Fall

My point? It happens. It happens more than the general public even knows! Hollywood is all about pressure. It’s about being the best, and even when people say you’ve finally made it? All it takes is another blockbuster or an unknown actor to tip the scales out of your favor and then suddenly you’re working at McDonald’s and asking if people want fries with their burgers.

I set my phone on the counter and tugged my shirt off as sweat poured down my body.

See? It was even hot as hell in Seaside! Or maybe it was just my house. I took a few more soothing breaths and looked down at my phone just as an alert went off.

Priscilla had sent me a picture. She had her PJ’s on and a stuffed brown horse in her hands as she waved. The caption said goodnight.

My heart may have fluttered.

And my throat may have gone dry as my eyes stared at the picture — nearly burning a hole into it.

I had to have her.

And I didn’t even know why. I wanted to hate myself for wanting her. I knew the only reason was because she was innocent — off limits — and because she hated me.

I didn’t know how to go about it. How did one actually pursue a girl without having sex first? I mean, I knew in theory that’s how it worked, I’d just never actually done it before.

Dating?

Did I want to date?

I grabbed a beer from the fridge that the agency had stocked for me and sat on the couch, putting my head in my hands as I thought it through — like really thought it through until my head throbbed.

I didn’t want to date her.

I kind of just wanted to… see her? Was that it? Hold her hand? Get her to forgive me? How creepy could I be? I could see myself now, getting caught watching her with a huge-assed grin on my face. Yeah, I’d probably end up in prison, and my face was way too expensive to get messed up by a cross-dresser named Frank.

I groaned. Hell, I had no idea what I wanted. Maybe it was just the fact that we’d left things so horribly. Okay fine, I’d left things horribly.

Tomorrow. I’d think about it tomorrow. I snatched my phone and scrolled through my e-mail and original instructions from Peter.

To my utter horror — there was an e-mail from Peter… the subject? Your job while you “vacation” in paradise.

He’d called it paradise to piss me off.

I clicked the e-mail and read through the instructions.

Then promptly threw my phone against the couch and punched the cushion with my fist over and over again.

It had to me a mistake.

It was a joke, right?

A joke. A joke. A joke. I tried to laugh.

No laugh came.

I was officially helping out with the Chamber of Commerce. My first stop? A church.

Here’s to hoping I don’t get struck by lightning the minute I step over the threshold.

I held up my beer into the air. “Cheers.”

Chapter Eight

Priscilla

I tossed in my bed for what felt like hours. Each position felt uncomfortable and awkward. Embarrassed that my thoughts were consumed with a certain Jamie Hudson and his silly baseball hat, I unplugged my phone — so I wouldn’t stalk my Facebook messages — and set it across the room.

Satisfied, I padded back to my bed and tucked the sheets up to my chin then fell into a dreamless sleep… until I heard sirens.

I jolted out of bed like someone had shocked me and ran to the window. They sounded really close. I opened the window and peered out as the fire truck made its way to my house followed by two police cars and an ambulance.

The train of loudness stopped directly in front of my house.

And then I smelled smoke.

Panicking, I ran back to my door and lightly tapped the knob like they show you in all those stupid movies you have to watch about fire prevention. It wasn’t hot. I opened the door and nearly fell over as a billow of black smoke invaded my room sending me to all fours.

I grabbed my phone since it was right next to me and crawled down the stairs toward the door. I still didn’t see any flames or feel any heat. Once I was safely in the hall, I ran to the door and burst outside. An explosion jarred me off balance sending me sailing across the grass.

“Ma’am? Are you hurt? Can you hear me?” A flashlight shone in my eyes. I moaned and flipped over onto my back. The light made it impossible to see the guy who had asked me if I was dying.

Firefighters charged by me as I tried to wrap my head around what was happening.

“Here.” The man turned off his flashlight and knelt next to me. “I’m a paramedic, and you’re safe, alright? Just take a few deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” My voice was hoarse. I tried to inhale but all of a sudden it felt like my lungs were squeezing closed. Panicking, I gripped the paramedic’s arm and began coughing.

“That’s alright, just cough it out. Seems you got some smoke in there.”

No crap! I wanted to shout but I was having trouble breathing, let alone speaking.

His hand moved to my back as he rubbed and patted. “There you go, just keep coughing.”

Why did his voice sound familiar? And why was his touch so warm? Was it that cold outside?

Finally, my breathing evened. I turned to thank the paramedic, and again, was rendered speechless.

He smiled. “Better now?”

“Smith?”

“Yes?” he said calmly, his mouth tilting upward into a steady smile.

“But—”

“I donate my time.” He winked. “Now, do you think you can stand?”