I groaned when I realized he was nervously working his teeth back and forth over his top lip and that his skin was flushed beneath his slowly fading spray tan.
“I hate when people look at me like that,” I pointed out, knowing his sheepish expression meant an end to my night and the noise.
I wasn’t at all ready for that.
Miller lifted his muscled shoulders. “Don’t you think we should call it a night? I mean, this place is thinning out.” He gestured around us at the handful of tourist strolling through the muggy darkness. When we arrived—two or three hours ago—the place was in full swing.
Shoving my giant sunglasses up on my nose, I focused my attention to the front of the line and let the sounds around us wrap me up. “It’s only nine,” I argued.
Miller snorted. “Yeah, an hour and a half ago.” Okay, so we’d been here more than four hours. When I held up my hands in a so-what motion and gave him an irritated look, he said in a gentle voice, “You’re the one who told me two hours ago to make sure you went home before eleven to study your lines and go to bed for your lesson with Billabong, remember?”
If I wasn’t so irritated about making that particular promise to Miller, I would have smiled at his nickname for Cooper. Instead, my frown deepened. Thinking about surf lessons with Cooper made my chest hurt. And the last time my heart or chest or anything hurt thinking about a guy . . .
Things ended badly.
“One more hour,” I pleaded and though he looked conflicted, Miller dipped his head. He stepped forward when the person in front of us showed his wrist band to the attendant.
“You’re just like my kid sister. Okay, one more hour and then I’ll carry your ass out of here if I have to.”
If any of my friends back in Hollywood knew I was hanging out with my bodyguard as friends, that he was talking to me like we’d known each other for years, they’d make a smart ass comment. They’d ask me if we were sleeping together. Luckily, I wasn’t in Hollywood. Besides, my friends’ opinions weren’t exactly at the top of my list of things to give a shit about since I still hadn’t heard from any of them—not even Jessica, who was supposed to be my best.
Giving Miller a smile which coaxed a gap-toothed grin from him, I crossed my fingertip over my heart. “I promise, only one more hour,” I said.
Of course, when my phone rang and woke me up at 8:45 the next morning, I immediately wished I’d chosen to turn in much earlier. Apparently, I was losing my party girl touch. I answered without opening my eyes to check the ID, letting my fingers wander over the smooth surface of the screen until I found the right button.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“Hi, I’m trying to reach Willow Avery,” a female voice said.
I flew up into a sitting position, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “It’s me. Anne?” I asked, thinking it was Kevin’s assistant on the line. Now, I was fully alert—wide-eyed and expecting good news.
“No, sorry. This is Officer Stewart from probation.”
Fuck my life.
“Oh,” I said, unable to hide the drag of disappointment from my voice.
“I was calling to set up your first visit to our office—and to confirm your address.”
As I copied down the information Stewart gave me on the back of a scrap piece of paper I found in one of the nightstand drawers, and answered all her questions in a monotone voice, I felt a chill claw down the middle of my chest. It wasn’t like I was in danger of failing a random pee test—and I’d failed my fair share of those in Los Angeles with my old probation officer who overlooked them because Kevin represented his son—and yet I felt like the walls were closing in around me. I felt trapped.
“When are you planning to start your community service?” Office Stewart questioned.
I grimaced. I should have known that one was coming. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I croaked, “I’m not sure. What am I supposed to be doing, exactly?”
“You’ll be working at Harmony House,” she said. Then she gave me the name and number of the person who’d be supervising me. “So, I’ll see you Friday morning, at 9:30?” she confirmed.
“I’ll be there,” I said slowly, thinking of how embarrassing it would be to have my bodyguard take me to probation because I didn’t have a license. It could be worse, I reminded myself. Like asking Miller to escort me to the gynecologist or making him wait for me while I hooked up with someone in a hotel. I’d never been one for random hookups but I had friends, like Jessica, who had no problem having sex with a new guy every weekend while her bodyguard waited in the car or outside her hotel door.
I looked down at my phone, wincing when I saw the time. It was 8:58 a.m. and I was supposed to meet Cooper in two minutes. I shot him a message letting him know I was running late then I sent Miller one telling him I’d be ready to go in five minutes. I changed quickly—today in a modest two piece that had been delivered with my things yesterday. Somehow, it managed to hide the telltale scar and accentuate my boobs at the same time.
One of my hands was working on the button of my tiny yellow shorts and the other was cramming my face with a whole wheat waffle that tasted like overcooked cardboard as I ran outside to where Miller was waiting by the Kia. He shook his head, grinning and got into the driver’s side. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I held my waffle between my teeth to check it.
Cooper had messaged me back.
9:08 a.m.: You know that James Dickson won’t be so lenient when you stay out too late partying, right?