Fuck.
I squint out at the waves, glad to have changed into jeans and a white t-shirt while I got the chance. It would be bad enough to get hard on set, but in those swim shorts? Around all these other assholes? I’d rather die.
“This must be such a dream job.”
I slant a look at Darla, but it doesn’t seem like she’s being sarcastic. I guess she’s only been on set for a month—and it’s a whole different experience for the crew, anyway.
“Yeah, I’m lucky,” I mutter.
She blinks. Glances at me. Opens her mouth to ask god knows what, but then a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.
“Jesse.” Franklin squeezes, giving me a quick shake. “Good stuff earlier. Shame about that fucking seaweed, but we got the shot.” He keeps talking, rattling off a bunch of notes for tomorrow, but for the first time in my life, I’m not listening.
I’m staring at his niece where she stands at his elbow. Soaking in every detail of her: the pink tinge to her cheekbones from a full day in the sun; the turquoise nail polish on her bare toes; the way the tip of her tongue keeps darting out, wetting her bottom lip as she listens to her uncle.
Darla has the most amazing hazel eyes. Big and round and beseeching.
Heat coils in my gut. Fuck.
Does she know she’s doing that with her tongue?
“Got it?” Franklin says, his loud voice finally breaking through the pounding in my ears, and I nod, still looking at Darla. She peers over at me and jolts.
“Got it.” Whatever it was, he’ll repeat it a dozen more times. Franklin likes to hammer his point home.
His niece glances over her shoulder as he leads her away, eyebrows pinched together. She looks worried about me.
There’s nothing to worry about.
I’m fine.