Sidecar Crush

I’d heard Mom and Dad fighting, so I’d walked into town to find Jameson. He’d sat with me at a booth at Moonshine. Bought me a chocolate shake to make me feel better. And the next day, I’d gone home with Mom. I hadn’t been back since.

I’d thought about Jameson so many times over the years. Wondered how he was doing. What his life was like. It was a relief to find him still here. If Jameson Bodine had left Bootleg Springs, the place would have lost some of its magic. It steadied me to know that some things hadn’t changed.

Wrapping my hands around my hot mug, I wandered outside. The breeze was soft on my face, and the sun sparkled on the water. It smelled like summer here, in a way no other place did. It reminded me of those magical summers I’d spent here. Reminded me of Jameson.

I wanted to see him again. Not just a brief meeting in a convenience store. I wanted to talk to him. Find out about his life now. I didn’t have his number or know where he lived, but it wouldn’t be too hard to find out. The cabin we were staying in belonged to Scarlett, his younger sister. I hadn’t talked to her—Kelvin’s assistant had made the reservation—but I was sure I could find a way to get in touch with her.

I resolved to find out where Jameson lived and go say hello. It probably wouldn’t work out today, but tomorrow for sure. Kelvin was busy, anyway. Depending on when Jameson had time, I could meet him for lunch and see my dad after. Or have lunch with Dad and grab coffee with Jameson in the afternoon. I’d be back in time for dinner with Kelvin.

Satisfied with my plan, I took my tea back inside and sat down at the table across from Kelvin. “What’s keeping you so busy?”

He kept his eyes on his laptop screen. “A lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Other than running a multi-million-dollar modeling agency?” he asked. “And trying to salvage your career?”

“Salvage?” I asked. “What do you mean, salvage?”

“You’re at a crossroads,” he said. “You’re not getting any younger, and you’ve never reached supermodel status. It’s a miracle your modeling career has lasted as long as it has.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not personal, Leah,” he said. “You know the trajectory of a model’s career as well as I do. You make it when you’re young and fresh-faced. You do your best to stay relevant. A lucky few get to the top and can still get work in their late twenties. Even fewer will go beyond that. You’ve had a great run, but you’re not at that level, babe. And every year, more and more new faces arrive on the scene. Teenagers with flawless skin. No retouching necessary.”

“I’m sorry I’ve aged so terribly,” I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. “I’m surprised you can bear to look at me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be like that. Why do you think I’m working my ass off to get this acting thing going for you? Roughing It came at the perfect time, but we need to work fast to capitalize on the attention.”

“I’m not so sure the attention I’m getting is good. I think people are starting to hate me. They think I was trying to take Brock away from Maisie.”

“Good.”

“What?”

He sighed, like he was explaining something to a stubborn child. “Everyone loves to hate a villain. You can’t buy that kind of publicity. If you’re lucky, they’ll fabricate an entire relationship between you and Brock on the show. Babe, you’ll have offers pouring in.”

I gaped at him. “I don’t want the world to think I seduced Brock Winston and convinced him to cheat on his wife.”

“Who cares?”

“I do. Because it’s awful,” I said. “I would never do that. It isn’t me.”

“You want to be an actress, right?” he asked. “If your sweet little country-bumpkin self can pull off the part of the vixen on Roughing It, you’ll prove you can nail any role.”

I let out a long breath. He had a point. Although it was supposedly a reality show, I’d definitely played a part. The producers had coached me to act a certain way, so I had. I’d been given the part of the sex kitten—the sultry single girl flirting with all the men on the show. That wasn’t me, but I’d figured it was good practice. And even if the public didn’t know how staged the show really was, casting directors and producers would.