Page 8 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
“Aren’t you worried that I’m going to tip off the paparazzi? Or chase after you once I know where your motel is? Or take a photo of you and send it to all my friends?”
His light chuckle completely throws me, as does the very tempting dimple in his right cheek. It’s such a wholesome and adorable feature on his otherwise ruggedly handsome face. I have to look away—it’s almost too beautiful, too arresting for my brain to handle. A beat later I glance back over and catch his sparkling hazel eyes scanning over my face. For a millisecond it looks like his gaze is lingering over my lips, but he’s back to my eyes before I can be sure.
“No. I’m not worried about you ratting me out.”
I’m speechless as I pull into the pothole-ridden parking lot of the motel, astounded that this guy comes off as so trusting given everything he’s going through.
“Why would you trust me? We don’t even know each other.”
“Because you’re treating me like a regular person, not a celebrity. That counts for a lot in my experience. Plus, you haven’t told anyone about seeing me.”
Damn. The way Lewis can quickly read a person he barely knows is impressive. I wonder if that’s a skill he’s had to develop as a celebrity, sussing out trustworthy people in a sea of folks who are constantly after you for your fame, your money, or some other nefarious reason.
He points to the far end of the single-story, L-shaped motel that’s swathed in a drab adobe shade. “Right there is fine.”
I drive over and park. “Wow.”
“I know, it’s a shithole.”
I burst out laughing. “This is the perfect hideout. I’d never expect a celebrity to stay within a hundred miles of this place.”
He chuckles as he moves to open the door. “Thanks again for hiding me earlier. And for the ride.”
“No problem. Good luck with...” My phone buzzes, and I glance down to see another text from yet another contractor quoting me an insane price to finish the remodel.
I grit my teeth and before sighing sharply.
“Everything okay?” Lewis asks.
“Not even close.”
He opens his mouth like he’s not quite sure what to say to that.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to salvage the remodel from hell. It looks like it’s going to be hell on my bank account too.”
He winces. “Shitty contractors?”
I let out a sad chuckle. “How’d you know? I fired the contractor yesterday because he screwed up everything from the flooring to the light fixtures.”
I quickly explain that I’ve quit my job and moved to Half Moon Bay to fix up my grandparents’ old house.
“I used to be a contractor before I was an actor,” Lewis says.
“Really?”
He nods. “It was only a few years ago that I gave it up completely. I’d do house flips while auditioning and when I nabbed small parts here and there.”
“Damn. Too bad you’re not available to work on my run-down bungalow.” I’m cleaning my glasses lenses on the hem of my long-sleeve T-shirt when I look up and notice that Lewis’s brow is lifted slightly, like he’s actually considering what I’ve said.
I laugh and wave a hand before focusing back on my smudgy glasses. “I’m kidding. But hey, if you ever need a place to hide out where no one will ever think to look for you, check out the Ellorza family residence on the south side of town, right next to that rocky hillside the city council zoned against any new construction decades ago.”
I expect Lewis to chuckle a thanks or a good-natured “okay then” at my terribly long-winded joke before hopping out of my car. But he doesn’t move to leave, or even say a word. I slide my glasses back on and glance up at him. His mouth hangs half-open, and there’s a gleam in his hazel eyes as he gazes off to the side.
“Okay. Yeah. I wanna do that.”
“Do what?”
“I wanna move into your house.”
