The Unidentified Redhead Read online

  He chatted with them for a moment and the forward one said, “OK, enough. We'll let you eat your lunch now. Thank you so much. You don't know how much we, uh, I mean, uh, bye!” she finished, turning quickly and then marching them away. They had barely made it twenty feet before the screaming started.

  “Oh, man, you really are a hit with the womenfolk, huh?” I teased, taking a sip of my beer. When it was just him and I, it was easy to forget that all signs were pointing towards him becoming a major Hollywood player by the end of the year.

  “Yeah, yeah. The ladies, they love me. What can I say?” He shrugged.

  “Ass,” I stated, as the server brought our lunch. We slipped back into our comfortable conversation, the fans breaking the tension that had been building all day.

  ***

  We finished our lunch, and after sitting and watching the waves for a while, we decided to take a walk before heading back into town. Malibu was always beautiful and this day was no exception. I held my sneakers in my hand as we walked along the water.

  “This is really a Hallmark moment, Hamilton. Walking on the beach, sunshine, seagulls. It's freaking perfect,” I said, glancing at him sideways. He was silhouetted against the horizon, the sun once again highlighting the exquisite planes of his face.

  “If it was perfect, we would be rolling around on the sand together, kissing like mad.”

  I stopped walking and looked him straight in the eye. Then lay down on the sand, and began to roll myself back and forth. He closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sky.

  “Fucking nuts girl,” he sighed.

  “Come on, big boy, get down here and roll with me. I can't do this alone. Someone will call Baywatch and tell them there's a girl on the beach having some kind of fit,” I snickered, getting covered in sand.

  He laughed and joined me. Wordlessly, he began rolling back and forth as well, making me laugh harder. It was so easy, so authentic being with him. We both stopped and lay on our backs next to each other, looking up at the sky. The sun was out over the ocean and I raised my legs. Pointing my toes, I covered up the sun with my feet and then moved them apart to reveal it again. I did this several times, when I noticed that Jack was staring at my legs. Gravity had pulled my yoga pants higher up, revealing the skin up above my knee.

  Thank you, God, for the shaving reminder this morning.

  He rolled over onto his side, propping his head up on his arm. I looked at him, but kept my legs in the air, pointed toes toward the sky.

  “See something you like, Hamilton?” I retorted, waiting for his witty response.

  “You have no idea,” he answered softly, his tone making my legs stop in midair. I brought them back down and rolled onto my side as well, facing him.

  “I have some idea,” I stated, dragging my fingers through the soft sand between us. His hand began to creep towards mine. My heart stopped, then started up again, crazy fast.

  “I was wondering about something,” he started.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you know that U2 is one of my favorite bands? I mean like, my absolute favorite band?” he asked, his hand dangerously close to mine.

  “How would I know that? I just met you,” I asked. I picked up a shell to examine it, and put it down, moving my hand closer to his in the process.

  “There's all kinds of stuff on the Internet about me lately. You could've Googled it,” he stated, still moving his hand closer. I could feel the energy between us begin to hum again.

  “I think that you should go Google yourself, Brit boy. I'm not interested in Googling you.” I frowned, moving my hand back towards me slightly.

  “Are you intrigued by film stars?” he asked slowly.

  “Not particularly,” I lied. Only one…

  “Are you intrigued by romantic beachside gestures?” he asked, moving his fingers so that they were an inch away from mine.

  “Nope,” I said, barely breathing. His eyes were actually smoldering as they looked deeply into mine. A piece of his hair had fallen over his forehead and I was aching to sweep it back.

  “Would you be intrigued by a film star that wanted to kiss you?” He breathed, his fingers finally touching mine. I paused as I looked back at him, almost panting.

  “Mm hm,” I whispered.

  Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

  His eyes were heavy as he gazed into mine. He closed the distance between us and his hand came up to my cheek. I could feel the sand that was still clinging to his fingers graze my skin and it was cool. I was not.

  He cupped my face gently as he moved towards me. All I could focus on were the perfect, soft looking lips that were about to touch mine. I moved in to meet him and then closed my eyes. I knew if I had to look at him right now, I would lose my nerve.

  I felt him even before I felt his lips. The energy between us shifted and I knew exactly where he was. The instant before his lips met mine, I could tell that he was about to deliver a kiss that would stun me stupid.

  It was soft and sweet. It was tentative and deliberate all at the same time. He kissed me once, then again, and then a third time, with a little more grrr behind it. His scent, which up until now I had somehow overlooked, filled my nostrils. He smelled like sand and sun and sweat mixed with vanilla and smoke. Not icky cigarette smoke, but like warm pipe tobacco and chimney smoke all rolled into one.

  Sweet Jesus, he's like your own personal S'more.

  The combination was seriously messing with my head, as well as making my pants feel excessively confining. We broke apart and just looked at each other. I inclined my forehead to rest against his. Frankly I needed the prop. I was spinning.

  He smiled first and then I answered back with my own.

  “Did you feel that?” he asked, concern crossing his face.

  “Yeah, I felt it. You too?” I answered, flirting back.

  “No, I mean, yes, obviously I felt that, but didn't you feel that hit your head?” he asked, beginning to grin broadly.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, raising my hand up to my hair.

  “Oh, Jesus, Grace, a seagull just shit on your head,” he stated, beginning to shake.

  “What?” I shouted, springing up to run in circles.

  Of course a seagull shit on my head.

  His laughter rang out down the beach.

  The_Unidentified_Redhead

  Chapter Eight

  Repeated rinses in the Gladstone's bathroom and a roll of paper towels later, I emerged ready to face whatever was coming, and I knew there would be no mercy shown. Jack was waiting for me and his face lit up when he saw me.

  “Nice do, Sheridan,” he joked. I had attempted to dry it with the hand blower, resulting in sticky strands radiating outwards from my mortified face.

  “Keep your fucking mouth shut or I will kick you next time I am wearing pointy shoes,” I warned, noticing how the wait staff was struggling not to laugh. Obviously, Jack had clued them in to what had happened with the seagull. I knew, then, that he would never let this go.

  I started walking towards the parking lot, when I heard one of the waiters say, “Miss? You forgot your doggy-bag!”

  Don't forget your leftover coconut shrimp. You'll want that tonight at about midnight.

  Never one to pass on food, I turned back around and went to grab it. I noticed that it was wrapped not in the traditional aluminum swan shape, but in the shape of a mother-loving seagull.

  Blasted.

  The entire staff started laughing aloud while Jack laughed harder. I sweetly smiled and took my shrimp, then informed him where he could stick his seagull. He shook his head and walked with me out to the car, starting toward the driver's side, when I stopped him.

  “Oh, no, fucko. Driving privileges are revoked. Keys, please.” I motioned with my hand as he withdrew them from his pocket.

  “Oh, come on, Sheridan. That was hilarious! You'll tell that story for the rest of your life. That was pure comedy. You can't write shit like that!” he pleaded with m
e, handing me my keys and sinking into the passenger seat. “I can't believe you're pouting. You know bloody well if this happened to someone else, you would be in hysterics on the floor,” he continued.

  “Listen, Johnny Bite Down.” I turned to him. “While I admit it would be slightly funny if it was someone else, it wasn't. It was me. And until I have showered or removed my head from my body, or both, let's not discuss it,” I snapped, peeling out of the parking lot and heading back towards Sunset. We were both quiet for a moment, and then I added, “Well, maybe it is more than slightly funny. But now I am gross and defiled. I feel violated.”

  “Oh hell, if it's defilement and violation you want I can think of a few things…wait, what did you call me? Johnny Bite Down?” he cried, turning to look at me.

  “Please, like you don't know how hot it makes you look! You with your biting down on your lower lip and your accent and your curly hair…you look like you're gonna throw me up against the wall and make me scream your name!” I shouted, all the adrenaline from the day pumping through me and flying out of my mouth.

  Too much, too much! Man Down, Man Down!

  I looked at him. He sat there stunned at my outburst. I fumbled with the stereo, trying to plug my iPod back in, while I chanced another look at him. He looked confused now, but was smiling.

  “That might have been the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he stated.

  “Well, I say hot things when I have poo-hair,” I acknowledged with a smile, trying to diffuse the situation. I was still struggling with my iPod.

  “Can I help you with that?” he asked, trying to help.

  “I can't get this into the little hole,” I answered.

  “That's what she said,” we both said, at the same time. We were stopped at a stoplight, and we stared at each other.

  “You might be the most perfect girl I have ever met,” he chortled, looking at me in amazement.

  “Perfection will cost you pretty boy,” I said brightly, as I sped back into the city. He selected a song and we danced in our seats the rest of the way home.

  ***

  When we got back to Holly's place, I turned into the garage and Jack directed me towards his car. It was an old MG that looked like it was held together with a string.

  “Aren't you glad we took your car today?” he inquired, nodding his head toward his car.

  “Well, I suppose. Although, other than the seagull poo, this was a great day. Whose car we took wouldn't have changed that,” I replied, as I allowed myself a small moment of honesty. He leaned up in his seat, turning his entire body towards me.

  “It was a great day. I'm so glad we did this…no jokes. It was great,” he allowed as well. The structured walls of our banter were coming down and the deafening roar of pheromones was beginning to seep through. You can't fight chemistry.

  “So, you had a date with your gay, if I heard Holly correctly?” he asked.

  I shook my head for a moment, trying to remember. “Oh, my gay! Yes, we're going out dancing with Nick. You remember Nick from the other night right? He's head of your West Hollywood fan base. You know you're hot when you cross over into that crowd,” I teased.

  “Yes, that's what I hear.” He laughed. We were quiet for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. I was thinking of that kiss and whether I had the right to ask for another one. I needed another hit of Hamilton. I didn't want him to go and he didn't seem to want to either. However, I knew I needed to get home and get ready for tonight.

  “Call me tomorrow?” I asked tentatively. His fingers came up to brush my cheek. I leaned into his hand without knowing I would do it until I did.

  “You can count on that, Grace,” he answered, letting his fingers sweep softly over my lips. I kissed his fingertips lightly and then smiled.

  “OK, now get out of my car, snatch,” I joked as I watched his face fall.

  “You will be the death of me, Sheridan. I can already tell,” he sighed, unfolding his long legs to get out of the car.

  “Yes, but it will be a good death. I'll be gentle. You won't even know I'm coming.”

  He turned back and grinned. “That's what she said.”

  Perfection.

  “Oh, and Grace?” he continued, walking towards his car. He stopped when he reached it and leaned back against the door. “I will definitely know when you're coming. And so will you,” he said, biting down on that lower lip.

  Fucking Perfection.

  I found my chin somewhere in my lap and attempted to drive home. I ran two stop signs and almost hit a Pomeranian.

  ***

  When I arrived back at Holly's house, it was almost six and I wanted to make us some dinner before going out for our ass-shakery. She had a fantastic kitchen, with a professional range and Sub-Zero fridge. I indulged my inner chef whenever possible.

  She wasn't home yet, so I put two glasses in the freezer to chill for cocktails. I paced between the pantry and the fridge, taking out everything I needed. Opening a can of San Marzano tomatoes, I drained them into a colander and then put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Then, I rinsed off some fresh spinach and dumped it into the salad spinner to dry while I sliced and grilled some good Italian bread, rubbing it with garlic for crostini.

  When Holly walked in, I was frantically chopping onions on the cutting board with tears streaming down my face.

  “Grace, it's fine. Don't get all choked up. I'm home now,” she stated dramatically, taking in my tear stained face.

  “Funny, Holls, funny. Cocktail?” I asked, gesturing towards the fridge.

  “Are you offering or asking me to make one?” She rolled her eyes, already on her way.

  “Asking obviously. Extra dirty please,” I reminded her as she grabbed the vodka and olives.

  “Something smells good…what the hell happened to your hair?” she inquired, stopping in her tracks to take a closer look. I hadn't had time to shower yet and my hair was still in orbit from the beach/poo incident.

  “You don't want to know, but I'll tell you later.” I sighed, thinking about the heaven that was happening right before the shit hit the fan.

  Are you technically a fan? Hi-Yo! Bah Dum Bum.

  “Never mind, I'll let it remain a mystery,” she replied, sitting down across from me at the counter. “So, how is the British invasion going? Has he invaded your hoohah yet?”

  Sweet lord.

  “How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I asked, staring at her.

  “Just since this afternoon, I swear,” she protested. “Things went well, though, I take it?”

  “Yeah, it was good. And no hoohah has been invaded.” I gestured with my knife, pointing it at her.

  “Really? You're losing your touch, missy.”

  “If I may remind you, Slutty Slutterson, I only met him a few days ago. That's hardly enough time to let anyone invade anything,” I scolded her, dropping the pasta in the pot with a big handful of kosher salt. Giada would have been proud.

  “And if I may remind you of a certain night in New York City, New Year's Eve, I believe it was…” she scolded back.

  “No, you may not remind me. That was a long time ago,” I shushed her.

  “Really, Grace, in a bathroom at the Marriott Marquis…for shame.” She shook her finger at me.

  “Enough! You wanna go? You wanna go?” I warned. “Graduation? Nicholas Rabinowitz…and his girlfriend?”

  That shut her up fast.

  “Truce?” she huffed, eying me warily.

  “Truce,” I agreed, offering her my olive.

  “Olive juice,” she said.

  “Olive juice, too, ya little fruitcake,” I admitted, adding oil to the pan and lightly browning some garlic.

  “Hmm, so no invasion yet. But how did the afternoon go?” she asked, stealing a tomato out of the bowl.

  “Hey, you'll spoil your dinner! And today was…wow,” I said, closing my eyes briefly.

  “That good, huh? Where did you go?” she asked, taking the op
portunity while my eyes were closed to grab another tomato.

  “We drove Sunset all the way to the beach and then had lunch at Gladstone's. I saw that, by the way,” I chided, calling her out on her tomato thievery.

  “And then what happened?” she asked, leaning forward on her stool.

  “Then we walked on the beach and we talked and laughed and laid on the sand, .” I rushed through the last part, holding my breath to see which admission would get the loudest scream.

  I was surprised when I heard, “He kissed you! Fuck me, Grace, you just made out on a freaking beach with Super Sexy Scientist Guy!” She launched herself across the cook top and hugged me, coming dangerously close to lighting herself on fire.

  “Hey, hey, watch yourself! Be careful, please. I want to go dancing tonight, not to the burn unit!” I shouted, untangling her arms from around my neck and scooting her safely back across to her side of the counter. She watched me closely as she sipped her drink.

  “He's not Joshua. He's Jack. And he's damn fine,” I added, pressing my lips together trying not to scream myself. “And we didn't technically make out. We kissed.”

  “Tongue?”

  “No tongue…not yet.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. She continued to watch me in amazement. I could tell she was beside herself that her best friend was getting some play. Holly and I still talked as if we were teenagers.

  “The thing is, though, I don't get it. I mean, I'm like, nine years older than he is,” I grumbled.

  Yep, I had done the math.

  “So? He clearly doesn't care about you being an old bag,” she teased, winking at me.

  “No, seriously. He is cool and all and we have a good time together. And fuck, there are some powerful sex vibes being thrown back and forth, but come on! He's going to realize any second that this is crazy.” I stirred the sauce vigorously, finally giving voice to my concerns.

  “He seems to like crazy and you definitely fit that bill. Besides, I don't know who you think you're convincing here. I've seen some of the guys you were dating before you moved back out here. They were all younger than you,” she challenged.