Page 30 of Whiskey Splash

chomp, “for reminding me that I’m the walking poster child for foot-in-mouth-disease. Sure, this lavender-haired treasure is amusing right now, because all your zombie hook-ups don’t bust your balls, but—”

“Actually, my balls don’t really like that part,” he cuts in and I start talking over him.

“The novelty will wear off!” I say loudly. “Amusing today, but as boring as all the other zombie girlfriends in the morning. And honestly, I’m not a novelty at all, okay? I’m a real person, Desmond.”

“I know that,” he says sharply, but I push off the railing and turn back to the bridge. It’s time to get out of here. Only, he snags my elbow. “Esme!” He turns me back to face him. “I’m a freaking movie star. Iknow what it means to want to be seen as a real person.”

His gaze hits me hard, a mixture of fierceness and vulnerability cutting into me. Of course he wants to be seen as a real person. Everyone around him probably wants something from him, or they’re imagining he’s the character he plays on television. I reach out and pluck the flower from above his ear, the edge of my knuckle grazing the side of his cheek. He turns into the softness of my touch and his rough afternoon stubble tickles my palm.

“Desmond, I can’t,” I say, dropping the hand. “Not because you aren’t a nice guy, or I don’t think you’re a real person. I’m going to lose my job.”

“You’re overreacting!”

“No, I’m not!” I insist. “I can't date guests of the hotel. It’s a resort policy.”

“Not a problem,” he shrugs. “I'll change hotels.”

“Oh god no, please!” I grab his arm, the thickness of his bicep making my mouth go dry. “If you change hotels, I’m sure half the crew is going to end up leaving with you. Seriously, I think you're determined to get me fired.”

“Well,” he leans into my hand that’s holding his arm, the warmth of his breath teasing my hair. “If you’re going to get fired either way, then can we please pick the version where I actually get to take you out on a date?”

“No!”

He slaps his free hand over mine, sandwiching my fingers between his palm and bicep. “I’m sorry, but you’re outvoted. Both me and my cock vote for taking you out. That’s two against one. So, how about Friday you meet me at the south entrance at say—three o’clock?”

“Or, we could also do the not-mentioned-option where you politely go back to filming your movie and forget I work here altogether.” He tilts his head to the side like he doesn’t like this option. “And then,” I continue, “when you stop shooting your film at the end of the week, you can go back to the mainland and forget you ever met me.”

“Month and a half.”

I swallow hard. “You’re going to be here another month and a half?” I say sheepishly, his thumb stroking the top of my hand.

“Yeah, most of the film takes place on the island.”

“Well, I’m sure you have long shooting days and lots of lines to learn—”

“Not really,” he cuts in. “I pretty much say things like ‘Die mother fucker!’ and ‘You’ll be sorry you crossed me you asshole!’”

“Charming,” I nod. “It sounds like a real Oscar contender.”

He squeezes my hand softly. “It’s a major breakout role for me. I think it could really get the critics to take me more seriously.”

“Right,” I say, steering us back on track. “It sounds like you’re going to be extra busy, press junkets, late-night shows, there’s no way you’ll have time for lil’ ol’ me.”

“Actually, I’m free Friday afternoon,” he says, not letting me off so easy. “South entrance, three o’clock. Bring two outfits. Something you can skydive in and a dress.”

I pull my hand out from under his and toss it on my hip. “Something I can skydive in?”

“Intrigued now, aren’t you?” He smirks.

“No, I’m afraid of heights.”

“Excellent!” he says, grabbing my hand again and producing that pen from his shorts. “Then we’ll kill two birds with one stone. We’ll help you get over your fear of heightsand your fear of good-looking men with ten-inch cocks who want to date you.”

“Date? As in plural? Notadate, but dating? That sounds like more than one!”

“Woah, woah, woah! Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, okay,” he says sarcastically, holding his pen up like I crossed some unspoken line. “You may have cock-approval, but I honestly need to see what happens when you jump out a moving plane before I know if a second date is on the table.”

“You’re not going to stop any of this until I say yes, are you?”

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