“This night is a disaster. I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” she counters.
I shake my head. “When I met you earlier today, and you were stuck in the tree, I was nothing more than a first responder to you. Simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated. I can’t tell you how refreshing that was. But once you started hearing others talk, once you learned about my former career, and saw howpeople acted at the auction tonight. Well, I knew you’d start seeing me differently and treating me differently, and Ihateit.”
“It’s not that I see you differently, Ambrose. But I have trouble wrapping my head around what your life is like. I can run into the grocery store without worrying about people recognizing me. Same when I’m pumping gas, visiting a library, sitting at a cafe, working the DMV counter. But you never know when the next shoe’s about to drop and one person’s recognition turns into a mob.”
“The auction really brought out the worst in people tonight. It reminds me of the way things were back in the day, when the show was at its peak of popularity. I had to go out in disguise not only to avoid fans but the paparazzi, too.”
“That sounds terrible,” she sympathizes.
“Yeah, and the worst part was that Avery Ross, the character I played, was a notorious bad boy player. So, naturally, everyone assumed I was, too. I still get it all the time. Why’d you string Stacey on for so long? Sheila, who played Stacey, was my co-star and on-again, off-again love interest on the show. We briefly dated in real life, too. It was a nightmare.”
Catalina looks stunned. “You sound so angry over what happened. Are you sure you don’t still have feelings for her?”
Her voice wavers, sharper than she probably means to sound.Jealousy? Shit, if only.
“Absolutely.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
The caustic question cuts deeper than it should. God, I want it to mean she cares. “I am one hundred percent over her. And I’m pretty damn sure she never really loved me. It was fake like everything else about my life. But I’m done with playing roles, being someone I’m not.”
Chapter
Eight
AMBROSE
Catalina asks, “Are we heading down to the river?”
“Yep. Perfect spot for stargazing and peace and quiet.” I park the car and hop out, striding fast towards the passenger door.
Electricity zings as I offer her my hand, her soft fingers melting against my rough, work-hardened ones.
I snag both bags in one hand, steadying her forearm as she balances the shakes. We make our way down to the coolness of the water’s edge. I coach her on where to step so she doesn’t get her strappy sandals muddy.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” I say gruffly. “But every time we touch …” I nod towards a log for her to sit down. “It’s the best feeling. Don’t mean to get mushy or anything.”
Emotion swirls in her unreadable eyes. “Strange to think we only just met. Somehow, it feels like we’ve known each other longer.”
I sit next to her, jaw tight, fighting the urge to close the space between us.
She swaps a shake for a bag, and we sit still for a long moment, enjoying the feel of the air, the rush of the water, and the rare tranquility of this place.
“Sorry to vent earlier in the truck. It’s the last thing we should be talking about.”
“What should we be talking about?” she whispers.
I force a lopsided grin. “How about planning that ten-thousand-dollar date I owe you? What would be a good night—or better yet, weekend—to go?”
“But isn’t this it?” she counters huskily, brows furrowed.
“It?What do you mean?”
“Our date.”
Removing my cowboy hat, I set it on the log next to me, stabbing my fingers through my hair. “Thisis no ten-thousand-dollar date,” I say, grim-faced.
