“I’ll remember that, Grace.” He smiled sexily.
Double Damn.
As Jack and I made our way through the streets of L.A., we began the process of actually getting to know each other past all the banter. We talked about how long he had been in California and whether he preferred it to London. He didn’t. I asked him about the film that was coming out in just a few months, pretending that I still knew nothing about the story. He gave me the CliffsNotes version. I prayed silently that he wouldn’t reveal anything that happened late in the series, as I was still only about halfway done. I would have to get on that.
Jack had been working in the industry for just a few years, having been spotted in London one day by a casting director. He auditioned for a small role in a movie for the BBC and then began working in independent films. After landing some breakout roles in a few high profile films, Hollywood had come calling. Being cast as the lead in Time had quickly made him an official “star on the rise” and “one to watch.” He called it all “rubbish.” He loved acting, but I got the sense that he could walk away from it all and be happy working on a set somewhere in London’s West End.
As Sunset wound its way through Brentwood toward the Pacific Palisades, we moved on to other matters. I discovered he had two older brothers, and that he had lost his mom to cancer when he was only sixteen. His father was still in London, but one of his brothers was now living here in the States, working for the embassy in Washington, D.C.
We both liked dogs and cats equally. We discussed the last few movies we had seen, whether we liked the current president, and I discovered that we shared a mutual love of Tina Fey. We laughed as we talked about our favorite sitcoms, and argued whether the UK or US version of The Office was better. I thought he secretly preferred the US cast, but being a proud Londoner, he could never admit that.
As we talked, I found him to be delightful. He was charming and funny, yes, but I could tell he was also very intelligent. He seemed interested in what I had to say as well, and I couldn’t remember the last time I enjoyed talking to a guy more.
I had plugged my iPod in when we first took off, and we’d been so busy talking that I hadn’t even turned it on. I selected my favorite “driving” play list and turned up the stereo. When the song came on, he looked at me curiously.
“What made you turn this song on?” he asked, moving his eyes back to the road, which was beginning to get curvier as we got closer to the mountains.
“Oh, this is one of my all-time favorites. This is my driving play list, when I just want to relax. Do you like it?” I asked, tucking my feet underneath me on the seat as I settled back. He didn’t answer, but smiled at me.
I pulled on my ponytail, letting my hair spill out behind me and get picked up by the breeze. I could feel myself begin to relax further and a slow grin spread across my face.
“This song never ceases to make me happy. If I had a top-five song list, this would be on it.” I leaned my head back against the leather seat and let “Into the Mystic” pour over me.
I began to sing as we drove. I could never resist when this song was on. I sang along, keeping my eyes closed as I let my hand trail along in the wind. The sun was shining perfectly, warming my skin and making little patterns on the inside of my eyelids. It was one of those moments when you find yourself and your own little world in perfect harmony. I was content.
I could feel Jack’s eyes on me, and when the song was over, I looked at him.
The sunlight had caught his hair and was bouncing colors of blonde, wheat, toffee and vanilla around him. His eyes were burning green as he watched me.
He hadn’t spoken since the song came on. He looked at me for so long that I began to get a little self-conscious about my singing. Not everyone was a sing-along-in-the-car kind of person.
“Sorry, I tend to get a little carried away,” I began. He took his right hand off the steering wheel and placed it on my arm.
“Shh,” he said softly. “That was lovely, Grace,” he continued, smiling sweetly at me as he lightly traced shapes on my skin.
OK, look. Whenever I hear people say that they felt “sparks,” I usually think it’s a load of poo. I mean, I have felt attraction to people, sure, and I have even felt some instant lust. But sparks? Please.
Then he touched my skin. Purposeful y. Pointedly. Nowhere near platonical y.
Sparks. Sparks. Sparks. Hot sparks. Flashing sparks. Lightning bolt sparks.
Hal Sparks? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph sparks.
We were at the end of Sunset Boulevard where it meets the Pacific Coast Highway. I pul ed my gaze away from his and looked across to the Pacific crashing intently against the sand.
“End of the road, Grace. Where do we go from here?” he asked gently, still touching my arm.
“Gladstone’s,” I croaked out, breath catching in my throat.
Where?
“Where?” he asked, snapping out of his own reverie.
“Gladstone’s,” I said again, pointing to the restaurant on the other side of the PCH. “I need to eat.”
My breathing was finally coming under control again, and he chuckled a little as he followed my finger.
“Ah, I see. Well, then let’s get you fed.” He grinned as he turned onto the highway and into the parking lot.
Chapter 7
Gladstone’s 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 beer 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 would come back to visit, I always made Holly bring me here.
After the waitress finished taking our order, Jack raised his glass of Killian’s 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. I tend to lose control when I hear that song, Although you are really in for it if a U2 song ever comes on the radio.
I really lose control when I am subjected to The Edge,” I admitted.
He thought for a moment. “Well, here’s to me finding more ways to make you lose control,” he said, giving me 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 that same expression Sara had on this morning. They began to approach us, and they both giggled uncontrollably, neither one of them wanting to be the first to say anything. Finally, the bolder of the two stepped forward and said, “Hi, are you Joshua … I mean, Jack Hamilton?” she asked, collapsing in a fit of laughter.
I struggled not to laugh myself, smiling quietly as I looked at Jack.
He began to blush and answered, “Yes, how are you? What’s your name?”
“Wow, I’m Claudia and this is Michelle. Can we take your picture?” she rushed out, with the other woman, Michelle, convulsing next to her.
“Sure, of course.” He smiled as they clicked away merrily, meeting my eyes once and winking. 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 the forward one said, “OK, 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 finished, 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 teased, taking a sip of my beer. When it was just him and I, it was easy to forget that all signs were pointing toward him 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. We slipped back into our comfortable conversation. The fans had broken the tension that had been building all day.
We finished our lunch, and 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 once again highlighting the exquisite planes of his face.
“If it was perfect, we would 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, he began rolling back and forth as well, 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, when I noticed that Jack was staring at my legs. Gravity had pulled my yoga pants higher up, revealing the skin up above my knee.
Thank you, God, for the shaving reminder this morning.
He rolled over onto his side, propping his head up on his arm. I looked at him, but kept my legs in the air, pointed toes 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 stated, 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 started.
“Yes?”
“Did you know that U2 is one of my favorite bands? I mean like, my absolute favorite band?” he asked, his hand dangerously close to mine.
“How would I know that? I just met you,” I asked. I picked up a shell to examine it, and put it down, moving my hand closer to his in the process.
“There’s all kinds of stuff on the Internet about me lately. You could’ve Googled it,” he stated, still moving his hand closer. I could feel the energy between us begin to hum again.
“I think that you should go Google your self, Brit boy. I’m not interested in Googling you.” I frowned, moving my hand back toward me slightly.
“Are you intrigued by film stars?” he asked slowly.
“Not particularly,” I lied. Only one …
“Are you intrigued by romantic beachside gestures?” he asked, moving his fingers so that they were an inch away from mine.
“Nope,” I said, barely breathing. His eyes were actually smoldering as they looked deeply into mine. A piece of his hair had fallen over his forehead and I was aching to sweep it back.
“Would you be intrigued by a film star that wanted to kiss you?” he breathed, his fingers finally touching mine. I paused as I looked back at him, almost panting.
“Mm-hm,” 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 that was still clinging to his fingers graze my skin, and it was cool. I was not.
He cupped my face gently as he moved toward me. 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 vanilla and smoke.
Not icky cigarette smoke, but like 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 then 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 asked, beginning to grin broadly.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, raising my hand up to my hair.
“Oh, Jesus, Grace, a seagull just shit on your head,” he stated, beginning to shake.