There You'll Find Me (19 page)

He wore another ridiculous outfit from the nineteenth century, but I doubted any man from the 1800s looked that dashing and ruggedly handsome. Or arrogant. Or charming.

Oh gosh. He was like a fever, a plague that none of us could resist.

“Action!”

The scene came to life as Beckett reached out and touched Taylor’s flawless face. I averted my eyes and focused on the camera crew. It was just another reminder that Beckett had a girlfriend.

And it wasn’t me.

Nor did I want it to be.

“Cut! Take a half-hour break.” The crew separated like ants in a sandstorm, and Beckett caught my eye, then jerked his head toward the direction of his trailer.

I might’ve worked for him, but I wasn’t at his beck and call. How about a little
please
and
do you mind
?

As he headed to the trailer, I stopped and talked to Ciara and got some tips on shading with concealer. Then I paused at craft services and snagged a cookie, took a bite, then threw it away. No more table grazing for me. One bite of an Oreo was like five minutes of running. Not worth it.

After helping a cameraman with some equipment, I finally moseyed to trailer number six and knocked on the metal door.

My fingers barely make contact before the door swung open and there stood Beckett, leaning against the opening, his white linen shirt unbuttoned to midchest, his hair lying in waves of mussy perfection, and his eyes filled with lazy mischief.

“I called you Sunday,” he said.

I pointed to his shirt. “Seriously? Is this 1975?”

He looked down. “It drives the chicks wild.”

“Yeah, the ones who work at Hooters and have a thing for backseats.”

“You didn’t answer your phone Sunday.”

I forced myself to meet his stare. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“It’s a holy day. I went to church and spent the rest of the time reflecting on the sermon and how I can apply its principles to my life.”

“You don’t even like that church.”

“Fine,” I said. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I prayed for your dark soul. Now let me in.”

“Careful,” he said. “The step broke this morning.” Beckett held out his large guy hand and pulled me until I was standing beside him in the doorway, blocked from moving inside. “It’s touching to know you were praying for me.” He looked down, pinning me in place with that gaze. “And to think I believed you were ignoring me.”

Good heavens, Harry Potter didn’t have any magic like the kind this boy was brewing. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know.” Beckett’s voice was low and rough. “Thought Saturday night might’ve scared you off.”

“Walking the streets of Galway?” I made my words as calm and unaffected as possible. “Dinner at the pub? A little dancing? Gossiping with your friend?” My eyes dropped to his lips, and I forced them back to his stare. “Why would that affect me at all?”

The laughter of girls came from behind us, breaking the spell and making me remember Beckett and I were not alone, but where everyone could see.

Beatrice and Taylor walked by. Taylor gave a weak wave, and I held up my hand in return. Beatrice stared at Beckett, then back at me, her eyes thinning like a snake about to strike.

“Get inside.” He gave me a light push out of the way and pulled the door closed. Walking to the refrigerator, Beckett reached for a Diet Coke, popped the top, then handed it to me.

“Thanks.” I took a sip, grateful for something to do. “Want to run lines?”

He stood too near, so close I could have reached out and traced the line of his jaw. As a furrow formed on his brow, his eyes searched mine, and my heart thudded twice before it remembered to beat again. The seconds ticked by.

Finally, I interrupted the silence. “Beckett?”

“I had a good time Saturday night,” he said, as if he didn’t quite understand it.

I didn’t want to be pleased. Yet I was. “You did?”

His lips lifted in a lopsided grin. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Seriously? He had fun? With me?

Beckett stepped away, and I took the opportunity to breathe. He moved to one of the chairs and sat down. Picked at a string on the upholstery. “One of those pictures in your brother’s journal was Lahinch. I wondered if you’d want to take a drive there Sunday after we go to church.”

As friends? As a boy and a girl who kissed after a whirling dervish of a dance in an Irish pub? Wait— “We?”

“You go to yours,” he said. “I go to mine.”

“You go to church?”

“Church of Ireland, yes.” I swore I saw his cheeks flush pink.

“My neighbor used to take me when I was little. It’s not a big deal.”

For some reason I got a charge off this information. “It kind of is. Beckett Rush, America’s party boy, attends Sunday services.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

I sat down and crossed my legs. “Does your dad know you do this?”

“It’s a yes or no question, Finley. Either you want to go or you don’t. I just thought you might like to see some more of the local culture. That’s all.”

“You could just go with me and Erin on Sunday. No, wait, probably best we not attend together anyway. You’d probably try and kiss me during the invitation.”

He quirked a brow. “You couldn’t keep your hands off me Saturday.”

“Me?” I pointed my finger in his face. “You were the one who insisted we dance.”

“You loved every minute of it. Admit it.” Leaning forward, Beckett braced his arms on his knees and stared right at me. “Finley?” He traced the plaid pattern on the arm of my chair, so close to my hand, I could almost feel it on my skin. “I had fun Saturday. I mean that.”

Beside me a droplet shimmered down my can. “You already said that.”

“I don’t think you believed me either time. And that’s just sad.”

He gave a small sigh. “When I’m with a girl, I like to make a good impression.”

“I don’t mess around with guys who have girlfriends.”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Besides.” I studied that face. “You said you wanted it forgotten.”

He stood up, planted his hands on either side of my chair, and hovered over me, his lips a breath away from mine. “I don’t know why I like hanging out with you, but I do.”

“You actors aren’t paid to think on a regular basis.” And
I
couldn’t think. Not with him so near.

“You.” He shifted until his mouth was next to my ear. “Were the best part of my weekend.”

I turned my head just slightly ’til our eyes met again and my cheek brushed against his. “I’m still waiting for you to address the Taylor issue.”

I heard his sigh, a real one this time. “Can you just trust me that I’m not crossing any lines?”

“You have a girlfriend.”

“And if I didn’t?”

“Are you saying you don’t?”

Behind us the door flung open, and Beckett pulled himself upright.

“Check out
People
magazine’s website!” Taylor hoisted herself into the trailer, holding up her iPhone. “We made the day’s headline.” Beatrice stood behind her, a twisted smile on her face.

“We’re running lines,” Beckett said. “I’ll look at it later.”

But Taylor wouldn’t be deterred. “I’ll read it for you.”

“No, Taylor—”

“
Fangs in the Night
cast has a wild Saturday evening in Doolin.”

Taylor laughed as she showed us the screen. Beckett stepped in front of me, blocking my view, but with an elbow to his side, I moved around him. And what I saw had my stomach folding.

It was a picture of Beckett surrounded by a group of castmates in some pub. His arm was slung around Taylor, and she gazed up at him like he held her world.

“‘Hollywood’s hot couple tears up the town,’” Taylor read.

“Great picture, huh?”

I looked at Beckett, an invisible fist around my heart. “I guess that beats my Saturday night.”

Chapter Sixteen

You sounded down on the phone yesterday. You can talk to your old dad about anything, you know. Except boys. And bras. And that Bieber fellow.
—Dad
Sent to my BlackBerry

T
he clock read a mean-looking four forty-five a.m. when I finally admitted defeat to a wasted night of zero sleep and got up. My eyes blurred and burned, and I didn’t have to look in a mirror to know they were puffy and would require con-cealer applied like spackle.

Turning on the lamp, I reached into the drawer on the bedside table and retrieved my Bible. Not feeling particularly inspired, I flipped through the pages and randomly stopped. My finger landed on the second chapter of Ephesians, and I pulled the covers up to my chin and read the words. Finding nothing leaping out at me or whispering, “Finley, this is God talking to you,” I closed my Bible after a few minutes and attempted to pray.

If there were crickets in the room, they would have provided the soundtrack to the silence that hung so loud.

God, I don’t know if you’re listening or keeping up, but I did not have a great weekend. It started out good. Galway was beautiful. The music was amazing. For a while, I felt so free and alive. And then things got complicated. Beckett kissed me, and it meant nothing. To him. I just fell into the lie that things were different. That he was different, and maybe because of me. Like he’d change his ways for someone like me. I’m just another girl he’s wooed and kissed. Meaningless fun for him
.

Total confusion for me
.

I sat there for a few more minutes, just in case God wanted to speak from the rafters or send a trumpet-blasting angel to deliver some good news.

But nothing.

Why did I even bother?

Wide-awake and revved up on frustration, I jumped out of my Hello Kitty PJs and into my running gear. Grabbing my iPod, I tiptoed down the stairs and slipped out the back door into the dim light of dawn.

As old-school Crowder sang in my ear, I took off down the driveway, angling my body against the wind and downward slope of the road.

My feet hit the ground, and with every strike of my shoe, I breathed a little faster. And a little easier. This was familiar. This was comfort. The oxygen pumping through my veins, the movement of arms and limbs, the killing of the calories.

By the third Kings of Leon song, I realized someone was approaching. I looked behind me, my head jerking in a double take.

Beckett. Decked out in head-to-toe black, from his Nikes to his stocking cap, he picked up the pace. And so did I.

“Wait,” I heard him say over a wailing guitar.

A cool girl would’ve kept an even clip. A sophisticated one would’ve pretended nothing was the matter.

Me?

I took off in a dead sprint.

Without even looking back, I knew he was gaining on me. I cut through Mr. Dell’s rocky field and, using some of my old cheerleader agility, leaped over his stone fence. The grass snapped at my legs, but I pushed on, having no idea where I was going. And hoping Mr. Dell didn’t own a bull.

“Finley!”

“Go away,” I called back.

Five seconds later a hand grabbed the hem of my jacket. Then Beckett’s fingers closed around my upper arm, forcing me to stop.

I ripped out my earbuds. “What?” My breath raged in and out of my lungs.

Beckett maintained his hold and stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “I want to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.” I flailed my hand toward the meadow. “I have many fields to go before I’m done.” I wrenched my arm free and began to walk deeper onto the property.