“Will you be here all day?” She takes a step back.
“Just till noon.”
She nods, swallowing. “Tomorrow?”
“Every day for a month.”
Her eyes dance with the widening of her lips. “Cool.” She’s pleased by my answer.
“Cool,” I parrot. Not my smoothest, but I’m beyond playing hard to get. I tighten my fingers to a fist and restrain myself from pumping the air in excitement.
“You still work at the coffee shop?”
“Yeah.” I swallow back the hope that I’ve been wrong all this time. That maybe she hasn’t been avoiding me. “I’ll be there tonight.”
“So, I guess I’ll see you around.” Her gaze sweeps down, the thick lashes hiding her eyes, and she turns to strut away. “Isaac.”
Fuck me. It’s the first time she’s spoken my name. Already I want to hear it again.
Ten
Cora
Isaac leaves before we make it through one scene. It’s probably a blessing, because for most of the morning I can’t stop glancing over to his corner. The spot where he leans against the wall looking like a goddamn model. Seriously distracting. If he were here all day, I’d embarrass myself.
I never have a difficult time focusing. Usually, I’m the one annoyed when my co-star can’t get his lines right or won’t stop glancing offstage between takes, but today I’ve been transformed into that person. That’s what Isaac’s presence reduced me to in a matter of seconds. The power he has is dangerous, containing the ability to throw my mind off track and God only knows what else.
I wonder what he would do if he knew how many times I thought about him in the month I was gone. Would he think I’m crazy? Find it obsessive? Would it turn him on to know I only thought of his mouth, his hands, and his perfect face when I touched myself each night? He’s a man. I chuckle to myself. Of course it would.
“What’s so funny?” Scott asks. His gaze scans the script in his hands. “Aren’t we supposed to break up?”
Shit. Distracted again. “Worried I won’t cry?”
He guffaws. “I’d never doubt your skill, O Wise One.”
“You’re such a dork.” I bump him with my shoulder. Scott and I have known each other for years, being mutual friends through his wife, but in the past month I’ve seen glimpses of why she fell for him. He is witty, but also a big nerd. It’s endearing and a far cry from the inflated ego Hollywood superstars I’ve shared the stage with. He called Jennifer every day we were filming, sometimes multiple times in a day. I expect she’ll be a regular visitor on set now that we’re back in the States.
“Takes one to know one.” He winks, then nods to where Isabella argues with the head sound tech. Her hands flail and she jams one finger at the playback screen, her voice rising. Anyone else would cower under her dominance, but the tech points to the set, his tone giving as good as she does. Scott drops his voice, whispering at my ear, “How much you wanna bet they fuck later?”
“Oh, my God!” I roll my eyes and drop my tone. “That’s such a man thing to say.”
“What?” His eyes widen. “Don’t tell me that’s not repressed sexual energy.”
“Not everything is about sex.” But now that I stare, he may have a point. Isabella’s wound tight, and that sound tech, he’s sneaking glances at her breasts each time her gaze goes to the screen.
“Care to make a friendly wager?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “What did you have in mind?”
“They’ll be screwing before production wraps.”
“I’m not taking that bet.” I roll my eyes.
“Oh?” Scott’s brows rise. “That because you agree I’m right?”
“I’ll admit no such thing.”
He laughs heartily, drawing a few stares.
I cover my mouth to hide my giggle and slap his chest with my script.
“Hey.” Isabella’s sharp yell cuts through our laughter.
“Uh oh.” Scott whispers in my ear. His lips quiver with the urge to smile, but he manages to appear serious as he adds, “Mom kills all the fun.”
Isabella’s heavy boots stomp with her quick gait. She points at both of us, passing by on the way to her chair. “You two ready?”
“Ready when you are,” Scott says.
“Then, get on set.” Isabella accepts a glass of iced coffee from one of her assistants, turning her back to the sound tech she was arguing with moments ago. If she notices his stare, she doesn’t give any indication. Holding one hand in the air, she snaps her fingers. “Come on people. We have a movie to make.”
Eleven
Isaac
Tap. Tap. Tap. My pencil eraser grazes the edge of my notebook as I skim next week’s assignment. I should work ahead. The coffee shop’s been empty for a solid hour and I need to take advantage. A light night of customers brings an empty tip haul, and it’s not as if I’m getting rich with this job. Sleep deprived, yes.
Motion outside the wall of windows along with the jingle of the bell on the door draws me away from my marketing coursework. Hot damn. It’s Cora.
“Hey.” Does she notice the hunger in my voice? The strain. The struggle to not lose myself in her shy smile. To rush across the room to be closer? Instead I control my impulses, close my textbook, and saunter from behind the counter. “Stranger.”
Cora gives a little wave, taking a few steps closer and fiddling with the strap on her bag. She presses her lips together and glances over my shoulder. “Have room for me at the counter?”
I glance around at the empty café and chuckle at her joke. “We’ve been swamped all night, but I think I can squeeze you in.” Out of habit, I walk around to my side of the counter as she takes a seat on one of the barstools. I can’t even count the number of times Cora’s come by during one of my night shifts. The conversations are plentiful. She knows the coffee shop’s menu by heart, but mostly she sips on coffee or tea. Anyone else and it’d bother me—taking up a seat and my attention for hours—but her company is better than any tip.
Elbows on the counter, she locks her fingers together and leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. Her gaze is thoughtful, intense, and I wish I could read her mind. Especially as her lips curve with the hint of a grin.
I lean against the back counter, holding her gaze. “You just finish up at Americana?”
“No. We wrapped for the day a few hours ago.”
“On your way home from dinner, then?” Did she have a date? Who was she with? Scott? I hate how much the thought bothers me.
She shakes her head. “No.” Her cheeks pinken with the hint of a blush, and her lashes flutter as she drops her chin. “I have a little confession to make. Promise not to hold it against me?”
“Never.” I cross my heart.
“I was supposed to go to Pilates and eat a salad for dinner, but instead I hit a drive-thru for a burger and fries on my way home and binged two episodes of The Bachelor.”