Page 76 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

I glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is behind me, but nope. It’s just me and the folding table covered with crumpled napkins and empty cardboard drink holders. When I look back, Zach’s gaze is still pointed in my direction. Atme.Because I don’t think inanimate objects are Zach’s type—Carly being the exception.

Teri says something, and Zach drags his eyes from me. For half a second, I think maybe he’s not acting. Maybe it’s as hard for him to keep his eyes off me as it is for me to keep mine off him.

Then I shake my head and, with a long breath, pull myself back into reality. A reality where only one of us has to fake fall in love with the other. If I think too hard about that, I might cry, and I’d so much rather laugh. Especially if Zach and I are laughing together.

I don’t know what he’s playing out, turning my insides to goo by acting like he’s into me off camera, but it’s time to turn the tables. He wants to start work pretending we’re a couple before shooting starts? Fine. I’ll match his gaga-for-you eyes and go even heavier on the whole girlfriend thing. In fact, I’ll give him something to really look at.

That will get him to laugh, which will be a nice start to the day.

And I love his laugh. It’s a deep, low rumbling of thunder, rolling over every other sound, before exploding with a clap of joy. The vibrations of it stay long after he’s done laughing. No matter where I am, if there’s a happy sound, I hear Zach’s laugh in it.

If I can get him to laugh, maybe things will go back to normal between us.

So Operation Sexy Georgia is a go.

I toss my hair back, check my nails, and channel all the Lizzo energy the Universe has to spare. I turn around, put one hand on my hip, and reach for an imaginary something all the way across the table. My jeans pull tight, hugging my curves. I stretch my arm so far that my butt—one of my best features—sticks back. My shirt lifts, giving Zach a peek of skin.

Then, as temptress-y as possible, I look over my shoulder.

Teri is still talking, but I’m the only one who has Zach’s attention. His lip quirks to one side. His chest rises and falls in quick, heavy breaths. His gaze is laser-focused on me and nothing else.

His reaction is so much more than I’d hoped for, I forget about making him laugh. I’m more interested in seeing how far I can test his physical attraction. Because he’s very obviously enjoying his view of my best feature—my greatestass-et, if you will.

I roll my body to a stand then saunter toward Zach. Slowly. Seductively.

Teri gives me a weird look, then turns her chair so her back is to me.

Zach’s eyes darken, pupils wide. Red washes over his cheeks, and he swallows hard. This isn’t the first time my sexy saunter has elicited a jaw drop, but it is the first time Zach has had that reaction. And it’s not from surprise. He’s seen this walk. He helped me perfect it in high school.

But he’s not the only one having a reaction. My knees are Jell-O, and my pulse is threatening to throb right out of my skin. It’s all too much. I snap under the tension crackling between us.

One step away from Zach, I stumble over an extension cord. My weak ankle gives out under me, but Zach grabs my elbow before I fall.

I take his arm to steady myself, then mumble, “Thanks.” The word comes out on a staggered breath that matches the rhythm of Teri’s typing.

“You okay?” His free hand wraps around my hip.

“Yeah.”

Neither of us laughs. Except for our chests lifting and falling together, we barely move.

My palm is on his chest while the other hand still grips his biceps. Even under a long-sleeved shirt, there’s no hiding Zach’s muscles. My fingers cover only a part of his biceps. There’s a lot of ceps left over. Bi and tri.

And I’m tempted to wrap my other hand around his arm to measure the size of his muscles. Would my fingers even be able to touch?

I’m considering these deep thoughts as Zach’s gaze drops to my feet. When he looks up again, it’s with deep, deep disappointment drenched in judgment.

I let my hands fall to my side, but he lifts his fingers from my hip and hooks them through my belt loop.

“Heels?” His Disappointed Judge face includes raised eyebrows and a heavy dose of condescension.

I shrug off his Dad-vibe and turn just enough for him to keep his hand where it is while I lift my foot and show off my new favorite shoes. They’re black satin sandals with a gold cut out, sculpted heel. That would be enough to make them interesting, but then they also have wide, wraparound straps made from gold zippers. The black toe strap has the same gold zipper.

“Very fancy,” he says with a shocking lack of admiration.

“I know.” To dress them down, I’m wearing rolled boyfriend jeans and a white button up, sleeves rolled and one side untucked.

“Tell me these aren’t absolutely to die for.” I turn my unswollen ankle back and forth so Zach can get the full effect of the one-of-a-kind shoes. He’s a man with good taste and an appreciation for nice clothes, as evidenced by his love for button-ups and coordinating ties.

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