston closes the door behind himself on the other side. “Your priorities are excellent.”

The pants from costuming are way too long for me, but otherwise, my damp hair is the only sign of Preston’s douchebaggery. The top of the convertible slides back, but hair dried by convertible is something that can only come out good in the movies. Mine will be a rats’ nest.

“You’re just upset Chris didn’t jump in to rescue you,” Preston says as he pulls out of the marina parking lot.

“I’m upset I couldn’t pull you in when you helped me back onto the boat.”

“It was really cute of you to try.”

“You know what wasn’t cute?” I say. “You pushing me off the fucking boat!”

“I mean … it was though.”

I sigh and sink back farther into the seat. “The range of shit you’re willing to try to hook me is really out of control.”

“Well, anything with you is like playing darts blindfolded and drunk. The only way to hit the target is to throw a lot of darts.”

“I’m not that complicated, actually.”

A skeptical laugh bursts out of him. “You’re joking, right? Get you things I know you like —you’re pissed. Bring you to Monaco to meet a dream director of yours—you’re suspicious.”

“Rightfully so!”

“Kiss you when you explicitly told me you wanted me to —you complain.”

“What exactly was the logic behind throwing me into the sea?”

“That nothing else works, so why the fuck not.”

“Maybe if it’s so difficult to make it work, it’s not meant to work.”

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Going out of your way to find fault with everything is not fate stepping in.”

We don’t speak for the rest of the drive. Or when we walk through the hotel. Or in the elevator.

Preston goes right into his room without a word and shuts the connecting door to mine. I toss the bag with my wet clothes into the bathroom and collapse face-first onto the bed.

I’m not finding fault with everything . There were no faults with that kiss, though it was still pretty cocky of him to call it perfect.

But perfection is poisonous. When the weather is crappy, being wrapped up in someone else is the best way to spend a day.

Sometimes, the sunshine illuminates flaws.

Surrounded by all things sparkly and grand, anything that’s just fine looks like shit.

Here, I’m like a Kraft American single trying to fit in on an artisan cheeseboard.

Hell, that’s what I am back in LA. I’m never going to be as perfect at this place or The Golden State. And Preston won’t either.

Maybe he knew that, hence the stupid prank. I needed a shock of cold water to bring me back to reality. Or to cool down the burning attraction.

Ugh. Weak as my attempts may be, this is the hardest I’ve ever tried to not sleep with someone I wanted.

And I do want him. Unfortunately, a guy who flies me halfway around the world probably isn’t looking for something casual.

Being on this trip in this place puts infinitely more pressure on it than I’d feel in our normal lives, and I really don’t have time to catch feelings for anyone, much less Preston Greene.

Like you’d have given him the time to try at home?

Oh, shut up, me.

Somehow, he’s caught the barrage of mixed signals I’ve thrown in stride. I’d probably have pushed myself off the boat too at this point. I groan and push myself up. How many of the grudges are valid again? They seem to be losing their defensibility.

On the dresser is a small, plain paper gift bag. I go to it and find my writing gloves. Not new writing gloves—mine. Soft and well-worn with text from “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” printed on them.

He called the airline.

I rub my forehead and let out a slow breath.

If not for our history, again, I can’t deny I’d be falling for him.

Replaying the night he won that first Oscar I was nominated for isn’t doing its job of keeping me angry at him like it used to.

So, am I brave enough to fall? Falling into the intense blue of the Mediterranean replays in my mind.

It was cuter than I gave him credit for.

But isn’t the love interest supposed to catch the girl when she falls, not push her?