seven
Gladstones is one of my favorite restaurants, and although it’s a little touristy, it is perfectly so. It’s an indoor/outdoor restaurant, with a worn plank floor and concrete benches to sit on outside. We chose to do just that and had the entire Pacific Ocean as our backdrop. I ordered a beer immediately, which Jack joined me in as we continued to smile at each other. I know I must have looked like I had fallen asleep with a hanger in my mouth. I could still feel his hand on my arm, as if it had burned an impression there.
Our server came back with our beers and we ordered our lunch. As it was a seafood restaurant, I always got the she-crab soup and the coconut shrimp. I’d been ordering the exact same meal for years. Even when I came back to visit, I’d always made Holly bring me here.
After the waitress finished taking our order, Jack raised his glass of Killian’s Irish Red to me and said, “To Van Morrison, and the sexiest version of ‘Into the Mystic’ I’ve ever heard.”
I blushed a little. “Well, thank you, sir. But you’re really in for it if a U2 song ever comes on the radio. I really lose control when I’m subjected to the Edge,” I admitted.
“Then here’s to me finding more ways to make you lose control,” he said with a wink.
Before I had a chance to respond to that little nugget, I saw his eyes flick up behind me. I turned and noticed two women, a little older than I was.
They wore the same expression Sara had had on that morning. They began to approach us, both giggling, neither wanting to be the first to say something. Finally the bolder of the two stepped forward and said, “Hi, are you Joshua—I mean, Jack Hamilton?”
Jack began to blush. “Yes, how are you? What’s your name?”
“Wow, I’m Claudia and this is Michelle. Can we take your picture?” she said, the words rushing out.
“Sure, of course.” He smiled as they clicked away merrily.
The two women paid no attention to me. They were caught up with their Super-Sexy Scientist Guy.
He chatted with them for a moment and then the forward one said, “Okay, enough. We’ll let you eat your lunch now. Thank you so much. You don’t know how much we, uh, I mean, uh, bye!” she said, turning quickly and then marching them away. They had barely made it twenty feet before the screaming started.
“Oh, man, you really are a hit with the womenfolk, huh?” I said teasingly, taking a sip of my beer. When it was just us, it was easy to forget that all signs were pointing toward his becoming a major Hollywood player by the end of the year.
“Yeah, yeah. The ladies, they love me. What can I say?” He shrugged.
“Ass,” I stated as the server brought our lunch. Then we slipped back into our comfortable conversation; the fans had broken the tension that had been building all day.
After sitting and watching the waves for a while, we decided to take a walk before heading back into town. Malibu was always beautiful, and this day was no exception. I held my sneakers in my hand as we walked along the water.
“This is really a Hallmark moment, Hamilton. Walking on the beach, sunshine, seagulls. It’s freaking perfect,” I said, glancing at him sideways. He was silhouetted against the horizon, the sun highlighting the exquisite planes of his face.
“If it was perfect, we’d be rolling around on the sand together, kissing like mad.”
I stopped walking and looked him straight in the eye. Then I lay down on the sand and began to roll myself back and forth.
He closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sky. “Fucking nuts girl.” He sighed.
“Come on, big boy, get down here and roll with me. I can’t do this alone. Someone will call Baywatch and tell them there’s a girl on the beach having some kind of fit.” I snickered, getting covered in sand.
He laughed and joined me, wordlessly rolling back and forth, making me laugh harder. It was so easy, so authentic, being with him. We both stopped and lay on our backs next to each other, looking up at the sky. The sun was out over the ocean, and I raised my legs. Pointing my toes, I covered up the sun with my feet and then moved them apart to reveal it again. I did this several times; then I noticed that Jack was staring at my legs. My yoga pants had slid down toward my thighs, revealing the skin above my knees.
Thank you, God, for the shaving reminder this morning.
He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his arm. I looked at him but kept my legs in the air, toes pointed toward the sky.
“See something you like, Hamilton?” I retorted, waiting for his witty response.
“You have no idea,” he answered softly, his tone making my legs stop in midair. I brought them back down and rolled onto my side as well, facing him.
“I have some idea,” I said, dragging my fingers through the soft sand between us. His hand began to creep toward mine. My heart stopped, then started up again, crazy fast.
“I was wondering about something,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Did you know that U2 is one of my favorite bands? I mean, like, my absolute favorite band?” His hand was dangerously close to mine.
“How would I know that? I just met you.” I picked up a shell to examine it, then put it down, my hand landing closer to his.
“There’s all kinds of stuff on the Internet about me lately. You could’ve Googled it.” He moved his hand closer still. I could feel the energy between us begin to hum again.
“I think that you should go Google yourself, Brit boy. I’m not interested in Googling you.” I frowned, moving my hand back toward me slightly.
“Are you intrigued by film stars?”
“Not particularly,” I lied. Only one . . .
“Are you intrigued by romantic beachside gestures?” he asked, moving his fingers an inch away from mine.
“Nope,” I said, barely breathing. His eyes were actually smoldering as they looked deeply into mine. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, and I was aching to sweep it back.
“Would you be intrigued by a film star who wanted to kiss you?” he breathed, his fingers finally touching mine.
I paused as I looked back at him, almost panting. “Mm-hmm,” I whispered.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
His eyes were heavy as he gazed into mine. He closed the distance between us and his hand came up to my cheek. I could feel the sand clinging to his fingers graze my skin, and it was cool. I was not.
As he cupped my face gently all I could focus on were the perfect, soft-looking lips that were about to touch mine. I moved in to meet him and then closed my eyes. I knew if I had to look at him right now, I would lose my nerve.
I felt him even before I felt his lips. The energy between us shifted, and I knew exactly where he was. The instant before his lips met mine, I could tell that he was about to deliver a kiss that would stun me stupid.
It was soft and sweet. It was tentative and deliberate all at the same time. He kissed me once, then again, and then a third time, with a little more grrr behind it. His scent, which up until now I had somehow overlooked, filled my nostrils. He smelled like sand and sun and sweat, mixed with chocolate and smoke. Not icky cigarette smoke, but warm pipe tobacco and chimney smoke all rolled into one.
Sweet Jesus, he’s like your own personal s’more.
The combination was seriously messing with my head, as well as making my pants feel excessively confining. We broke apart and just looked at each other. I inclined my forehead to rest against his. Frankly, I needed the prop—I was spinning.
He smiled first, and I answered back with my own.
“Did you feel that?” he asked, concern crossing his face.
“Yeah, I felt it. You too?” I answered, flirting back.
“No. I mean, yes, obviously I felt that—but didn’t you feel that hit your head?” He began to grin broadly.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, raising my hand up to my hair.
“Grace, a seagull just shit on your head,” he stated, beginning to shake.
“What?” I shouted, springing up to run in circles.
Of course a seagull shit on my head.
His laughter rang out down the beach.