15 Shades Of Pink (35 page)

She nodded. “I’m trying to help her catch up on some repairs. I’ll be painting the living room tomorrow, so don’t go and get caught in the riptide. I won’t be there to save your butt.” She grinned over her wineglass.

“Thanks for the warning.”

They talked about her job as a special education teacher and their mutual love of the ocean as they shared a slice of blueberry cheesecake.

“What have you been doing since the
Heartbreak Beach
movies?”

He laughed, bitterly. “Wondering if I should have ever done them.”

She set her fork down, stunned. “Why would you say that?”

“No one would hire me afterwards. I was getting too old for teen heartthrob movies, but directors wouldn’t consider me for any other roles. They thought audiences couldn’t see me for anything other than Jack Tyler.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

He shrugged. “It seems to always be playing on some cable channel. The royalties keep money in the bank at least.”

“So, you haven’t been working at all?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I go on the occasional audition.”

She wanted to ask what the hell he’d been doing all these years, but she could imagine. Partying, reliving the good old days, and cashing in on his earlier fame with easy nightclub hookups.

The waitress came over with the check, and Molly was disappointed the night was coming to an end; it felt like it hadn’t even gotten started.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a great sport tonight. I’m still feeling a little off, and I have no idea what this whole rescue thing is going to mean for me.” He grimaced. “My agent’s probably gonna kill me.”

“At least you’re still alive so he
can
kill you.” Always look on the positive side of things, that’s what Grandma liked to say.

“Good point.”

She insisted on driving home, reminding him of the non-stop flow of drinks that’d been sent to their table. This wasn’t how the dream date was supposed to end, and she was surprised to find the lights on in the living room when they pulled in the driveway.

“Thanks, Michael.” She sucked in a gulp of courage. “I’m glad you made those movies. They meant a lot to me growing up, and they wouldn’t have been the same without you.” Remembering how she played out the scene in her mind every time she imagined a moment like this with Michael Sullivan, she mined a small of hunk of courage and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight,” she said, as she pulled away.

“Let me walk you to the door.” He got out, opened her car door, and reached for her hand.

Instant goose bumps. He led her to the front door where he gave her a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

She’d been hoping for something more like his passionate response back on the beach. But her grandkids would have to settle for the friendly goodnight ending to the story. Certainly, she’d be retelling this for years to come.

“Thanks again,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

“Sure. Great. Goodnight.” She hurried into the house and watched his car pull away.

Then Grandma wandered out from the kitchen. “You didn’t tell me that really was the actor from that movie! And you saved his life?” She clutched her hands in front of her heart and smiled so wide it looked like it hurt.

Molly’s heart pounded, she could feel it in her temples and the headache that was forming. “How did you find that out?”

“After you left, these nice reporters stopped by and told me. They were asking all about what kind of girl you are. So, I showed them pictures from when you were little, and they even wanted to see the copy of Michael’s movie. They took all sorts of pictures.”

Molly tried to swallow her groan, but it slipped out.

“What? I thought you’d be excited. You’re a hero. They’re going to do a newspaper story about you. I’m so proud.”

She forced a smile. “You’re right. That’s great news.” She kissed Grandma’s forehead. “Goodnight. Big day tomorrow. I’m painting the living room.”

They both bustled off to bed, and Molly heard Grandma’s soft snore drifting from the room while she stared at the ceiling wondering what the rags were going to be reporting the next day.

***

Michael woke to a ringing phone. “’ello? He answered, scratching his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me you nearly drowned and were rescued by a fan at the beach?” It was his agent, Larry.

He groaned. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“This is huge news! It’s all over the web. This is the shot in the arm your career needed! And please tell me you hooked up with the girl. Molly something?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Damn it, make sure you do. Someone got pictures of you two going out last night, and they’re speculating this is the start of a summer romance. Just like in
Heartbreak Beach
. Make it happen, and you’ve got yourself an acting comeback.”

Michael rolled out of bed and rubbed the back of his head. “Larry, she’s a nice girl. She saved my life. I can’t use her.” And that surprised him. He never had qualms about who he hooked up with—or why. Why was he feeling so protective of Molly?

“She looked cute in the pictures. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to have a little fun with her.”

“This isn’t how I want to make a comeback. It’s humiliating, that’s what it is.” He shuffled to the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of orange juice.

“Nope. Most of the comments I’m reading on the entertainment blogs say you couldn’t have paid for a better PR opportunity. Fans think it’s romantic. We’re going to get you a new movie deal out of this if I have to drag you underwater again myself.”

“Good-bye, Larry. I’m on vacation.” He took a long drink from the carton.

“You’ve been on vacation for ten years. It’s time to finally get you some work.”

Michael hung up, threw out the empty carton, and popped open his laptop. The pictures were everywhere, and so was the speculation: “Real-Life
Heartbreak Beach
;” “Washed up Teen Heartthrob;” “Mystery Girl Saves Michael Sullivan.”

Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back. Molly probably hadn’t counted on this.

He drove to her Grandmother’s and rang the doorbell. She opened the door, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was in her bare feet, with her hair tied back in a bandana. She was wearing old cutoff shorts, and a tank top splattered with paint. “Cute look.” And he meant it. She looked even sexier than she had the night before in her tight dress.

Crossing her arms, her hip jerked to one side. “I know, right? I told you, we’re painting today.”

“Can I come in for a minute?”

She hesitated. “Sure.” Stepping aside, she showed him into the living room.

“Listen, I’m not sure if you’ve seen the Internet or any of the papers, but I’m sorry. This story has snowballed out of control.”

“I did. And it didn’t help that reporters wormed their way into Grandma’s house last night, asking a whole bunch of questions. She may have unknowingly contributed.”

He nodded.

“How could they think that saving you would mean we’re suddenly dating?” She blushed when she said it, shifting her gaze from him.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, because it would be fun to believe. And I have to warn you, my agent is pushing me to make it real. He thinks it could help me make a comeback.” Now he looked away. Why was he being so honest with her?

“What did you tell him?”

“That I wouldn’t use you like that.”

“Oh. Good.” She stuck her chin in the air.

“But he’s probably going to push the idea anyway. He certainly won’t deny it if reporters ask.”

She picked up a paint roller and went to work on a wall. “And you said you don’t have a girlfriend, right?”

“No. I was engaged last year, but we broke it off six months ago. I was sort of looking forward to a quiet summer on the beach.” He stared out the window, wondering how he’d gotten to this place in his life. It certainly wasn’t what he’d planned.

“And you had to go and nearly drown yourself.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

He felt a grin split his face. “You had to go and save me.” He got caught in her eyes and snapped his gaze away. “Let me help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“More good karma.”

“You do need it.” She handed him a roller and their fingers brushed. She looked down. “Thanks.”

Was she nervous because she was a fan, or was there something more to it? He shook off the idea. That wasn’t it. She certainly hadn’t seemed interested in the idea of pretending to be his girlfriend.

They made quick work of the living room, and her grandmother rewarded them with BLTs for lunch before she wandered outside, probably to give them some privacy. She’d been smiling at the two of them like she believed the news reports about their romance.

He bit into the sandwich, enjoying the fresh, thick slices of tomato. He’d become used to Tuscan tuna sandwiches, or smoked free-range chicken with chipotle Gouda on ciabatta. A simple old BLT took him back to an easier time in his life. “This is nice. I might just hide out here for the rest of my vacation,” he said.

Molly laughed and stood up to clear the table. “Yes, it’s so much more luxurious than your place.”

But that was the point exactly. He hopped up to help. “So what’s up for tomorrow? The bathroom? Guest bedroom? What else is on the list?”

She raised her eyebrows at that. “Oh, fixing the fence outside, trimming the shrubs, a new roof—in my dreams. But I figure I deserve a few days off after the living room.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to go look for any spots we missed and then clean up.”

He followed her into the living room. “What did you have planned tomorrow, then, for fun? Something with me?”

She turned to look at him, and her expression was priceless. And it was even cuter when she took a step backward…right into the paint tray. “Shit!”

Her foot was covered in pale yellow paint up to her ankle. “How am I going to get this off?” She held her dripping foot over the tray. “I’m going to get this all over Grandma’s carpet!” She wiped off what she could on the tarp underneath her, but her foot was still coated.

He held up a hand. “Stay right there.” He walked over and picked her up in his arms.

Sucking in a breath, her eyes widened.

“My turn to save you. I’ll carry you outside to the hose. That way you won’t leave cute little yellow footprints over the carpet. Don’t want to add another job to your list.” She looked up at him, and he fought the urge to kiss her nose.

She exhaled. “Right. Good thinking.” She wrapped her hands around his neck and he bumped the back door open with his hip and carried her outside.

“Shit,” he whispered, as the photographer chatting with Grandma popped up from the picnic table and started snapping photos.

“Oh, Molly! You two look like you’re in that scene from his movie,” Grandma said, resting a hand against her heart.

Molly pressed her face against his chest, which felt nice. Really nice. He’d made it a point never to re-enact this particular scene from the movie, no matter how much his girlfriend of the moment begged. It just seemed too cheesy. And here he was, hauling Molly outside like it was
Heartbreak Beach VII
, for crying out loud.

He set her down on the grass. “Molly stepped in paint and she didn’t want to get your carpet dirty,” he told her grandmother.

Molly dashed over to the garden hose coiled next to a bed of roses and started spraying her feet.

“My, what a considerate gentleman you are. And so kind of you to help Molly with the painting.” She clucked her tongue while the photographer took notes.

“It’s the least I can do to help after what she did for me.” He looked at the photographer. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

The man shrugged. “Mrs. Andrews invited me for an iced tea, but I haven’t gotten it yet.”

“I’ll be right back with that.” She scurried into the house.

“Can you confirm that you and Molly are dating?”

“No.”

The man looked up from his notepad, eyebrow raised. “No you’re not, or no you can’t confirm it.”

Molly was still washing off her feet. She turned to the photographer, the arc of water just hitting his shoes. He jumped back.

Molly kept the hose pointed in his direction. “Sorry, we finished all the iced tea at lunch. Please get off the property. Now.”

The man shrugged. “No problem. I got the pictures.” Grinning, he held up his camera, let himself out the gate, and walked toward the driveway.

“That’s not going to help the cause,” she said.

“I’m so sorry.” He sat down at the picnic bench and sighed. “The spotlight’s going to be on us until something more interesting breaks in tinsel town—and this is a slow time of year.”

“George Clooney could break a leg,” she offered.

“Or get married.”

The doorbell rang and she held up a finger. “It’s probably another reporter. What should I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. ‘No comment’ is fine.”

As she dashed inside to grab the door, he thought about going back to his place in California for the rest of the summer. Molly would never get any relief from this as long as he was around. If he left her here alone, it’d be pretty clear they weren’t a couple. It might be for the best, even though he’d miss the way she crinkled her nose when she laughed. And the way her lashes fluttered when she was thinking something over. He’d miss a lot of things about her.

Molly came back outside with the last person he expected to see. “Larry? What are you doing here?”

“I was in New York, took a quick flight down. Had to make sure you were okay.” His New York accent was thicker than the fog that had settled on the beach a few nights back.

Michael pressed his eyes shut and spoke through clenched teeth. “You know I’m okay. And we’re not faking a romance.”

Molly crossed her arms and looked down, scuffing her foot in the grass.

Larry held up his hand. “Just hear me out. You’ll both benefit from this.” He pointed at Michael. “You’ll get another
Heartbreak Beach
movie out of this, no question. I’ve got reporters calling me already and asking when we’re going to start shooting the next one.” He turned to Molly. “And you, just name your price.”