Page 85 of A Lucky Shot

“No problem,” she said breezily. “I’ll be in my trailer.”

Josh didn’t watch her leave, and gloated down at Cass, trying to keep his dimples under wraps. It almost worked, only the tiniest of divots showing.

“The dead awaken.”

Cass rubbed her eyes. “Dead is right. Awakened, unclear. I expect a recovery sometime in the next two to three business days. At least I’ll have an excuse not to go on any dates for a bit.”

The shadow of the dimples melted away as his face darkened. “About that?—”

“I think I could use some time off. From the dating blitz.”

She’d thought about it as soon as the ibuprofen and first sips of caffeine cleared the worst of her fog that morning. Libby was right. Cass had wasted her time on guys that didn’t care for her, and for what? It was hard to say if it worked or not. Sure, she’d met a bunch of jerks, and a few who just weren’t right for her, but here she was, a handful of months later, and she’d sure spotted the same lines coming from a few different mouths. They must have studied the same “How to Gaslight Women into Sleeping with You” bible.

But this time, Cass had seen it coming, swallowing a shout of Aha! like an old-timey detective and filing it away for evidence of their habits. And darn if a lot of those one-liners didn’t sound a lot like Nick.

Honestly, she’d heard a few of those lines coming from Josh’s mouth that first day they met, but she wouldn’t let herself feel foolish for falling for it then. She’d wanted him so much and she had nearly chipped an incisor tugging his zipper down with her teeth as soon as they’d gotten to his place.

So much for keeping their perfect night as a pristine memory.

Nick’s text had sent her into a panic. Full fluttering hands, scampering in a circle of panic. It seemed so stupid now. But really, had she felt the usual tightening in her chest at seeing his name? Or thought maybe this was the time he declared he wanted her for real? Or thought about how good in bed they’d used to be?

Cass pulled up with a start. She was thinking in the past tense. How good they used to be; not how good they were. And no. The usual flutters of excitement and hope hadn’t clouded her judgement, her fear that his text might stir those feelings had sent her into a frenzy yesterday.

Did the No Second Dates fiasco actually work?

“Nick texted. I answered, but I didn’t sleep with him. That’s a win, right?”

A fleeting look crossed his features that Cass couldn’t identify. “I’d say that’s a win.”

“Who knows, maybe I didn’t need thirty dates to get over him after all. I got it done in twenty.”

“Aren’t you an overachiever?” he said with a wry grin.

Sure, that was her. Aiming for the stars. She had nothing near a full smile in her, and rolling her eyes might make her nauseated again, so she just quirked her lips at him. Let him interpret that as he liked.

“Then project No Second Dates is over. Congratulations. You’re over fuckboys.” His arms flexed as he tightened them across his chest, and asked, “This isn’t because you found someone that you want to start seeing regularly, is it?”

“The opposite, actually. I’m thinking I can’t really be trusted to make good decisions about men right now.” Or ever. Or at least until filming was over. The one person she couldn’t stop thinking about, right in front of her, had no interest. She wasn’t going to subject herself to any more agony if she could help it. Besides, there was that whole inconvenience of a province separating them. Cass would have snorted if it wouldn’t have upset her delicate stomach.

“I think I asked a guy to write me sonnets last night, and that is not an embarrassment I’ll forget anytime soon.”

“Oof, so no memory loss?”

“No, I remember everything.” Every single cutting remark from the jerk who had seen her photo and thought her interesting enough to spend a couple of hours with. Who had known what she looked like, and still decided to show up and insult her. Every embarrassing gaff she’d uttered to Josh, who had to deal with a drunken, horny mess and fend off her advances. Humiliating. Cass shrugged her shoulders. “And if I did ask you to write me Shakespearean poetry, you’re off the hook.”

“That guy was a dick,” Josh said softly. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

And you do, but that’s not enough. Cass squeezed her eyes shut. “On that note, since Brynne is good, I’m going to check on Dawson and make sure he hasn’t picked his suit apart yet.” She almost hoped he had, to give her something to do with her hands and focus her concentration. “This is a win for you, too. No more homework, no more swiping for me. One less distraction.”

“Right. No more distractions.” Josh nodded, his expression giving no hint of what was going on behind his eyes.

Libby was too good at her job. The set’s lights were amped so brightly for the day’s scenes that Cass was tempted to put her sunglasses back on. Terry and Stephen criss-crossed the set, scattering PAs and grips in their wake. Brynne hadn’t gone back to her trailer after all. She was planted in a chair with one leg thrown over the wooden arm, her arms wrapped tightly around her elbows and head tipped back pursing her mouth at whatever Dawson was saying. Dawson looked up at Cass’s arrival and broke out into a grin, dropping his hands from where he had been fussing with his suit. Again.

Brynne shot him a look and got up. “Suit check.”

Cass tracked Brynne’s exit, heading in the opposite direction of where her trailer lay, and turned her focus back to Dawson. For once, the suit check wasn’t needed. Dawson’s fitting last week took care of the slight mislay of a couple seams, and the matte fabric held up to even his incessant fiddling.

“You’re good, Big D,” Cass said, flattening out a few non-existent creases, more out of habit than necessity. She patted down his expansive chest and smiled up at him. “Looking forward to getting home for Christmas?”

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