Fall (Seaside 4)

“They don’t feel like mine,” she whispered.

I rolled my eyes. “I know they don’t feel like yours but you have to wear something. You can’t walk around in your smoke-damaged PJs.”

“No.” She laughed softly. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant they’re softer than mine, you can tell they’re expensive.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I really had no words, because I’d never actually been in a position where I was wearing any type of clothing that wasn’t expensive. It made me feel like an ass — a regular occurrence around Priscilla.

She stared at the clothes like they were precious.

Nobody had ever stared at me like that — nobody but her. And I’d broken her heart. Clearing my throat, I scratched my head and started backing out of the room. “Take a shower, put on the clean clothes, and I’ll see about getting you some breakfast.”

“What?” She whirled around so fast I thought she was going to pull a muscle. “What do you mean breakfast?”

“Glad you asked.” I smirked. “Breakfast is a derivative of the idea to break one’s fast —considering all night you fast and then—”

“Still an ass, aren’t you?”

“You said ass.” I chuckled.

“Make me breakfast.”

“Oh, so now she wants breakfast,” I teased.

“Better than an etymology lesson,” she said sweetly.

“Touché.” My smile hurt it was so big. “I’ll just be in the kitchen… breakfasting.”

“And a verb, nice,” she called back as I danced into the kitchen. It took me an entire five minutes to settle down and another five to remind myself who I was and why I was there.

She’s not for you. My brain reminded me.

And my heart, once again, went on lockdown.

Chapter Ten

Priscilla

I’d slept on the couch, so the hot shower did wonders for my sore muscles. I’d felt guilty sleeping on their bed or even in the guest room. Everything was so white and pristine — I hated to ruin it with my presence. It just felt… wrong. And they were nice enough to let me stay.

Unfortunately, Jaymeson did have a point — curse him. I needed to put on some clothes. As it was, I was already going to have to call a taxi or walk back to my house so I could grab my car. I hated to do that in PJ’s that looked like I’d just survived a building collapse.

How did he know it was smoke, anyway?

I wrapped the towel around my body and grabbed my old PJ’s and sniffed. Yeah they reeked of smoke. No wonder. He probably couldn’t stand the sight or smell of me. How great. One of the most famous movie stars in the known world had not only rejected me with disgust but had now seen me at my worst.

Shaking, I leaned against the sink and looked into the mirror.

Big brown eyes stared back at me. They looked afraid. I felt afraid. Honestly, Jaymeson freaked me out more than the fire. I was alone with him and he was… cooking. It just… it seemed weird. He didn’t strike me as the hero type, which meant that this was his way of apologizing or he was trying to get into my pants. Again.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I could do this. I could put on clothes, walk out of the bathroom, and face him.

My entire reaction was stupid. On the outside it seemed like he didn’t affect me, I did it on purpose because he was the type that looks for a chink in someone’s armor. Jaymeson appeared like a goofy player just out for a good time, but he was way too perceptive for his own good. If he saw weakness, even a brief weakness, he’d pounce. And I’d somehow end up rejected again — especially when I didn’t give him what he wanted — sex.

I toweled off and quickly, threw on the clothes, then finger combed my hair. I searched a few drawers and finally found a hair tie so I could put the wet mess into a ponytail.

When I was finished I stared at the door for a good five seconds.

I’d always believed myself to be really calm and collected. I think everyone assumes that when they meet a movie star or someone famous — that they won’t lose their heads and go crazy, but it’s hard. Especially when someone like Jamie Jaymeson was standing in front of you.

It was impossible not to stare.

Believe me, I’d tried.

But he was beautiful. At around six-foot-three, he was the perfect mix of height and muscle. His skin was bronzed but not too much, and he had the clearest green eyes I’d ever seen in my entire life. His hair was usually on the longer side, constantly pushed behind his ears, but he’d cut it since I’d last seen him. It was still long, but one side of his head was shaved, revealing a tattoo on his neck and a piercing in his ear that I hadn’t noticed before. His wavy dark hair fell over part of his face, shading it so that he looked even sexier.

He was just a guy — just another human being.

Just like me.

I pep talked myself for another few minutes then opened the door and waltzed into the kitchen.

The minute I saw him, I froze.

Scratch that.

He was nothing like me.

A pink apron that said, “Naked Chef,” was tied around his waist and he was humming.

Holy crap! Jamie Jaymeson was in the kitchen, cooking me breakfast and humming. My mouth dropped open as he swayed his hips and then hummed something that sounded suspiciously like an AD2 song.

“Oh.” He turned around as he flipped a pancake into the air. “You’re here.”