Dazed (Connections, #2.5)(15)

“What made you decide to change from modeling to acting?” I ask.

He chuckles. “That still sounds so strange, almost pretentious.” He runs his hand through his hair and bows his head then looks up with a crease in his brow. “I never had supercharged aspirations to be a model and since there’s an expiration date on that career, I thought it was time to start down the path I’d paved.”

I look at him quizzically.

“What I went to college for—film.”

“That’s right—The New York Film Academy.”

He nods. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved modeling and if I don’t succeed in Hollywood, I’ll go back to it. It’s just I’ve toyed with the idea of acting for a while and when I heard Tom Ford was directing a movie, I went for it. Now that I’ve had a little taste, I’d say I’ve been bitten.”

“I have no doubts you’ll be a success. You’re motivated to go the extra mile. In Hollywood that will carry you far,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I hope so. The decision wasn’t easy, but it was the right time.”

“What do you mean, the right time?”

“You know what, that’s a long story for another day, but I can say it just felt right.”

“Here we go.” The waitress arrives with a long thin plate in one hand and a sandwich in a bamboo basket in the other. She sets our food down. “Anything else?”

Jagger looks at me. “Some ground pepper.”

I’m touched that he remembered and can’t wipe the smile from my face. The waitress brings a large wooden grinder and adds pepper to both our dishes.

“Anything else you need?” she asks.

I swear she bats her eyelashes at Jagger. He looks at me and I shake my head.

“I think we’re good for now,” he replies.

I pick up a sweet potato fry and smile sheepishly. “I have a feeling these just might be addicting. Would you like to try one?”

“Absolutely,” he responds.

I don’t know what comes over me. I’m not the flirty kind, but I lean forward and dangle the fry near his face. He opens his mouth and I slowly feed it to him.

He makes a low purring sound. “Mmmm . . . those are definitely addicting.”

My fingers were on his lips and although the air is cold, I feel warm, almost feverish. I sip my sparkling water and lift my eyes to watch him eat. He pauses and looks up. His hair isn’t as styled today as it was yesterday, but it’s still equally attractive with pieces falling over his ears and eyebrows. “So what about you? Your career?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Your profession is much more interesting. Tell me what Fashion Week is like.”

He reaches for his napkin and wipes his hands. “Nothing like you’d think. A typical day would start with me riding the train to the studio to take a test shot for any new campaigns, and then I’d hurry to a fashion show, and then hurry from that show to the next, then to a fitting. By the end of the day I’d be exhausted and fall asleep in the cab back to my apartment.”

Picking up a piece of flatbread, he offers it to me. “Try this.”

I open my mouth automatically and take a bite. “Mmmm . . . that’s really delicious.”

His grin makes my toes curl and then he pins me with his gaze. “Your turn now. Tell me about you.”

“Well, it’s really not that . . .”

The crash of glass breaking grabs our attention as both of us twist our heads toward the noise. A waitress dropped a bunch of plates. Jagger rushes toward her and helps her pick up the pieces.

When he sits back down he leans toward me and I can smell his scent of lavender and sage combined. “Sorry about that, you were saying?”

I breathe him in and then exhale before deciding to share the basic details of my life with him. I start by telling him about my grandmother the actress, my parents the film advocates, my college years with Dahlia, and that it was the impression my uncle left on Josh Wolf that got me my job at Sound Music Magazine.

Our conversation flows easily and time flies by. When Jagger glances at his watch, I do the same. It’s after five and I look around realizing the waiter must have long ago cleared our plates. Jagger flags the waiter and gestures that he’s ready to pay the bill.

As the sun starts to hang low, he stands and extends his hand. With a slightly sly smile he says, “Come with me. There’s something I’ve been dying to do.”

I give him my hand and at the touch of our skin that flutter in my stomach turns into a pounding.

“Give me your keys.”

I blink at him over and over. “Why?”

“We’re going to do something.”

I hand him my keys, again not sure why, but his commanding tone just mesmerizes me. He clicks the key fob then ushers me into the passenger side of my own car. He darts around to the driver side and he unclips the handle above his window and then reaches across me to do the same.

“I don’t think this is a good—” I start to say, but he cuts me off by placing his finger over my lips. I think about how my insurance policy doesn’t cover other drivers, but decide not to fret over that.

“It’ll be fun. I promise.” He winks.

He hits a button and, just like that, the top of my Audi is down. I twist my hair and knot it into a bun, and before I know it we are cruising onto the Pacific Coast Highway. He takes the dizzying twists and turns with the same ease he displays in his confident walk. I take the time to appreciate the view.