Fall (Seaside 4)

I kept my mocking smile firmly in place, when really my heart was damn near going to pound straight out of my chest. I’d drunk innocence directly from a girl’s lips. I’d tasted purity and ever since I’d nearly gone insane with want for it.

My mind replayed images of that night with Priscilla — the night I told myself I’d just satisfy my own stupid curiosity, only to find that it did nothing but start a burning fire in my soul for more of what I knew she could offer. I’d screwed it up by forcing her to think I didn’t care. It had been the only way, because the minute her body responded to my touch, I’d realized why I didn’t do relationships. Why I didn’t do first kisses and white picket fences.

Most endings weren’t the fairy tale. I knew that first hand. And Priscilla? She’d looked at me as if I’d freaking climbed an ivory tower and slain the dragon for her, not even realizing that I wasn’t the savior, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I was the damn dragon and I wanted nothing more than to destroy everything good about her — allow her to fill my loneliness with her smile.

“Hey, you okay?” Alec squinted in my direction while he and Demetri exchanged a glance.

“Just starving.” I shrugged, my voice croaking. “I should probably get something to eat before I catch my flight.”

“Okay.” Alec rose. “But think about what I said, alright?”

No chance in hell I’d be able to do anything but think about what he’d said, the bastard.

“I’ll try.” I gave him a tight smile.

Chapter Three

Jaymeson

Alec’s words haunted me the entire flight. I wanted to freaking bash my head against the wall; I was irritated that his little speech had affected me so much. I mean, who the hell cared? I could play anything! I’d be whatever they wanted me to be. I’d screw whomever I needed to screw. I just wanted the damn part.

The problem with Alec and Demetri? They were hopelessly in love; they saw things through a different lens, a clouded one, to be exact. Mine was clear, and my goal was clear. Clean up my image, get the part, do what I love. The End. It wasn’t selfish. How could bettering myself be selfish? It was doing what I was passionate about. It was making people smile, making them happy while making myself happy.

I fought the guilt and ordered another small bottle of whiskey. It was the last one; it had to be, because I wasn’t entirely sure I’d have a car waiting for me or if I’d have to rent one to drive all the way to Hell.

I wasn’t taking any chances.

The last thing I needed was a DUI.

“You traveling for business or pleasure?” the elderly lady next to me asked, totally interrupting my thoughts.

“Business,” I said, not making eye contact lest she start screaming my name and ask me to sign her bra.

“All pleasure on my end.” She elbowed me. “I’m going to one of those fancy resorts on the coast.”

“Lovely.” I cleared my throat and tried to look interested in the magazine in my lap.

“Oh it is. Seaside’s wonderful this time of year.”

“Seaside?” I snorted. “Wonderful?”

“Oh yes.” She sighed, “My honey and I used to take long walks on that beach, camp out in the sand at midnight.” She shivered. “Kiss under the stars.”

She kept reminiscing.

And I kept staring at the magazine. Praying my mind would — at some point in my life — rid itself of the memory of Priscilla’s kiss.

Her touch.

Her scent.

Everything about her that made my heart clench in my chest. Funny how one girl, one moment can change your life forever. She probably hated me.

And I couldn’t blame her.

But it was easier to hate someone than deal with having a broken heart. And I knew it was best. What I did was for both of us. But mainly, it was for her. She was lucky I rejected her.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” the chatty woman asked.

“No. I don’t.”

“Oh that’s alright.” She patted my arm. “You have plenty of time to settle down.”

“Right.” I offered her a smile.

Her eyebrows knit together. “You look famous.”

“I am famous.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah.” I smiled for real this time. “It is.”

“Have I seen any of your movies?”

“I’m not sure.”

She seemed to think about this for a minute. “If I text my grandkids and say I sat next to you will they scream?”

I smirked. “How old are they?”

“Fourteen.”

“Yeah.” I laughed. “Lots of high pitched screaming.”

“Can I have your autograph? Or do you get tired of people asking you that? I don’t mean to be a bother…”

I reached into my carry-on and pulled out two pictures, signing them with long fluid letters and then pulled out my phone and took a picture. “Give me your email and I’ll send this to you.”

“I can’t believe—” she dabbed her eyes, “You would do that, you don’t even know me.”

“Yeah I do.” I held out my hand. “Jamie Jaymeson.”

She blanched.

Holy shit. She was having a stroke.

I was about ready to yell for someone when she threw her bony arms around me and whispered in my ear, “I just loved you in that Romeo and Juliet remake — I can die happy now.” She squeezed me so tight I had trouble breathing.