From the Jump(64)

“It’s fine.” Deiss steps toward her without letting go of my hand and pulls her into a one-armed hug. “Consider it forgotten.”

We leave her looking slightly less despairing, the door dinging cheerfully at our exit. Outside, the wind has kicked up, bringing a chill to the air. The street has that Saturday night energy, peppered with groups and couples talking to each other instead of hiding beneath their headphones. The car lights bounce off the storefront windows.

“Are you all right?” I ask as we start down the sidewalk.

He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

It’s the same thing he’s just said to Mia, only this time, I don’t believe him.

“It’s not fine,” I say firmly. “You just had an audience full of camera phones pointed at you, after you spent ten years in hiding to regain your anonymity. At the very least, it’s unfortunate.”

He looks at me in surprise, but his mouth curls in a way that makes me think I’ve said the right thing.

“It is unfortunate, isn’t it?” he says, letting out a wry laugh. “Realistically, I know those videos and pictures will get buried beneath everything else that happened tonight. Very few will make it onto social media, and the only people who will care about those are the posters themselves. But still. It doesn’t feel good. If just one wrong person recognizes me, I go from being the guy who owns a record shop to a feature in one of those Where are they now? articles.”

“Is that really so bad?” I’m not just trying to relieve his anxiety. It’s a genuine question. “It’s not like you’re living in your parents’ basement, selling bathtub gin to the neighborhood kids. You own your own successful business.”

“Why would I be embarrassed of bathtub gin, Liv?” He fakes a grin, clearly hoping to distract me. “Sure, it doesn’t sound like the most sanitary of beverages, but there’s something to be said for creating something with your own hands.”

“I’m being serious, Deiss.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But do you really think I’m worried about being perceived as unsuccessful? The problem isn’t where I ended up. It’s the way people treat you when they’ve grown up with you onscreen. There’s this insatiable curiosity about you, this feeling of ownership. The studio still forwards Brendan Davis’s fan mail to me. Obviously, there’s less of it these days. But you’d be surprised. Since Family Fun became available on streaming, there’s a whole new audience of people who want me to say Funnnnn-tastic! on their voicemail or give them a ride on my private jet.”

“You know,” I say, feigning coquettishness, “I’m supposed to go back home to Brantley tomorrow for tea with my mother. A private jet would come in handy. It’s a very long drive.”

He rolls his eyes, but his relief at the change in tone is obvious. “No longer than my drive to and from the airport when you crashed our South Africa trip.”

“If I wasn’t wanted on that trip, there’s should’ve been a lot less guilt thrown my way when I said I couldn’t go.”

He grins. “We were bluffing.”

“Your mistake then.”

“You know I don’t have a private jet, right?”

I grin back at him. “Why do you think I haven’t tried to seduce you?”

“Haven’t you?” He leans toward me, blue eyes smoldering. “I thought that was the point of that outfit.”

My breath hitches in my throat at his implication. And then it swooshes out as another thought hits me. “Lucas Deiss! Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all night?”

He drops my hand. “No,” he says unconvincingly.

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, just steps away from the entrance to his building. My hands fly to my hips, even though I really want to use them to cover my face.

“It is.” If I could melt into a puddle of my own embarrassment, my entire body would be seeping into the cracks in the concrete. How obvious have I been? Could they all see it in my face yesterday at lunch? Is that why he left with Zoe last night?

“I told you to go with Zoe,” I remind him, latching onto the one thing I can use in my defense. “I basically sent you off to sleep with someone else. And now you have the nerve to assume I’m trying to seduce you?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Deiss takes a step back, looking toward the door like he’s considering making a run for it.

A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve done the same, taken a cool step back. A woman should never close the distance with a man. It gives him the power. The smarter move is to retreat, triggering the man’s biological urge to chase. It’s not a couple of weeks ago, though, and I’m done doing what I’m supposed to do.

I move forward, pressing into his personal space.

“You did mean it like that,” I say, my embarrassment transforming into something that feels a lot like anger. How dare he act like I have no more pride than to throw myself at a man who doesn’t want me? I’m Olivia June Bakersfield. I’m the freaking Ice Queen. “And it is why you avoided me all night.”

“I was—”

I hold up my hand to stop him, but we’re standing so close that it ends up pressing against his chest. “Don’t you dare say you were busy.”