Capture (Seaside Pictures 1)

I hadn't been lying about needing something to help me fall asleep.

But first days on set always brought on a lot of anxiety and nervousness.

It was like going to the first day of school all over again. Will they like me? Will I completely suck? Who do I sit with at lunch?

Groaning, I tossed the pillow to the floor and got up to pour myself a glass of wine. At least that would help me relax a bit.

And, hopefully, take my mind off the girl who had no problem texting her words, but for the life of her, couldn't speak them.

LINCOLN: PICK YOUR POISON.

I texted her a picture of Starbucks and waited for her to answer back.

Dani: Sugar and caffeine — surprise me.

I was still grinning at my phone when the barista asked for my order, and, because my brain was still on that same vacation from yesterday, my mind went completely blank.

"Uh." Great start. And I had to actually spout out lines today about true love? Kill me now.

"Lincoln?" Jo-Jo's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. "Lincoln, is that you?" Like five hundred nails getting simultaneously dragged down the chalkboard. On repeat. "Lincoln?" Five hundred times.

"Yup?" I turned around and forced an easy smile, even though I really wanted to jump over the counter, steal the barista's apron and visor, and yell, "Doppelganger!"

With a very practiced pout, Jo-Jo pressed her lips together, then made a grand show of swiveling her hips as she walked toward me. "You didn't text last night."

"Fell asleep," I lied, backing toward the counter. Maybe the barista would take pity on me and dump hot coffee on my hand so I had an out clause.

"Oh." Jo-Jo frowned. "Well, I have some time this morning if you want to do something?"

"Can't." I gave her my shoulder. "I'm meeting with my new assistant then driving down to set."

"In your truck?"

What was with her and my truck?

"Yes." I mouthed "Sorry" to the barista, while the line tripled in size. I moved my lips to order, but Jo-Jo interrupted me. Again.

"Oh, well…" She ran her nails down my arm. "… guess we can take a selfie here. It won't have the desired effect spending the day with me would, but it's better than nothing." Before I could protest, she lifted her phone and pointed it at us, snapped a picture of her kissing my cheek, and then slapped my ass. "Great. We'll be in touch."

My ass was tingling — and not in a good way. More like a warning that it might actually cease to exist if she tried to touch it again.

"Dude, you gonna order or what?" The barista tapped his marker against one of the cups and narrowed his eyes at me.

"Yeah." I choked. "Two grande vanilla lattes. Triple shot."

I slipped him a hundred while he wrote down my order, and whispered, "For the customers behind me."

He stared at the hundred-dollar bill, then narrowed his eyes. I fumbled with my sunglasses as recognition dawned on his face. "Dude, you're Lincoln Greene!"

"Shh." I waved my hands in front of me and pasted a fake smile on my face. "Let's keep that between you and me, man. That okay?"

"Sure." He licked his lips and slid the black marker toward me. "But can I have your autograph?"

"Yeah." I quickly scribbled my name on the cup he'd handed me and went to wait for the drinks.

Portland people didn't care about my celebrity status. I'd been asked for my autograph more when I was in Hollywood. Maybe they didn't care, or maybe they really were high all the time as Jaymeson believed.

He said filming between Portland and Seaside would be like a vacation, and I was starting to believe it.

Damn, I needed one of those.

"Lincoln…" The barista nodded to me and called out my drinks. "… you're up, bro, and thanks for being so cool."

"Sure, man." I grabbed my drinks and jogged out of the coffee shop to my waiting truck, a little too eager to meet Dani and irritated that I was excited to meet my assistant. I took a misstep and nearly dropped the lattes all over the pavement.

My assistant.

She intrigued me.

And it wasn't because she hadn't thrown herself at me. Plenty of girls kept their distance. I mean, granted most of them were usually blind or over the age of eighty, but still. It's not like I'd never been rejected.

It just didn't happen often.

I started the quick drive back to my apartment, tapping my fingers against the wheel, nervous energy pouring out of me. It wasn't Dani. It was the movie.

And the stupid part I had to play.

My stomach clenched.

Ha, well at least I'd found the object of my nervousness. The fact that I had to play a brooding alpha male who vies for the girl's attention. I was the second half of the love story, the guy every girl roots for even though she knows he's bad… the unredeemable. Hell, give me a motorcycle and a leather jacket and I'd be all set.

I'd played that character before.

But something about this specific one, Dean Elis, bothered me. He was so… passionate. About everything. Not just about the girl but about life in general. I'd never experienced that type of passion. In fact, I was pretty sure experiencing that much passion in a lifetime was unhealthy. And I'd never been in love, not that it had ever been a problem for me to play the shit out of the part.

But sometimes, it made me feel like a fraud.