Page 19 of Smartasses
Chapter Seven
Belly filled with ice cream and the taste of hot fudge still on her tongue, Aubrey didn’t understand the sudden onset shyness as she stood next to Carter in front of her stateroom door.
“Thanks for the ice cream.” He rubbed his palm across the back of his head hard enough that it would have messed up his hair if it had been even half an inch longer. “I haven’t had a double scoop in forever.”
“They keep the ice cream freezer under lock and key?” she asked, teasing.
“I can’t complain too hard. I have it a lot easier than the women in Hollywood do. Still, all it takes is a couple of unflattering pictures posted on some fan Instagram account to make casting directors think I may be losing my appeal.”
Maybe like her Admiral thirst trap account? Guilt sent her sugar rush crashing as she glanced down at the gaudy hall carpet and away from the man she’d been ogling in public but had never imagined would ever appear in her life. Lusting after him had been like dreaming in detail about how she’d spend every penny of her lotto winnings even though she never bought a ticket.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against his door. “What for?”
She wrapped her arms around her middle and let out a deep breath. “I might have been one of those people who posted pics.” Not a lie but definitely not the whole truth. Damn. Why was this so hard?
Lifting an eyebrow, he gave her a cocky grin. “Might have, huh?”
Despite knowing she should keep this moment serious, she giggled. What was it about Carter that made her feel like that person she’d been in college? The one who did dumb things occasionally but things always worked out. It was like being around him made her forget the clock-in, clock-out boring sameness her life had become.
“So,” he went on, pretending to be shocked, “all this flirty banter hasn’t been only because you’re interested in my super-hot, big brain?”
Falling into old habits, she went with the moment, sliding into the safety of old, sassy, always up to something Aubrey. “Your butt might be kinda nice.”
“Kind of?” He let out an exaggerated gasp, really going all in on the biting Hollywood egomaniac thing. “You know I was one of People’s Sexiest People Alive.”
“But you weren’t named the sexiest.”
He chuckled. “Only the best for you, huh?”
“Yes.” She nodded, playing her part. “I have very discriminating tastes when it comes to Hollywood hotties pretending to be a local yokel from Iowa.”
“I understand.” He grinned at her as he opened his door. “See you at dinner?”
“You bet.”
She was still doing that goofy-smile-happy-sigh thing when he closed the door and then ducked into the bathroom to grab her dress for dinner. She’d hung it up before her shower in hopes the lazy person’s iron would get rid of the wrinkles created by her just-stuff-it-in-the-suitcase-and-go packing style. Survey said—she held up the blue dress with spaghetti straps and a suck-in-your-gut-and-pray zipper—yeah, close enough.
One tight-space strip down later and she was in the dress, zipper half down, but a woman needed more room than was allotted in a teeny-tiny ship’s bathroom to do the reach-behind-grow-her-arms-three-inches-to-reach-it-all maneuvers necessary to finish the job.
Her phone on the desk caught her eye as she walked back out into her room. Since they departed, it had been a glorified alarm clock radio, but they were docked in Orlando, which meant she had a signal. Finally! She could delete the post that started it all. Heart doing the thunka-thunka rhumba at twice the normal speed, Aubrey tossed her old clothes on the bed, picked up her phone, clicked on Insta, and instantly regretted the double scoop of hot fudge.
The notifications had gone wild. There were so many comments on her could-Carter-Hayes-be-on-a-singles-cruise post that it was like they’d made their own little comment babies. People were describing in way too much detail exactly what they’d do if they discovered Carter was on their cruise. Wow. Folks were creative. She would have just been thinking bang him, but some of the commenters had gotten way more creative about the how, the when, the where, and the what exactly. If it wasn’t sorta weird because she knew him, she would have been impressed by their creativity. But she did. He wasn’t just The Admiral anymore. He was Carter.
Not needing any time to second-guess herself, she hit delete on the post. Too late? Most definitely. But it was all she could do without a time machine. Too bad that didn’t make the situation any better.
She dropped her phone on the bed and groaned. “You are such an asshole, Aubrey Dean.”
“Did you poison my ice cream?” Carter asked.
She did a surprised squeak whirl around thing, her palm pressed to her chest above her wildly beating heart. He stood in the door that, like a dork, she’d forgotten they’d left open. He was in slacks and a button-up shirt that hung open, his to-die-for abs on display, but she noticed that last. The first? The way all of the jittery, anxiousness twisting her up inside melted away at the sight of him.
Oh, this was bad. This was so bad. This wasn’t just hanging out for a cover story, not for her anymore. This was so much, “Worse.”
“Did you poison all the ice cream?” he asked.
This was when she told him. She just let it all hang out there, knowing he’d realize who she really was, and that would be that. He’d close the connecting door and never talk to her again. Well, it was amazing while it lasted. And not because he was Carter Hayes, movie star and all-around eye candy. It was because he was Carter Hayes, the guy not from Iowa who made her laugh and gave her the maybe-this-could-be-more feelings.
