“I can’t go.” I choke out the words disappointedly.
“If you don’t, you’ll never see me again.” Pirate Thomas sounds devastated at the prospect.
“I can’t let Constance down another time.”
He pulls at my arm. “Finley … Finley …”
“No, Thomas!” I shout at him. “I can’t run away with you! I have a job to do.”
“Finley?” Something in his tone changes, but I don’t let him finish whatever he’s going to say.
Instead, I cover my eyes so he can’t tell I’m about to cry. “Life isn’t fair,” I say. “Our love cannot take priority over this job.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I say bravely. “Our love cannot prevail. Not this time.” I wistfully add, “Maybe in the next book …”
I wipe away the lone tear that has escaped its confines and open my eyes to say goodbye to my pirate love. But guess what? When I do, Pirate Thomas is nowhere to be seen. Instead, Dr. Thomas Culpepper is standing over me, looking like he’s ready to call for reinforcements.
“Thomas?” I ask while trying to figure out how much of my dream he might have overheard.
“Finley?” he replies. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yes.” I sit up and fling my legs over the side of the bed, nearly kicking him in the knee in the process. “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago.” He turns his head slightly and side-eyes me like he might still make a run for it. Shoot, I’m guessing he heard stuff.
“Ah, yes, well … I was taking a small nap. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“And you were dreaming about pirates?”
There is only one way out of what is sure to be the worst embarrassment I’ve ever suffered. Bald. Face. Lying. “I wasn’t dreaming about pirates.” I glance up and stare at him challengingly. “I was dreaming about … tornados …”
“Tornados?”
“Yes.” Avoiding his gaze, I stand up and straighten out my clothes. Then I run my fingers through my hair and ask, “Are you ready?”
He looks as confused as I was hoping to make him.Mission accomplished.
“I guess. Do you want to start with hair and makeup?”
Red hot embarrassment fills my entire body as I remember the last time I did his hair and makeup. His silky soft follicles slipping through my fingers … the sensation of baby oil on his rock-hard chest … I start to feel woozy and have to remind myself to breathe. I inhale slowly to the count of seven before assuring him, “We don’t have to do hair and makeup today.”
“Don’t you want me to get into character?” he asks, once again referencing our last photo shoot.
Imagining him in his pirate regalia makes my heart rate pick up speed, which forces yet another ragged inhalation. This time, I exhale to a full count of seven. “I’m sure you’ll look fine,” I say. “It’s just a headshot.”
I can tell he wants to ask me what happened at our last meeting, but I can never talk about that horrible day again. Instead, I point at his shirt. “Are you wearing that?”
“I brought a couple different things if you want to see them.”
“No, that’s fine.” I point to a dull gray backdrop. “Go sit on that stool. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Thomas looks unsure but ultimately does as I’ve instructed.
Meanwhile, I hurry through the bathroom door and close it. Turning on the faucet, I pick up a hand towel and run itunder the cold water. Then I dab it across my face to bring my temperature down. It does nothing to calm me. If anything, the roughness of the cloth against my skin agitates me even more.
When I come out of the bathroom, Thomas asks, “How long do you think this will take?”
