Page 68 of Shine For Me

Fox

“Do we really have to get on a plane tomorrow?” June asks wistfully. “I’m just starting to like it here.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s because you’re not working anymore.”

She grins over at me, the flickering light of the bonfire casting her face in shades of gold. “You have a good point. I much prefer the beach when I can actually relax.”

Filming has finally wrapped. June and I both shot our final scenes today. Eventually there will be reshoots, but that’s months down the line. For now, my responsibilities to this film are over.

And to celebrate, we’re at one of the better wrap parties I’ve ever been to. We have an entire section of the beach roped off for our use. The studio sprung for excellent catering, including an open bar, and hired a local band to come out and play. Most of the cast and crew are gathered around a giant beach bonfire, finally taking the time to relax after the hectic shooting pace. The ocean is crashing nearby and the sky is filled with stars.

It would be an amazing night. If my girlfriend wasn’t sitting three feet away from me in the sand. The longer this secret has stretched on, the harder it’s been for me. Pretending we’re platonic in front of the crew is driving me crazy. June looks breathtakingly gorgeous right now in her pink flowered sundress. I want nothing more than to pull her into my lap and kiss that little patch of fire-warmed skin right below her ear.

But instead, I’m sitting here, keeping my hands to myself. And she’s sitting over there.

It sucks.

I down a long sip of my beer, trying not to let my mood turn maudlin. The last few weeks with her have been amazing, even with all the hours we’ve been working. There’s nothing better than ending a long day and knowing I’m going to get to fall asleep next to her. I barely set foot in my side of the beach house the entire two weeks we’ve been here—why would I, when June is right next door?

It’s been so easy to pretend like the rest of the world doesn’t exist while we’ve been living in our little beach bubble, just the two of us. The end of filming almost caught me by surprise—I’ve been too busy enjoying the moment with June to think much about what comes after.

And we’ve barely talked about after. I don’t know what June’s plans are for when we get back to LA. I don’t even know when I’m going to see her again after tomorrow.

And I have no idea when she plans to make her break-up with Adam public.

“Hey.” I look up when the toe of her sandal nudges my leg. “Why so glum?”

I try for a smile but I’m not sure I succeed. She studies my face in the firelight for a long moment and whatever she sees there makes her forehead wrinkle in concern. “Thinking about tomorrow,” I explain, and she nods, expression falling.

“It’s been a pretty good few weeks, hasn’t it?” she asks wistfully. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“Me neither.” I look away, afraid I’ll blurt out the millions of questions running through my mind. What now? What about Adam? Will you be in my bed tomorrow night?

Are you as terrified by this feeling as I am?

Her toe comes over to nudge me again, harder this time. “Wanna dance?”

I look up in surprise and she tilts her head to a space a few yards from the fire, where several of the cast members have set up an impromptu dance floor in front of the band. “You want to dance?” I ask. In front of other people? But I don’t say that part out loud. She looks so freaking cute with that eager, hopeful expression on her face when she nods in response.

“Yeah, June,” I say, unable to stop from smiling as our eyes meet. “I want to dance.”

I expect her to keep things strictly friendly on the dance floor, but the band starts a slow song right as we join the others, and June slides right into my arms, her hands coming up to loop around my neck. She’s standing far too close to me to be platonic, but I have no desire to remind her that we’re in public. If June wants to rest her head against my chest as we dance under the stars, I’m sure as hell not going to stop her.

We dance silently for one song, just holding each other as we sway to the music. Then the band starts up something a little faster—but June doesn’t move away from me. She stays in my arms, letting me guide us both to the quicker tempo of the new song.

“You’re a good dancer,” she says. “I guess rhythm runs in your blood, huh? I bet you play drums, too.”

“A little,” I admit, and she gives me one of those perfect, musical laughs and pulls back enough to look up into my face.

“I was kidding, Fox. Do you seriously play the drums?”

“My grandpa is a drummer. He tried to get us all to learn.”

A cloud passes over her face and I suppress a groan, annoyed with myself. Now she’s probably thinking abouthergrandfather. I hate how the thought of him causes all the happiness to drain out of her face. Family isn’t supposed to do that.

“What happens tomorrow, Fox?” she asks, her voice too quiet and small.

I squeeze her waist. “What do you want to happen?”