April 6
“Every great movie has a rain scene.”
We've been sitting by the pool enjoying another perfect afternoon talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Since I stopped hiding out in my room, Preston and I have developed a routine. He gets up to run and has coffee ready before I wake up. He even convinced me to do Pilates with him this morning. Color me shocked when he told me it helps him stay flexible and in tune with his body. He’s full of surprises.
“A rain scene?” He’s clearly confused. Somehow, we got to talking about the fact that it rarely rains in Belize this time of year which turned to talk over movies and what makes a movie great.
“You know, like inThe Notebook, orSweet Home Alabama, orA Cinderella Story—the Hilary Duff version.”
He looks dumbfounded, so I name more. “Dear John?Spider-Manwith Kirsten Dunst?Pirates of the Caribbean?One Tree Hill?Vampire Diaries?”
Preston chuckles. “I didn’t know the first three so you thought naming more would help?”
I laugh too. “Shut up. The last two are TV shows but you don’t know any of those? Seriously?”
“I knowPirates of the CaribbeanandSpider-Man, and have obviously heard ofThe Notebook, but I have no clue what you mean by a rain scene.”
“You know, where the main couple kisses in the rain, or fights in the rain, or fightsandkisses in the rain. Oh, or dance in the rain. The dancing is super sweet.”
“Dancing, kissing or fighting in the rain, huh? Is that what women want?”
“I mean there is a T-Swift song about it too,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
He lazily turns to face me on his lounger with a smirk on his lush lips. I’m momentarily distracted by the sight of him sprawled out in the sun beside me. Long tan legs hang off the end of the lounge chair. Black board shorts ride low on his trim waist. The deep V of his abdominals and six pack abs are on display. His golden tan is deeper. The smattering of chest hair has filled in. Preston Fields may be the eighth wonder of the world and I get a front row seat.
We have been tip-toeing around this tension since we first met but it’s been amplified in the past few days due to the added proximity. Preston Fields is insanely attractive in his physical appearance. Getting to know him on a deeper and personal level, Preston’s hotness factor has skyrocketed. I don’t miss the hints of desire in his pupils when he looks at me sometimes.
The mutual attraction is unmistakable but it would be a mistake to act on it. This arrangement is temporary. I’ll go back to my life and he’ll go back to his. We are both busy career-driven people with no time to date.
Who said anything about dating?
Shit, I really need to get it together if I’m even thinking about the R-word. I’ve had bad relationships in the past and been exploited for my connections. The paparazzi burned me, too. It’s easier to steer clear.
Plus, in Preston’s case, my dad’s protectiveness could be a bad thing. He’s mad enough at Preston for being here—dating his daughter could make things worse.
Get it together, Ives. He’s just a nice guy that felt bad for his coach’s daughter and volunteered to stick with her until they can get home. That’s it. Nothing more.
Except I know that’s not true. Preston doesn’t treat me like I’m just his coach’s daughter. The simple things he does to make sure I’m comfortable while essentially being trapped with a stranger shows a thoughtfulness that I haven’t experienced before. He gave me space when I needed it without me having to ask him. He doesn’t push for more than I am willing to share. He is comfortable in the silence and doesn’t always need to fill the space with conversation. I’ve never felt this ease that I feel with Preston.
His Adam’s apple bobs when he clears his throat, breaking me out of my very obvious perusal of his body. I meet his eyes covered by sunglasses and try not to blush from being caught red handed.
“Earth to Ivory,” Preston says, waving a hand in front of my face.
“What?”
“I asked if you’ve ever had a rain scene?” he asks with a slight laugh to the question.
“In real life or work life?”
He looks momentarily stunned by my question. “Either, I guess.”
Backtracking, I say, “I don’t even know why I asked that. I’ve never had one in real life.”
I think he looks pleased at this confession but his face doesn’t give much away.
“And at work?” He clears his throat, hiding his smirk. Butterflies erupt in my belly.
“There was a rain scene in one of the shows I was on. It’s far less glamorous behind the scenes.”
