Page 43 of The Golden Scoop

Don’t you have work?

My man

Finished morning workout. I have a later filming call today, so I’m all yours until seven.

He’s been ‘mine’ too much lately. I should be getting more annoyed. But my emotions have been going in the complete opposite direction. Without permission.

Professional distance. That’s what I need.

Can’t. I need to get some writing done.

His reply comes through instantly.

My man

Bring your laptop.

Somehow, that’s even more special than if he had told me to do it some other time. Makes no sense.

When he said he was taking me sailing I expected to end up in a yacht packed with a whole crew, charcuterie boards, and champagne bottles. I didn’t think we’d be parking at Marina del Rey for a day on an actual sailboat, just the two of us.

As soon as he opens the door of his SUV, the smell of sea salt, diesel, and sun toasted wood envelops me, thick and warm. Seagulls squeak, and the ropes tight and loose with the sway of the water.

Matt’s wearing a backwards L.A. Dodgers cap, an old gray UCLA T-shirt, and the same navy blue swimming trunks he wore surfing, like he’s never been on a red carpet before. Damn, the different facets of this man. I don’t trust how much I like this version.

He usually looks so expensive in his PR photos, but lately he could pass for any other young thirty-something bachelor. I’ve never seen him so carefree.

I follow behind him as he leads us down a dock. He’s carrying a blue cooler like the ones my parents used to bring to our beach days. It’s so normal, it’s weird.

To our left, the path to the boats is blocked by a group of seals sunbathing. They are committed to doing absolutely nothing with their day.

“That’s one expensive toy,” I tease when we stop in front of a sailboat at least twenty-five feet long.

“It’s my friend’s,” he says, messing with the knots tying it down. “I borrow it when I need a full disconnect.”

I scoff. “I borrow salt and sugar, you borrow boats.”

“Only because I promise not to crash it. But hey, I’d be happy to give you some sugar whenever you need.”

I ignore the very obvious double meaning because I value what’s left of my sanity. But heat creeps up my neck, betraying me.

Matt jumps into the boat, clearly having done this a thousand times. I step into the gangway, watching my feet. I feel like a pirate hoping not to end up overboard. He offers me his hand and I groan, more to myself than to him, but I take it anyway. Falling is worse.

“Thank you,” I whisper once I’m on deck. He does a little courtesy bow. “Show-off.”

“You can get some work done while I get us ready to go.”

It’s bigger than I expected, but not flashy. Open front with padded seating, steering wheel toward the back with benches on either side, and a small cabin below deck currently closed. A single tall mast with its paint worn out from use shoots up into the sky, all ropes and sails I know nothing about.

I take a seat on one of the benches and pull out my laptop from my bag. From the corner of my eye, I see him moving around the front with an ease that feels practiced.

His shoulders are less tense than usual, even with the pulling ang tugging of lines. I realize, this might be his safe space, like surfing is for me.

Matt takes us out of the harbor and into the sea, the city fading behind us like it was never that close to begin with. He asks me to grab onto the wheel while he snaps open the sail. The boat sways gently, and I’m holding on as if my life depends on it.

Everything smells sharper out here. The water slaps against the side in steady, rhythmic hits, the wind pulling at my hair. It’s louder. Even my own breathing can’t find anywhere to hide.

He steps in behind me, close enough I feel the heat of him before anything else. His arm brushes mine and I swear I hear him inhale—quick and unexpected. Goosebumps rise instantly, giving me away.