Page 42 of Directing You
Epilogue
Noah
Later that night…
“I can’t believe they’re married,” I whispered, taking a slug from my beer.
“I know.” Beside me, Rosa sipped a fruity cocktail that looked more like a smoothie than an alcoholic beverage.
Two of my closest friends decided less than seven hours ago that they wanted to get married… tonight. It was midnight by the time Reid and Hazel finally uttered the words “I do,” to each other and we were leaving the 24-hour chapel on the Atlantic City strip.
I shook my head. That kind of impulsiveness wasn’t something I knew anymore. Shit, I wasn’t even allowed to choose which suit I would wear to a premiere without consulting at least three other people. I missed that freedom… not that I would go out and jump into a binding legal contract with someone on a whim like they just did… but hell. I missed being reckless. Even just a little.
I took another drink of my beer.Coors Light. According to my trainer, I had to stick with the low-calorie drinks. A snarl curled my lips, and more than anything, I wanted to hurl that stupid low-calorie tasteless beer into the ocean.
My toes curled into the cool sand of the Atlantic City beach bar as I stood staring at Hazel and Reid swaying together in the center of the dance floor. Crowds of people—strangers—surrounded them, buying them shots and celebrating the impromptu wedding right along with us. That was the beauty of a place like Atlantic City.
“Oh. My. God. You’re Noah Tripp, right?” Dammit. I hadn’t seen the girl and her friend slide up beside me. She clutched her phone in her palm, cradling it to her chest as a big, goofy grin spread along her cheeks. She looked young… not jailbait young, but too young to be drinking legally in the outdoor tiki bar.
I swallowed my sigh and put on my best disarming smile. The one that landed me the part of the brooding vampire on my current tv show. “I am. What’s your name?”
“My name? Oh my God. Kelsey. It’s Kelsey. Can we get a picture?”
“Of course.” I slid in between them, making sure my hands were visible in the picture—a trick my publicist had taught me when I first became famous—and I grinned even wider at the camera.
“Thank you!” Kelsey squealed and then, thankfully, ran away. It was so fucking awkward when they hung around after the picture and tried to talk for a while.
Once they were gone, I sighed, slumping back onto my stool and resuming the slow sips of my shitty beer.
“That was quite a display,” Rosa chuckled, glancing past me at the girls who were looking down at their phones, no doubt ready to post the picture to their Instagram or whatever.
“That was nothing,” I said in response. “Sometimes one person asking for a picture results ineveryoneasking for one, even if they don’t know who I am. They just assume I must be famous.”
“That must get exhausting. Do you ever get to feel like yourself when you’re out and about?”
“Not usually.” I glanced to my left. Rosa’s wild, curly dark hair framed her sharp, high cheekbones and full mauve lips. Rosa was easily the most stunning woman I’d ever laid eyes on. When Hazel first introduced us, I used every trick in my book to get her into bed with me… or at the very least on a date with me. But she saw through each and every one of my compliments—however genuine they were. If playing hard to get was a game, Rosa deserved the fucking gold medal for it.
Or maybe she really just didn’t like me the same way I liked her.
“Don’t you psychoanalyze me,” I grinned and pointed playfully at her nose. “You’re not a psychologistyet.”
Her grin stretched wide, revealing a set of perfectly straight, pearly-white teeth and dimples that framed either side of her mouth. “Okay, okay,” she said putting her hands up in surrender. “I just can’t help but notice you grimace every time you take a sip from that beer you’ve been nursing since we arrived at the bar. Why not order something else if you don’t like it?”
I spun around, resting my elbows on the bar and pushing the lukewarm, half-drunk beer away from me. She was right. I didn’t want the beer. “I’m supposed to be shredding down for when we start back up filming in a few weeks.”
“Ah. Shredding, sure.” She took another sip of her daiquiri, wrapping those pretty lips around the straw. Damn, I wanted those lips on mine. “But would one drinkreallyhurt? Just one little sex on the beach to celebrate and enjoy the marriage of two of our closest friends?”
Just one little sex on the beach… Her words catapulted my imagination to a more literal depiction of that. And the thing I craved way more than any alcoholic beverage. I tore my gaze away from her seductive mouth and instead focused ahead at the bartender pouring something pink and fruity from a steel cocktail shaker.
“Probably not,” I admitted. I could have one good drink and then go back to my low-calorie beers and gin and soda water… basically the only drinks approved by my trainer. And even those, only in moderation.
“Okay, then!” She slapped her palm down on the bar and the sudden shift in volume and tone was enough to make me jump, nearly knocking over the bottle of beer near my hand. “What’s your poison?”
“I… don’t know,” I said. “Um, a martini?”
“Tripp! Are you kidding me?” Rosa threw her hands into the air. “We’re in a tiki bar, and you’re going to splurge for the first time in God knows how long, and you’re going to choose amartinilike you’re some sort of James Bond?”
“Well, thenyouorder for me. Since you’re such an expert on tiki bars apparently.”
