One Last Time(27)

“Yes, awkward would be a good word.”

It must be awkward for a woman to come face to face with the wife of the man she’s been vying to sleep with.

Scott may have treated me like shit, but Jillian walks on water. I’d listen to him constantly praising how she anticipates his needs and ensures his life is in order since I constantly missed things. In his eyes, the woman is perfect. I don’t think for one second she’s sad. Now she doesn’t have to hide that she wants to sleep with him, if she isn’t already.

“I just mean with all our history.”

“Yeah, it’s been tough, but the kids and I are moving on and are happy.”

Jillian nods. “I’m glad. He’s holding up well. I’m taking care of everything and making sure the weekends he has the kids are clear. I’ll keep him in line.”

Oh, I bet she will.

“Thanks, I’m sure the kids will appreciate their father’s secretary making sure to pencil them into his schedule,” I say and look back to Noah. “I’d love to catch up, but I should get back to my meeting.”

“Yes, of course, sorry to have taken so much of your time. My friends and I are heading to another bar . . .” She looks at Noah with a coy smile. “Anyway, I should get back, but maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Sure.” I plaster a smile on. “It was great seeing you.”

Lie.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Jillian fake hugs me again, waves to Noah, and walks off.

I watch her head back to the table, where she points to us and giggles. Her friends all move around, trying to get a peek at us.

“How do you handle that?” I ask Noah, looking back over my shoulder at them.

“The stares?”

“It’s invasive.”

Noah grips the back of his neck. “Are we back on the record?”

Crap, the interview.

“No, I would never . . .”

“Let me say this, and then we’ll get back to the interview.” Noah reaches as if he wants to touch me, but then rethinks it and picks up his drink instead. “The stares are part of my life. I accepted it when I went into acting and live with it because, if they’re not staring, then I’m irrelevant. But more important, you’re ten times more beautiful than she is.” He lifts his chin toward Jillian’s table.

Confusion fills me with his statement. It came out of nowhere. “What?”

“I saw the way you looked at her, and I’m telling you if your husband ever touched her, he downgraded. You’re by far the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and he’s a fool. Now, we’re back on the record.” He grabs the recorder and turns it back on.

“I-I—” I don’t know what to say. “You . . .”

Noah slips back into work mode. I see the difference in his eyes, but I can’t find my own bearings. He was able to see in just a moment what I thought and felt, then he said something that would comfort me. Who is this guy? Surely he can’t be this perfect.

He probably has a small dick.

If my drunken memory is correct, I already know he doesn’t.

Still, he has to be overcompensating for something.



“You’re sure you want to go for a walk?” Noah asks again.

“Yeah, I haven’t been here in forever.”

I could use the fresh air. We finished dinner, and my mind keeps spinning back to what he said about being interested. I pull my shoes off and grip them in one hand as we head toward the water.

“I’ve noticed that most people who live by the beach barely ever go,” he notes.

“One word: tourists.”

He nods. “Makes sense, but then why live here?”

My laugh is a mixture of wonder and sadness. “I don’t know. It’s like I want the option of going to the beach on the off chance that people aren’t here.”

There’s also the fact that my entire life is here. However, I can’t remember the last time I took the kids to the ocean. Finn used to love it, and Aubrey was little the last time we came, but they have this right in their town, and they don’t get to enjoy it.

“Like now?” he asks.

“Exactly.”

The sun is setting, painting the sky in beautiful orange hues, and the little beach area is empty. Noah and I walk along the shoreline, allowing the water to cover our feet. He tells me a little about the upcoming audition he has and how his agent is pushing him.

I listen, not for the story, but because he’s sharing pieces of himself. Noah’s hand brushes the back of mine as our arms swing. Each time our skin touches, a thrill runs through me, and after the third time, a part of my brain tells me this isn’t an accident.

Sure enough, his hand captures mine. My breath hitches, but I don’t pull back. I stare at our entwined hands and try to slow my racing heart.

Noah stops walking, pulling me to do so as well.

“Dance with me,” he requests.

“What?”

He takes a step closer, tugging gently so I’m only inches from him. His voice is deep and seductive. “I’ve always wanted to dance on a beach at sunset. Will you dance with me?”

I should say no.

“Yes.”

Or I can go the opposite.