Page 62 of Fool's Gold

Me?

I barely think of myself in those ways anymore. Once, sure, back before—

I blow out a breath and say, “I appreciate that.”

“I’m known to be an accommodating man. Not like I lead with it, but I want you to feel comfortable with me. Friends first, coworkers later. If you agree.”

“Well, then, yes, I’d love to see it.”

If I close my eyes, I might imagine he’s right, that we’re just two buddies out for a cup of coffee and a chat. He gives off the same energy as River when she’s got a new book she can’t wait to share.

The entire thing is…normal. Good. The kind of interaction I want to have with a cute boy who interests me. There is nothing complicated or assuming about Jacob. Nothing confusing to shake me and make me question myself and where I stand.

Which in itself mystifies me.

Being with Marcus is hot and consuming. I get hungry looking at him, and it’s hard to breathe when he’s around. He takes up all the space in a room, and I’m drawn to him on every single level. When we’re together, we’re animals, too desirous for one another to come up for air; we’d rather drown.

Jacob is the complete opposite.

Even when he grabs the script from his messenger bag and teases me with the handoff, our hands brushing together, being with him is soft and relaxing. There’s no need to be on guard waiting for things to change. Waiting for him to decide to go cold after he’s been hot for too long.

“Hey.” Jacob lightly touches his hand to mine where I’ve stilled with my fingers on the corner of the first page. “Don’t feel like there’s any pressure for you to agree to this. Just because I think you’d do a great job doesn’t mean it’s a fit for you, and if you aren’t interested or you don’t have the time, tell me. Okay?”

He makes it easy to say no, which is something I’ve struggled with for too long. “You’re sweet,” I say.

“Thank you.”

He pauses there, neither of us willing to break the contact, and in the next beat, he slowly withdraws, but his smile stays with me.

What should I do?

The words blur on the page. I’m torn in two different directions, conflict my companion as I attempt to read. The synopsis is interesting—what I actually absorb from it.

“What does your schedule look like right now?” Jacob asks.

“Pure chaos,” I answer with a small glance up. “It seems like we’re being pushed to finish this shoot in record time. Is that normal? Working almost twenty-four hours a day?”

“Sometimes,” he answers honestly. “It depends on the director.”

“In this case, I think it’s the producer.” It’s an under-the-breath grumble he catches.

Jacob tilts his head to the side and stares at me. “Some of them are known to be hard-asses. You’re going to need some time to decompress after it, I’m sure. Maybe a few weeks luxuriating at a spa or something. I remember after my first picture, I had to take a long break between projects.”

“When does production want to start on this one?” I tap the top page.

“In a couple months. It would give you some time to decompress. Maybe put those beautiful feet up somewhere? You deserve a break.”

I chuckle, lips pursed. This feels…like a soft kind of flirtation. Almost as though Jacob is dipping his foot in the water to see how I react, whether I’m open to those things or not.

It feels so damn good to have a man show interest in me.

An available man, I correct, one who isn’t emotionally shut down. And rather than dissuade him, I flirt back.

TWENTY

Icradle my face in my hands, the headache spreading from the top of my skull to the base of my neck and all the way down my spine.

It’s been three days of this fucking crap, and no amount of meds or booze is touching the ache. It’s rooted down into my bones. How much more of this can I physically take before I break down?

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