Jacey fiddles with her straw. “Well, in their defense, I’ll just tell you that you’re an intimidating person. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by who you are and forget that you’re a real person, not just a name. But if you don’t like what you do, with all the attention and everything, then why do you do it?” she asks curiously. “It doesn’t seem like something you should’ve gotten into if you don’t like attention.”

She has a valid point, and, of course, it’s one I’ve thought of many times over the last few years. But honestly, I do what I do because it’s fantastic money. So I tell her that.

“Money isn’t everything,” she announces sagely.

“Says the waitress,” I sigh. “No offense, but it’s easy to say that money isn’t everything if you don’t have it. Unfortunately, my tastes have evolved over the years and I need money to support them.”

Jacey crosses her legs and I stare at her ankle, then her calf, then her thigh. I follow the slender length of it all the way up to where it junctures into her crotch. That’s when I look away, before I start thinking about the fact that she’s not wearing panties.

When I look up, Jacey’s staring at me, watching me check her out.

“And what are your tastes now?” she asks hesitantly, her eyes probing mine. I smile what I imagine to be a wolfish smile.

Leaning toward her, I answer.

“Would you like to find out?”

I think back to the cooler incident, when my hand was buried between her legs, and I can see on her face that she’s thinking of it too. She sputters, leans back, then grabs her drink. Sucking on the straw, she regains her composure.

“How did you even get into acting?” she asks conversationally, ignoring my previous question and my wandering eyes.

“I went to the University of Chicago,” I tell her as I settle back into my seat. “While I was there, a talent scout liked my look, and he was searching for an unknown to work on Visceral Need. The rest is history.”

She raises her eyebrow. “So you weren’t even trying to be an actor?” she asks incredulously. “Do you know how many starving waiters are out there, just trying to get a break in the acting world?”

Yes, I do. But that’s not my problem.

I push my chair back.

“We’ve gotta go,” I tell her instead. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, standing up. “We don’t want to inconvenience the other passengers.”

She snorts and I lead the way, and once we’re out in the sun again, Jacey turns to me.

“For the record,” she says sassily, “I might have let you sign my boobs back then… back before you became cocky… when you were an ‘unknown’ normal person. It’s okay to be ‘normal,’ you know.” And with that, she flounces down the gangway and onto the bright yellow boat. I stare after her and she looks back over her shoulder with a grin.

“Coming?”

“Babe, when I come, you’ll know,” I spout back. She grins and I grin back, like we’re both normal people with dirty senses of humor, and I follow her onto the boat.

When we sit down, she slips her hand into mine, her fingers small and slender. I startle for a minute at the familiar and intimate gesture, but then the boat engine starts up and we rip across the bay with the wind in our faces. All of a sudden, it feels perfectly normal to sit with her like this, with her hand in my lap.

It’s a thought that scares the shit out of me, like literally scares me. My pulse beats faster, it’s hard to swallow, and my palms get clammy.

When I can, I pull my hand away and tuck it into my pocket instead.

I’m not normal, so there’s no way in hell I should pretend to be.

Chapter Twelve

Jacey

I fight not to roll my eyes at Dominic as we glide over the top of the lake in the speedboat. He yanks his hand away from mine so fast you’d have thought my palm was burning him. I was just being friendly. Jesus. And seriously. He’s the one who showed up at my house out of the blue. I didn’t ask him to come, and I certainly didn’t ask him to invite me here on this… date? Is this a date?

I don’t know what the hell this is, to be honest.

The tour guide speaks into his mic excitedly, probably just happy to have Dominic on his boat. He stands at the front while we lounge in the back. Since there are at least twenty empty seats in front of us, I feel kind of silly.

The driver of the boat races through the bay and out onto open water, spinning in huge circles and causing a spray of water to drench me.

“Did I mention that I’m glad you wore that T-shirt?” Dominic asks with a grin. My T-shirt is white. And wet. And perfectly transparent at this point. I sigh.

“You’re sort of a dog, you know that?” I ask him.

I’m just getting ready to ask about the girl he was with in the parking lot the other night, when suddenly the tour guide points toward another tour boat. Dominic and I turn to look and find it speeding up to get closer to us. All of the passengers are standing, craning their necks to see in our boat, cameras in hand.

“I think you’ve been spotted,” our tour guide says apologetically.

I look immediately at Dominic and his face has tightened. He looks pissed as he nods curtly.

“Can you take us back to the pier? If we don’t head back, they’ll chase us around the lake. We can get off this boat a lot faster than they can all get off theirs.”

The captain nods and whips the boat around, speeding once again toward the shore. I look over my shoulder to find the other boat chasing us. My stomach does a somersault. To me, it’s a little exhilarating because this isn’t something that happens to me all the time. They’re right on our tail and excitement snaps in the air around us.

I mean, someone is chasing us. Oh my god.

But as I look at Dominic, I can see that excitement is the very last thing he’s feeling. His chiseled features are twisted into a scowl and he just looks… tired. Beautiful, sexy… and tired. I swallow and feel guilty for being excited because this must be frustrating for him. It must happen everywhere he goes.

“When we dock, we’re going to have to run, okay?” Dominic tells me quietly, his dark eyes stormy and focused on my face. “Seriously. Just follow me.”

I nod, fascinated by this entire situation… by the novelty of it, by the annoyance Dominic feels, by the rush of wind over my face as our boats race toward the shore. We’re going so fast that we slam into the water as we crest each wave, jarring my teeth. But we’re back at the pier within a minute.

The large boat nudges the bumpers against the dock, and almost before it stops moving, Dom has leapt from the boat, grabbing my hand and helping me climb out. And then we run.

Ducking through the crowds, we weave in and out of people until we’ve made our way to the iconic Ferris wheel that stands proudly against the Navy Pier horizon. Dom glances at it, then heads straight for it. Throwing some money at the guy manning the line, Dominic utters, “Tell them we went the other direction.”

The guy stares at Dominic in surprise, but then recognition and understanding quickly flood his face and he nods, ushering us through the little gate, and we drop onto the seat of a gondola.

As the large covered gondola lifts into the air, I peer over the edge, my face pressed against the glass. I can see a couple of passengers from the tour boat running around, looking about, but the gondola operator comes through for us. He points in the other direction and the fans take off, hunting for any sign of Dominic.

It seems that we made our escape. I settle into the seat and stare at Dominic.

“And I really wanted to take that tour, too.” I smirk, but he grimaces.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me seriously. “And I’m sorry that you had to run in those shoes.”