“Thanks.” Her gratitude fell on deaf ears. She shrugged and made her way through the house—the beautiful house with marble floors, thick area rugs, shiny appliances, and breakable knick-knacks. She tucked her elbows into her sides and held the script close to her chest.
Exiting through a set of sliding glass doors, also left wide open to bugs and guests alike, she stepped onto the flagstone patio, scanning the gyrating bodies for Beau. He wasn’t too hard to find, his six-foot-two-inch height put him heads above the group of women surrounding him on the dance floor. They vied for his attention, moving closer to Beau until the next girl in line edged in.
Cindy carefully made her way around the pool. Couples used the sun chairs to get lost in one another, others danced, while a set of guys dared one another to jump in the pool. They were gathered at the edge of the dance floor, near the diving board. And there was no way around them. If she wanted to get to Beau, she’d have to drive right through. A feat easier said than done.
Their double-dog daring had escalated to shoving one another, giving juvenile excuses for who should be the first to test the waters. One guy pulled his tie loose and secured it like a headband.
Cindy rolled her eyes.
Feeling like a freshman on the first day of high school who was forced to walk down the senior hall, she took a deep breath. She’d come this far, what was ten more feet?
“Excuse me.” She tried to move past the first guy.
Beau wasjuston the other side. All she needed to do was get the script into his hands. She lasered in on him just as he stumbled into a redhead and laughed. Was he drunk? He couldn’t be drunk; she’d read that after his second divorce he swore off alcohol, blaming the scotch for his erratic behavior during his marriage.
The man in front of her lifted his arms, his elbow knocking the tray of a passing server.
She yelped and grabbed for the champagne flutes. Cindy caught one before it hit the ground.
“Hey,” the guy yelled. “You got my shoe.”
“So wash it off.” Cindy nodded towards the pool as she set the glass on the tray and gently pushed the frazzled server out of the way. The girl gave her a small smile before hurrying away.
Tie guy turned too, and suddenly she was pressed between their thick bodies. “Hey, Beau, she just volunteered to test the water.”
“What? No.” A shot of adrenaline spiked down her arms. The envelope wrinkled in her tightening grip. “No!”
“Yes.” Tie guy scooped her up as if she weighed nothing more than a dish towel. The frat group hoisted her above their heads. Beefy paws all over her back and backside. She squirmed, and her shoulders went down, giving her an up-close, upside-down look at the patio. It looked hard. Really hard. She closed her eyes and bit back a whimper. She was going in. There was no question. She clutched the envelope to her chest.
“Hey! Don’t!” she commanded, but no one could hear her over their rebel yells. They put her back up over their heads, where she could see all eyes were on her, and this group was not going to put her down.
In a moment of horrific clarity, Cindy Frisbee-tossed the script towards the buffet table in a last-ditch effort to save her dream. It smacked the ground and slid out of sight. She would not scream. No matter how cold the water, she wouldn’t give these idiots the satisfaction.
She was turned sideways and her eyes caught and held Beau’s. He put his hand out towards her, a sense of panic running back and forth between them. She reached for him, though there was no way they’d be able to touch.
I was so close.
The next thing she knew, she was swimming. She came up swinging her arms in an effort to splash the frat pack. They backed up, laughing.
“Is it cold?” asked Tie guy.
“It’s heated, dimwit.” She glared.
The guys pouted—their stupid dares amounting to nothing except her ruined clothes and lost script. It was here somewhere …
Cindy swam to the nearest edge of the pool. As her hand brushed the side, it was clasped roughly, and she was hauled out as easily as she was thrown in.
Scrubbing the wet hair off her face, she coughed.
“I’m really sorry about that,” came a deep and authentic voice.
Cindy blinked to clear her vision and found Beau Mckay standing in front of her. Her eyes traveled up the blue button-up shirt covering his legendary washboard abs and firm pectorals to his Adam’s apple and past those perfect lips, finally falling into his hazel eyes.
She let her jaw drop open. He was here. Right in front of her, and she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“Get those guys out of here,” Beau told his security staff. Big guys in black T-shirts and pants, who reminded her of monster trucks, surrounded the group and escorted them out.
Beau touched her elbow, sending little sparks up her arm. “Are you okay?” he asked.
