Page 1 of Beach Reads
I
Kiss of Life
Description
He kisses me dozens of times for the camera.
He’s acting–but my heart’s in overdrive.
I can’t believe my luck when I get this summer job. Crewing for a lifeguard TV show? Are you kidding me? So much fun.
Until I fill in for an extra with a drowning scene–and the lead actor gives me the kiss of life.
Over and over andoveragain.
Take fifty? Are they serious? My heart will never recover. And neither will my pride, because the star gets more stone-faced and silent with every take. I know I’m curvier than the usual actresses, but come on.
Finally, I tell him: there’s no need to be a jerk. And you know what he says?
That’s definitely not hate he’s feeling.
Darla
They’re running again. God, I love it when they run.
Tanned, oiled muscles flex as their arms pump; big, manly bare feet sink into the sand. Those red lifeguard swim shorts cling to their strong thighs, and they all run with such ease, you’d think they were jogging along a park path, not sprinting across a sandy beach.
This is a new summer hobby of mine. Watching these beautiful men work up a sweat.
It’s a great summer so far.
“Cut!”
The director’s voice echoes from his spot by his folding chair. Franklin always insists that the crew set up his little station—the chair with his name sewn on the back; his rickety side table; his jug of lemon water; his giant umbrella—but he never actually sits down. He paces back and forth in front of it, digging his own private trench.
“Again.” Franklin twirls a finger in the air, sending the universal signal forone more time.And the pack of sweaty lifeguards all nod, their bare chests heaving and slick, then tramp back along the beach to their starting markers.
Not a single word of complaint. These guys are mostly up-and-coming, working their first named roles, and not one of them will risk their good luck to moan about running up and down in the heat.
The one guy whocouldcomplain, the one who’s a big enough star, wanders back along the beach too, relaxed and grinning.
Jesse Hendry could probably sprint the whole length of this beach without getting flustered. He’s used to it.
And so freakingfit.
“Darla.” Everyone stiffens at Franklin’s voice, though he’s clearly talking to me. Well… more like barking.
I hop out of my plastic chair. “What’s up, uncle Franklin?”
Yeah, yeah, I bothered my uncle for a summer job. Begged andbeggedhim to let me on set for a few months, so I could get some experience to apply to film studios.
That’s where the special treatment ends, though. It got me through the metaphorical door, and now Franklin’s working me like a dog, the same as everyone else.
Do I mind?
Listen to me:woof.
“Go and take them some water bottles. And,” a towel smacks against my front, “wipe down their chests. They’re too sweaty.”
