When they’re finally done with the pictures, I start to breathe easier until I realize they’re shooting the commercial now when someone hollers, “Quiet on set.”
I cross my arms over my chest, eyes glued to Lakelyn.
“Hard to watch, huh?”
With a jerk, I look over at the woman that was with Lakelyn earlier. She holds a manicured hand to her chest. “I’m Tara. I do makeup.”
I nod. “Tate.”
She nods and puts her hand on her hip. “Oh, I know who you are.”
I wait for her to let me have it for upsetting Lakelyn. I won’t blame her if she does. I deserve it. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to warn me off your friend.”
She shakes her head. “Warn you off her? That’s the last thing I’m going to do... obviously there’s some kind of misunderstanding or something between the two of you. But I’ll tell you, I’ve worked on a lot of jobs with Lake, and I’ve never seen her happy like she was this morning... I’ve also never seen her so upset.” I start to talk, and she holds her hands up to stop me. “All I’m saying is don’t judge her... she’s not judging you for being... well, you... so don’t judge her. There’s things you don’t know about her.”
I rub my hand right over my heart when Lakelyn is holding the asshole’s hand again. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me those things.”
Tara laughs when she sees my reaction to what’s happening. “No, that’s for her to tell you. But I will tell you that he”—she points to the man with Lakelyn—“is gay.”
With that, she slaps me on the shoulder and walks away. That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Gay or not, I don’t want another man’s hands on Lakelyn. I only want mine.
8
Lakelyn
After a night of tossing and turning and hours of taping today, I’m done for. I know I need to just go back to the B&B and sleep. I’ll have one more day here in Whiskey Run, just long enough to shoot retakes if the director decides we need to after looking at today’s film. But instead of walking toward the B&B, I’m walking toward Tate’s garage. It could have something to do with Tara pressuring me, telling me that if I really liked him, I wouldn’t just give up. Or it could be that I’m just drawn to him, and even though it’s going to appear like I’m begging, I can’t just leave tomorrow. Not without talking to him first.
I walk into the garage, and Tate is bent over under the hood of a Ford F350 truck. He’s mumbling under his breath as he works, and I take a minute to watch him. It’s obvious he knows what he’s doing even if he is frustrated.
“Damn it!” he yells as he tosses a wrench into the toolbox next to him.
“Try the five-eighths,” I tell him.
His head swings toward me so fast I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. He looks me up and down. He’s noticing that I’m in another pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt and flip-flops. I thought about staying in my makeup and updo, but I wanted to be comfortable when I faced him. And me, like this, makes me comfortable.
He harumphs... but he does grab the five-eighths wrench, and he’s able to loosen the pipe fitting he’s obviously been working hard on. He doesn’t look back at me, but he does ask, “How’d you know that?”
I walk toward him and stop next to him. “My dad.”
He nods but doesn’t ask any more questions.
“Are you going to talk to me?” I ask him.
He’s quiet for so long I’m beginning to think he’s not even going to answer me. Finally, when I’m about to give up all hope, he does, but it’s not what I want to hear. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
I throw my hands up in frustration. “That’s funny. I thought we do. Or did kissing me last night not mean anything to you?”
He doesn’t answer me, and I turn to go. “I should have known better. You are a player... you get off on girls falling for you and then shoot them down or something. Whatever, Tate. Have a good life.”
I get as far as the door when I hear the clink of tools hitting one another and then his feet stomping across the pavement. He hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me to him, while his other hand is on my hip, holding me close. His breath is hot and heavy next to my cheek. “I’m not a player.”
I’m holding my breath. My nipples are tight, and my panties are already soaked. I lean my head back on his shoulder and push my ass back to feel his erection poke into my side. I move my hips, and he groans and then hisses a breath between his lips. “Fuck, what do you to me.”