Hollywood Dirt
Page 43

“You should take off your shirt,” I called out. “It’s gonna get dirty.” He looked over his shoulder at me, his hands still on the post. I don’t know why I said that, don’t know where the flirtatious tone had come from, and why it had chosen then, right then, to come to life.
“You should take your shirt off,” he called back. “I’m not going to be the object of your ogling.”
I laughed. “Puh-lease. We’ve all seen what you’ve got.” And we had. He went full frontal in The Evidence Locker. America swooned, and my vibrator got a fresh round of batteries. He turned back to his work, and I settled in. It was nice eye candy, even with his shirt on. And, after a few minutes of watching him, I relaxed. He did know what he was doing. Probably more than me. He was certainly quicker than me. His shirt was just beginning to stick to his back when he finished the job, grabbing the leftover wood and tossing it into the bed beside me, the chicken hopping to the end of my knee and looking up at him.
“Hey buddy,” he said, scooping him up and setting him down on the ground.
“I can’t believe you brought him with you.”
He shrugged. “What else is he going to do? Sit at home and stare at nothing?” He sat next to me and the truck sagged a little under the additional weight. “You really don’t have a cell phone?” he asked, turning to me.
“Nope.” I watched the chicken run, quick and fast away from the truck. “Why were you trying to call?”
“Don wants to have a meeting. He’s coming in tomorrow, wants us to run through some lines together. Why haven’t you signed the talent agreement?”
“My lawyer has it. I’ll call his office, find out where he’s at on it.” Scott had called twice, the first time leaving a message, the second time having the poor luck of getting Mama. It wasn’t a pleasant experience for him. I had giggled into my bowl of cereal and mentally urged her on. I guess, seeing my job wasn’t secured yet, I should probably call him back.
“You have an attorney?” He looked so surprised that I was almost offended.
“Yes, we country folk hire legal help just like you do.”
“I didn’t mean…” He looked down. “We need it signed. If there’s any issues, we need to know that as soon as possible.”
“Okay. I’ll call him tonight.”
“Wow.” He looked over at me, and his arm brushed against mine. “Evening service? I need your attorney.”
I laughed, thinking of his attorney. “I’d rather have yours.”
“Oh, that’s right.” His voice darkened. “I forgot the fawning session on your front porch.”
“What?” I pushed off the tailgate and faced him. It felt better, having some space between us. I could actually breathe.
“You were drooling over him. You have Cole Fucking Masten on your front porch, and you were staring at him like your damn panties were about to combust.”
I tilted my head at him. “Oh. My. God. You’re jealous.” He was. I could see it in the pinch of his forehead. Jealousy I recognized, even if I hadn’t seen it for a long time. Scott had had jealousy down to a science. “And who refers to himself with the F word as a middle name?”
“The F word?” he questioned. “Your country-girl mouth doesn’t get dirty?”
With his words, the feel of the conversation changed, putting us in territory I felt uncomfortable with. Yes, my country girl mouth could get dirty.
Jackass.
Asshole.
Prick.
I had a whole list of words I could have screamed at him. Instead, I turned away and busied myself, chasing down his chicken, who ran from me and over to him. Cole carefully moved off the tailgate and picked the rooster up.
“When can you meet about the script?” The question came quick and businesslike from his mouth.
I shrugged and tried not to stare at the way his T-shirt sleeves had ridden up his arms, revealing more of his bicep. “Tomorrow? I’m open whenever.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow morning and set a time. We’ll do it at my place. Don’s shacked up at that tiny motel.” He’s lucky Ethel Raine wasn’t in earshot. She wouldn’t hesitate to cut off his balls and serve them for breakfast with grits and biscuits.
“Fine.” I put my hands in my back pockets and watched him open up the truck’s back door and carefully put the bird inside. Then, without a word of parting, he got in the front seat, slammed the door behind him, and pulled off, the recent rain softening the dirt, a wet sound of suction left behind as he floored it. I stepped to the side and watched him hit the end of the driveway, the red truck turning around in the yard and barreling back in my direction. I leaned against the new fence, arms resting on the rail, and watched him fly past, a quick glimpse of the chicken’s head poking up along the bottom of the back seat window. I guess he had changed his mind about getting me a cell phone. I was glad. The last thing I wanted was to go anywhere with that man. It had been one thing to dislike him upon our first meeting. But now, as time passed and pieces of him came to light, I felt more and more off-balance around him. There were times when he seemed almost likeable, other times anything but. Right then, sitting next to me, the occasional brush of his arm or leg… it had been too much. Too much man, too close. Too much magnetism when he smiled, too tempting when he flirted, too big of a hole dug by him being nice. I couldn’t let his charm, his temptation, drag me into that hole and push me down. For him, flirtation was nothing, a country girl finding him attractive normal. For me? Falling for the unattainable Cole Masten might just break all of my bones upon impact.