Page 50 of Second Act
“Nothing. And you don’t want anything from me. That’s the point.” He moved his hand to the center of the table, palm up, and held his breath while she stared down at his invitation. For a long moment, he thought she would refuse it. But then almost in slow motion, she pulled her left hand from the security of her right and laid it on his. Relief washed through him like a heady taste of champagne as he closed his fingers around hers ever so gently, because he didn’t want to scare her away.
He nearly cursed out loud when the waiter arrived with their appetizers and he was forced to relinquish the delicious contact with her gentle vitality.
Watching her savor the onion tart with parmesan and pancetta almost made up for it. Unlike so many actors he knew—including himself at times—Jess ate with gusto, her face an open canvas of bliss. He barely took his eyes off her as he picked at his pear-and–goat cheese salad, his concession to the Julian Best diet.
“This crust is heaven,” she said, a dreamy smile curving her lips as she cut another bite. “Like butter made flaky.”
A tiny crumb lodged in the corner of her mouth, and he imagined himself licking it off, sending a jolt of arousal straight to his cock.
“My salad is equally delicious...if one is a rabbit,” he said.
She waved her fork in his direction. “Ha! It’s only fair to have a guy worry about his weight every now and then.”
“Stick with me and you’ll hear many, many guys moaning about their weight. It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Thank God my clients don’t judge me by my appearance.” She grinned. “Because there’s no way I’d wear Spanx to work.”
“It was a lot easier when I was twenty,” he said. “I could eat anything and not show it.”
“Like three bags of cheese puffs in twenty minutes,” she teased, referring to a night when he’d gotten drunk at a cast party, accepted a dare, and then puked up bright orange for the next few hours. “Of course, you purged those before they could turn into love handles.”
“Ah, but it got the attention of Lorenzo d’Albo, so it was worth the repulsiveness.” Stupid to be cast in a movie because you ralphed up cheese puffs, but the director had remembered Hugh’s stunt when he’d auditioned for d’Albo a week later, just by coincidence. Being memorable often paid off in Hollywood.
“I couldn’t believe you ate cheese puffs again the next day. I would have been off them for life.”
“Iron stomach.” He patted his hard, flat abdomen. But the ability to eat virtually anything had been a necessity in foster care.
The waiter whisked away their empty plates, and Jessica reminded him of another embarrassing story from their time together. He retaliated with an equally disconcerting moment in her life. Soon they were one-upping each other and disagreeing about what had really happened eight years before. And laughing. Just like old friends.
He loved it and he hated it. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what he wantedfromJess, but he knew that he wantedher.
For the first time in her life, Jessica regretted the appearance of dessert, because it signaled the end of dinner. Not that she didn’t find the rich-but-light-as-a-feather chocolate mousse layered between thin sheets of chocolate sponge cake nearly orgasmic, but she and Hugh were having so much fun. Trading stories took her back to those sunshine-filled days in California when her life opened out before her with what seemed an endless array of pure possibility. So many paths had spread out infront of her; she felt like she had all the time in the world to explore them. Part of the thrill was the prospect of having Hugh by her side for the journey.
When he was laughing with her over their meal, he seemed like the Hugh she’d known eight years ago. But when the last mouthful of mousse cake had been savored, while Hugh paid the bill and accepted the waiter’s discreet but heartfelt speech of admiration with practiced ease, she watched the younger Hugh disappear within the star.
Strange to realize how much she missed that old Hugh.
