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“Yeah. I wasn’t too sad about that, though. The man was a mean drunk. Bayne got the brunt of it, being so much older than me. He did whatever he had to do to protect me.” His blues eyes meet mine. “And I’d do the same for him.”
“Is that why you’re here? To interview me? Make sure I’m not a threat?” I tease. He’s taken a seat in the chair Bayne favors. I set a glass down in front of him, filling both our cups with ice and tea.
He thanks me, pulling his glass closer. “I’m not here to spy on you. More to protect you. We Baynes protect the ones we care about, and the ones our family cares about.”
“Bayne doesn’t care about me,” I say. A hot blush flames over my cheeks, thinking of the things his brother has done to me. “Not like that.”
“Then why is he here every night instead of drinking with us up at the big house?”
“Keeping an eye on me. I can be tricky.”
He laughs. “Good. He needs someone to keep him on his toes now that I’m not around to do it.”
I lift my glass, clinking with his. “To keeping your brother on his toes.” I take a sip. “Wait. Why aren’t you around? Do you usually live here?”
“Yeah, but I’ve been staying at the Bayne-Burnes house, the big house, you know—the Castle, with some of the fellas. Giving you lovebirds your space. I just came by to pick something up.” He takes a deep sip of the tea, pulling the glass away to examine the color. “God. This is delicious.”
The heat burns hotter in my face. “It’s not like that.”
“Only joking.” He sets his glass down.
“I don’t want to push you out. If you know I’m here, why don’t you come home? I’ll stay out of your way.” I think of the three-foot radius Bayne is currently keeping from my virginal self. “I’m getting good at staying out of people’s way.”
He eyes me, trying to read my emotions. Finally, he says, “I came because I need some help.”
Oh God. Another crime I have to cover up? I eye him with suspicion, wondering what it could be. He’s so adorable though, I’m probably gonna help him bury a body in these hills if he asks.
“With what?” I ask.
“Running my lines. Don’t tell my brother—he’d kill me—but I’ve always had this dream of being an actor. You’re from Hollywood.” He pulls a rolled-up set of papers I didn’t notice earlier from his denim jacket pocket, the ends of the white paper sticking out. “Thought you’d be the perfect person to help me.”
An hour later and an entire plate of cookies and pitcher of tea gone—him, not me—and we’re sitting on the couch together, laughing our heads off at the old stories he’s told me about the trouble Fiona and Carol Ann got into as kids and the American accent he’s trying to fake.
“Just be yourself,” I say. “Better to do no accent than a bad one. Besides, yours is beautiful.”
“Thanks. We islanders have our own, Scottish but with deeper roots.” His perfect, Hollywood-ready smile almost reaches his ears. “I like to think of it as Viking.”
“Or Romani?” I tease.
“You had the dark hair,” he says. “I had to come up with something. And it’s true. Our great-granddad was a gypsy. But you can’t say gypsy ‘cause you aren’t really in the bloodline. Cousin.”
The word “cousin” makes my face go hot and I awkwardly blurt out, “The things I’ve been doing with Bayne are not things cousins should be—oh…shoot. I can’t believe I said that.”
Eamon has such an easy way about him, he doesn’t even have to try to get you to let your guard down.
Being around him just melts your reservations away.
Like now, as he beams a reassuring grin at me. “No worries. Two good-looking single people living together. It’s bound to happen.”
“Not for me.” I shake my head, thinking about my inexperience before Bayne came into my life. I pick the papers up off the couch, totally uncomfortable having this inappropriate conversation with Eamon. “Let’s start from the beginning, but this time, just be yourself.”
“Better than myself,” he laughs. “Brickham Starfleet. Leader of the first colony on Mars.”
“There’s no reason they couldn’t write in a Scottish ancestry for your character. It is sci-fi fantasy, after all,” I say.
We’re really getting into our characters. After the strange time I’ve had, it’s fun, pretending to be Lady Starstruck, Brickham’s onscreen co-commander and budding love interest. Eamon’s good. Really good. It’s easy to run lines with him, much easier than it was with my old roommate, one of the girls who chose college in LA so her parents would pay for her education while she secretly tried to become an actress.
Rachel-slash-Raquel did not have what it takes to make it in Hollywood. Eamon does. That star quality that keeps your eyes locked on him.
