Page 76 of Just Beachy

I’m still basking in her declaration of pride and love for me when I leave to meet Luke at Paradise Grille, where we take our time downing burgers and fries and enjoying the sunset. I’m still basking and smiling when we arrive at Harley’s.

A.J. greets me with a hug then raises his glass. “To Cassie Everheart!” he shouts.

The regulars raise their glasses in response. “To Cassie!” they shout back.

A round of applause follows.

If I’ve learned anything in my time here, it’s that there’s no point in trying to convince these people that I amnotCassie Everheart. So instead of arguing, I smile and bask and take a bow.

I’m ready to take my seat at the bar when an unfamiliar voice shouts, “She’s not Cassie, you fools! She’s just a mediocre actress who couldn’t hold on to a good gig.”

There are mutters from the regulars. An argument breaks out. Luke starts to stand, but I put a hand on his shoulder and push him back onto his barstool.

“Oh, no,” I say loudly enough for the loudmouth to hear. “You don’t need to get involved, Luke. I’ve totally got this.”

The troublemaker snorts and struts toward me like an overgrown barnyard rooster. “That’s mighty big talk for such a little gal,” he declares when we come to a stop steps away from each other.

“You didn’t really just call me a ‘little gal,’ did you?” I ask. “What century did you grow up in?”

“I surely did. You’re like one of them little froo-froo dogs that are all yap and no bite.”

“And now you’re calling me a dog?”

He takes a step closer. “Not exactly. But you do seem to have a pretty high opinion of yourself for such a yappy little thing.”

There are “ooohs” of anticipation. They’re followed by “ahhhs” as I close the distance between us, intentionally crowding him.

“And you don’t seem to have much of a brain in that big ole head of yours,” I drawl back. “I suggest you go back and sit down and stop mouthing off or you’re going to start a fight you can’t possibly win.”

His bloodshot eyes widen in surprise. When he laughs, his hot breath riffles my hair. “Huh! A fight? With who? You?” He doubles over with laughter, his hands on his thighs, which allows me to land an uppercut to his chin. When his head jerks back, I step closer, grab his shirt, and knee him in the balls.

I’m considering my next move when he crumples to the ground with a girly kind of scream.

The entire bar erupts in applause.

• • •

Once Harley’s closesfor the night, Luke and I go to his place, where we celebrate my takedown of the troublemaker with what Luke insists on calling “the great K-O.”

We celebrate on Luke’s bed…on his floor…and in his shower before falling back into his bed, where we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

We don’t wake up until noon and are still lying in bed drinking coffee when my cell phone rings. I reach for it assuming it’s Grand, but when I look at the screen, I see a Los Angeles phone number that I know all too well.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” Luke asks on a yawn.

“Nope.” I roll over and run a finger down Luke’s naked chest, trying not to wonder or care why my former agent is calling.

When the ringing finally stops, I refocus on Luke’s naked body and all the deliciously wicked things I’d like to do to it. Before I can begin those wicked things, the phone rings again. And again.

This time it’s an LA number I don’t recognize.

“Do you want me to get it?” Luke asks.

“No.” I lie there listening to the ringing phone until I finally accept the fact that if I don’t answer, I won’t enjoy any of the deliciously wicked things and could, in fact, waste half the day wondering why I’m suddenly getting calls from LA.

“I’ve got it,” I say as I pick up. But the moment I hear Marty’s voice, I move to hang up.

“Wait! Don’t hang up!” My former agent’s tone is urgent. “You’re going to want to hear this.”

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