Page 8 of You and Me, For Real
The SUV’s driver and passenger doors both open simultaneously.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!”
Doors slam.
Two men approach me, but all I can manage is to stare at the shiny metallic grill on the front of the SUV and think just how close I came to becoming hood decor.
Fingers touch my arm.
I blink, and my gaze follows the hand up the muscular, tan forearm, past a bulging bicep in a skin-tight sheer white shirt, landing on a pair of the most gorgeous blue topaz eyes I’ve ever seen. Ones that seem oddly familiar. Not like in an intimatesense—seeing as I haven’t dated in, oh, almost five years. But I know I’ve seen them somewhere.
“Ma’am, are you alright?”
I’m drawn from those aqua depths to the deep voice next to me.
The driver turns toward Topaz Eyes and says, “I think she’s in shock.”
Another car door opens.
“Can we move things along? This dog is slobbering too close to my suit, and it smells like wet dander in here. I said ‘a quick drop-off.’ We’ve got to get a move on if we’re going to get to the shoot on time.”
At the mention of a dog, my brain kicks back into gear. “You have a dog with you?”
The man on my right exhales. “Yes, but are you alright?”
I turn to him. “Yes. Sorry, my brain is just slow on the uptake after nearly getting run over by a”—I peer around the two men to the SUV’s emblem —"Cadillac Escalade.”
The tan, muscular man to my left chuckles. “She has a sense of humor. That must be a good sign. Glad to know you’re alright. Do you work here?”
“Yes.”
“We have a dog in my vehicle that we picked up off the street. Would you mind taking a look at her?”
My animal antenna perks up. “Is she injured?”
“She’s limping a little, and there’s a wound on her back leg.”
“I can take a look, but there’s not much I can do for her here. You’ll want to take her to the closest vet clinic. There’s one about five miles south.”
The man combs his fingers through his thick, dark waves, his shirt nudging upward to reveal a layer of abs. “Yeah, that’s the thing. We’re on a bit of a time crunch?—”
It clicks. I recognize this man. From ads about a television show.Malibu Shores. I’m positive of it. Something curls in my chest, making me take a step back. I look around the parking lot. No one seems to be paying us attention, and no paparazzi appear to be around. Yet.
“—but if it’s alright with you, I’d like to go in and make sure she’s okay before we leave.” He takes a step toward the passenger side of the vehicle. I follow, ready to move this interaction inside.
“Sure. How big is she?”
As I’m about to open the door, his warm body brushes against mine, and his arm reaches in front of me to whisk the door open.
“I’d say she’s roughly fifty pounds.”
Somehow, between almost getting unalived and having insane muscles uncomfortably close, I missed noticing the dirt and grime on the shirt of…I’m spacing on his name, but I can envision the two-page spread of his abs…I mean, of him, inPeopleMagazineat the grocery store. He probably has those things insured. My cheeks flame. Mr. TV Star must’ve carried the dog to the vehicle himself.
With the door fully open, I see the man who popped out earlier and hollered to hurry up. He’s wiping a spot on his suit pants while talking on his cell phone. The two men make eye contact. The one sitting in the car—rather handsome for his age despite his grumpy disposition—gives the hand signal to wrap it up.
Who is this guy? I thought Mr. Hollywood here would be the one with the busy schedule.
