Page 88 of Pick-Up
Thank goodness, no one has glitched on my black one-piece underneath. A bikini was a nonstarter. These are the only bathing suits I wear. Because they have actual cups for your boobs, boy-short bottoms, and 007 ruching to disguise the rest. Basically, I am an optical illusion.
While we were getting changed after lunch, Stephanie asked me again about what I did last night. I’m not sure what she’s getting at—surely she didn’t see me and Ethan together on the beach? We could barely see each other! The truth is, there was mostly nothing to see, anyway. Unless she can see inside my head. But, if anyone can do that, my money is on Derek.
Demon Dad (who I no longer think of as such) is, of course, in his perfect white T-shirt with perfect slate-gray board shorts. His sunglasses are old-school Wayfarers. So are mine.
“Twins!” Stephanie giggles, and I hope my hat shades my shade.
He looks me up and down, languidly, from behind his glasses. “Not exactly.”
I still can’t get a read on how he feels about what happened on the beach last night. Indifferent maybe? He’s been friendly enough but has kept his distance. Up until this moment, he has been Professional Ethan.
And that’s good. That’s what I asked him to be.
Only, if I’m honest—which I have no interest in being—I’m fiending for more.
What’s going on in that stupidly handsome head of his?
Even if we’re a bad idea, I still want him to want me. That’s twisted, but it’s reality. Feigning boredom, I reach up over my headand rest my hands on the top of my hat, stick my chest out a bit. Strike a pose.
In my peripheral vision, I see him swallow, hard. I can’t even see his eyes, but I feel them boring into me.Interesting.
Professional Sasha does not feel lit up. Professional Sasha isnottrying to get his attention.
In the nick of time, Michael motions to us that the boat is ready, so I turn toward the dock.
“Sasha! Wait up!” I swivel back around at the sound of my name, stupidly hopeful. But it’s not Ethan. It’s Charlie calling me.
I wait as he jogs up the beach toward me.
“Hey.” He shoots me a smile too wide not to be calculated. I have too much experience with cute manipulators to be fooled. My antenna is up. He wants something.
“So, before we get on the boat, can we quickly try something?”
“Something like?”
“Let me show you.”
Minutes later, we’re standing with the rest of the crew staring at a hammock suspended between two palm trees down toward the ocean.
“I just feel like it screams ‘desert paradise,’ ” he is saying. “And I don’t want us to miss having a shot of it.”
He’s not wrong. It’s dreamy as hell.
“Okay,” I say. “As long as you think we can be quick, so we don’t lose light, it’s fine with me.”
“Great!” Charlie says. But he doesn’t exhale.
Okay. Out with it. “Charlie, what’s the catch?”
“So, since you’re already dressed for the other shoot, I’d like this to feature—you.”
This is not my favorite development, but I begin to wrap my mind around it, when, gaze focused anywhere but on me, he mumbles, “And Ethan.”
My eyes surely bug out of my head. I am a Beanie Boo. And, before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Together?!”
I say it and I say it loud.
Now everyone is staring at me. Especially Ethan, who has removed his sunglasses and looks either mortified, hurt or ready to commit me to an institution. Maybe all three.
