I half expect that when we go through the Staff Onlydoor it’ll be like walking around the back of a soundstage where suddenly the world becomes shadows and plywood. But the staff area looks pretty much the same as the rest of the lodge. Maybe less art on the walls, but otherwise it’s all familiar. We go past a lounge with a bunch of sofas and a dining room that looks downright welcoming and cozy. A few staff members pass us, but they all keep their gazes down, and Marci says something breezy about me wanting a tour and no one seems to be too bothered about it.
It’s only as we reach the last door at the end of the hall that a flicker of nervousness shivers its way through me, and I wonder what I’m trying to accomplish here. But Marci’s already knocking, and Jack opens the door, and despite the fact that she was bold enough to demand games from me not five minutes ago, suddenly Marci can’t seem to think of anything to say.
Time for me to step up.
“Can I come in?”
Jack moves aside, Marci disappears back up the hall, and I let myself into the room. It’s smaller than I would have expected, plainer than the common areas we passed. It’s also dim, with the blinds drawn and only one light on at the desk.
“Sorry,” I say. “Were you sleeping?”
“It’s fine. I’m supposed to be staying awake in case it’s a concussion anyway.”
“Ouch.” One of my co-stars had a similar injury trying to jump from a moving bus to a truck on a shoot a few years ago. It had all been done as safely as possible, but he’d still missed the landing, caught his head on the door frame, and caused the whole film to be shut down for a month and a half while he recovered.
Jack waves his hand though. “I’m fine. The doctor said she didn’t think it would be a problem, but Harper’s not taking any chances.” He washed his face sometime along the way, because the blood that had crusted into his hair and at his temple is gone.
“How’s the cut?”
“Good.” He smiles. “The doc said whoever patched me up did a good job.”
I can’t help the way I puff up under his compliment. “Thanks.” We don’t have to talk about the way my hands shook, and my heart still barely feels like it’s slowed down since I found Jack sprawled on the deck.
“You might have to get someone else to take you out tomorrow,” he says.
“What? No.” The words come too fast.
He arches an eyebrow and sits on the edge of his bed, motioning for me to take the one chair at the desk. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me.”
“I do.” I flush. “I mean... You’ve been great. And anyway, I think there’s some kind of staff game day tomorrow if the weather’s still bad.” That sounds unimpressive. I stare down at my hands, astonished that I’m lost for words. I can charm my way through any interview. Ad-lib on the busiest red carpets. And yet, ever since Cannes, I feel like I’m always two steps behind. Always playing catch-up and doing damage control. I don’t know who I am anymore.
Except when I’m with Jack. He doesn’t ask anything from me, and the space it creates around us is intoxicating.
“Was there...” I say slowly, trying to choose my words carefully. “Back on the boat, was there like... a moment? Did you feel something?”
He’s probably going to tell me he felt the rain soak him to the bone and then the jar of every wave I drove us through as I tried to get back.
Instead, he folds his hands in front of him, and says, “Yeah. I think so.”
I lean back in my chair, and he watches me with steady eyes. I have to carefully clear my throat before I speak again.
“To be clear. When I say I felt something, I don’t mean an overwhelming appreciation for nature and all its bounty.”
Jack’s lips quirk up. “No. That’s not what I meant either.”
My ears are flaming. “You want me to say it, don’t you?”
He crosses one foot over his knee. “Think I do, actually. Might have a head injury after all. You should probably spell it out for me.”
And the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the knowing twist of his mouth is enough to have me tugging at the collar of my shirt.
“Tension,” I say. “Of a sexual nature. Between you and me.”
His speculative gaze has me shifting in my seat, subtly making room for the way my dick swells in my pants. The way he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth for a second says he notices, and that doesn’t help my situation at all.
“Yeah,” he says before he has to clear his throat. “That’s what I was thinking too.”
“And would you—” I start to say.
