Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

He’s wearing dark jeans, Jordans and a long-sleeve I’m Gonna Git You Sucka T-shirt.

“I like that shirt,” I say, going to start my shower.

“This movie’s a classic. Do you need help with that shower?”

“No, lecher!” I yell, peeling off my short nightgown. “If you come in this bathroom when I’m naked, we’ll never get out of here for our secret date.”

“You’ve got a point.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m ready, clad in dark jeans and a statement sweatshirt of my own.

“Zora Neale Hurston, huh?” He nods to the sketch on my chest of one of my favorite authors. “I like.”

“I’m re-reading Their Eyes Were Watching God in all the spare time my boss leaves me.”

“You have spare time?” He frowns. “I must not be doing it right. I’m obviously not working you guys hard enough.”

“Tell that lie.” I chuckle wryly. “I keep a book in my bag since we have so much stop and go on set.”

“You finished Schitt’s Creek?”

“We’re saving the final season. I don’t know what I’ll do when it’s done, so I’m reading instead.”

Takira’s door is closed and when I poke my head in, she’s gone back to sleep. I lock the front door behind me, glancing around the quiet neighborhood to make sure no one is watching us. We make our way up the driveway to the black Land Rover parked on the street. Buried in my script, I didn’t think much about the car he drives when we went to Santa Barbara. Now, I take in the luxury as we climb in and buckle up.

“Nice ride,” I tell him, running my hands along the supple leather seats.

“Thanks.”

“Are you a car guy?”

He lifts one brow and glances over at me as we pull away from the curb. “You mean like do I have an underground garage with maybe ten sports cars? No.”

“Just this one?”

“One other, but it’s a classic. I don’t spend a lot of money on cars.”

“Clothes?”

“No. I mean, I like clothes, but I don’t spend an inordinate amount of money on them.”

“What then? What do you splurge on?”

“Honestly? Travel. As soon as I finish a project, I go somewhere I’ve never been or a place I love to go that has nothing to do with work.”

“I didn’t get to travel much growing up. My mother was afraid of flying.” I smile, thinking of how adamant Mama was about it. “Even that family reunion I told you about in New York. Greyhound bus.”

“Wow. So you haven’t been out of the country much.”

“Does a girls’ trip to Mexico count?”

“Barely. We could drive to Mexico right now.”

“After high school, I went straight to Rutgers. Then I did some regional theater, some touring, but it was all in the States.”

“Now that’s a shame. We gotta get you out.”

“Where would you take me?” I turn in my seat a little, angling to see his face.

“Hmmm.” He taps the steering wheel. “Paris first. Is that too cliché?”

“Won’t hear me complaining. Where to next?”

“Johannesburg. My father’s there, but we won’t hold that against it.” He flashes me a grin. “The City of Gold. It’s gorgeous. There’s several countries we need to hit in Africa.”

“And?”

“Maybe Santorini. One of the Greek islands. It’s stunning. The architecture is like an extension of the landscape. White houses, blue doors and windows. Like sky and the Aegean Sea. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’d love to see that,” I say, my smile dissolving as I realize just how limited my view of the world has been until now.

“I’d love to take you.” He reaches over to hold my hand, pulls it to his lips. “What do you say? After Dessi wraps?”

“Where?” I ask, leaning my head into the seat, watching his rugged profile.

“Wherever you want to go, but first I have somewhere for us to go today, and we’re late.”

“Late? You and your plans.”

“You love them,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road.

I don’t answer, but I love everything about this puzzle of a man.

I’m surprised when we pull into the parking garage of The V hotel.

“We could have stayed in my bed if you were just gonna bring me to a hotel.”

“This is a date.” He parks, gets out, and comes around to open my door. “We haven’t really had those.”

I stare at him for a second, letting that sink in, before taking his hand and getting out. He pulls me close and leans down to kiss me briefly, sweetly.

“I don’t actually care what we’re doing here,” I murmur against his lips. “As long as we get to do more of this.”

He walks us over to an elevator, pulls out a key and turns it in the wall to summon the car.

“Fancy,” I say, stepping in with him. The elevator keeps going until we reach the top.

“The roof?” I ask, my smile broadening.

“We’ll have it all to ourselves.”