Now, he was seeing the real Laine. A woman he admired. Who moved him in so many ways.
A woman he could truly fall for.
And, frankly, that made her pretty damn terrifying.
13
"You're really dating Lyle Tarpin?"
It's ten minutes to closing, and Nessie has me cornered in the back, where we've both just finished helping with prep work for tomorrow's opening shift.
"I really am," I lie. "Surreal, huh?"
"Beyond surreal," she says. "How'd you meet him?"
I tell her the story about the cookie dough ice cream, and she swoons against the walk-in fridge. "Wow. I mean, really, that is so wow. Is it serious?"
I lift a shoulder. And then I say the only true thing that I've said since this conversation began. "I honestly don't know."
I should know. I should be absolutely certain that whatever is between us is business as usual.
But then I think about the way he kissed me on the porch. And the frustrated, almost angry look on his face when I mentioned money for sex as part of tonight's agenda.
We're walking a very thin line, he and I. And I'm not at all sure where pretending ends and reality begins.
"Well, I would totally love to watch part of the filming of M. Sterious. Do you think he could arrange that? I mean, they're starting filming pretty soon, I think. And I'm like the biggest Blue Zenith fan ever."
"I'll ask," I say, and make a mental note to do that. Nessie can be a spaz, but she's sweet.
"You're the best. And go ahead and cut out. I'll finish up."
"You sure?"
Her smile practically lights up the back room. "Sure. Just tell him I did him a favor. Maybe he'll toss in a few cast autographs."
I laugh. "Right. See you next week."
"Ciao!"
I find Lyle leaning against the bar chatting with David. I don't know about what exactly, because I heard the words Formula One racing and just tuned right out. Not my thing, but I'm glad that Lyle gets along with my boss.
I frown, because I'm genuinely happy they get along, and that's just one more bit of evidence in the case of Are They or Aren't They? The People v. Laine and Tarpin.
I roll my eyes. Clearly, I'm not doing well on a measly three hours of sleep.
"Hey," Lyle says, looking up at me with the kind of smile that sends sparks of electricity skittering over my skin. "You ready?"
I nod, then tell David that Nessie is finishing up.
"Night, kids," he says, and Lyle and I both laugh.
"I haven't felt like a kid in a long time," I admit once we're outside.
"No? Well, then we need to do something about that." He takes my hand and turns toward the beach. "This way. Unless you're too tired?"
"What? Me tired? I got a whole three hours of sleep last night."
"Fair enough. I'll take you home," he says, and when he starts to turn toward the short route home, I realize that he thought I was serious.