Page 95 of I Think He Knows
“Meeting with the casting director forIf Only.”
My stomach tenses at the thought. I realize that I’m nervous in case Iget offeredthe part.
For the love of all that is holy…All of this effort from Elena, Anthony, and Lana—from the people who care about me and support me—and I’m hoping I don’t get it.
Lana smiles brightly. “How exciting that this whole fake relationship thing actually worked. I haven’t read a negative story about you in ages.”
The wordsit’s not fake to meare on the tip of my tongue.
I swallow them down. Smile back.
“Come on, let’s get you on a surfboard.”
* * *
We spend the afternoon at Zuma Beach—a gorgeous, very beginner-friendly spot along the coast in Malibu. And today, the waves are perfect. Foamy white crests break along the shore, and the pale sandy beach is quiet. Serene. Romantic, even.
Not that this matters whatsoever.
Lana Mae is an entirely hopeless case on a surfboard. As in, she bobs around like a cork out there on the waves, laughing hysterically and asking endless questions about what it was like whenBaywatchwas filmed here. Like I was around back then.
After a few wipeouts, she gives up and sits on her board to watch me surf and cheer me on. I’m getting better, and enjoying myself immensely—the cold water, the rush of catching a wave, the way wiping out feels like you’re being tumbled around in a washing machine…
I got news the other day thatIf Onlyis currently slated to film in New Zealand. I wonder if there’s any good surfing out there. I look over at Lana, bathed in afternoon sunshine, her dark eyes shining as she maps my movements, and then wonder if I’d have half as much fun without her by my side.
When our lips are turning blue and the skin on our hands and feet is shriveling, we towel off and pull our clothes on over our damp bathing suits. I carry both our boards back to the truck and fasten them on while Lana sits shivering in the cab, the heat cranked all the way up.
We drive along the coast as the sun melts along the horizon. I have one hand on the wheel and the other arm propped on the center console. Lana reaches over and takes my hand, twining my fingers in hers, and when she squeezes, my heart does the same.
I don’t want to go back to the apartment yet. Out here, everything feels so perfect, so removed from my actual life in LA.
On impulse, I take a left after Topanga Beach, turning us inland.
She looks at me through half-closed eyes, tired and peaceful and beautiful. “Where we going?”
“Fancy a detour?”
“Always.”
Twenty minutes later, I pull over at a trailhead in the state park. We’re surrounded by desert scenery blending with woodlands—scrub and rock and brush mingling with large oak trees. It’s close to dusk now, and there are no other vehicles here.
We’re all alone.
Lana and I get out of the truck and she scrambles into the truck bed, shielding her eyes with her hand as she spins around to look at the view.
“Oh, I love this song!” she says.
I’m still standing by the door, so I reach back into the truck and crank the radio up. It’s some pop country song, and she knows all the words. She tilts her head towards the setting sunlight as she sings, looking like a sunflower. Tall and golden.
She shakes out her hair and closes her eyes as she begins to sway to the music, her lemon yellow sundress fluttering in the wind. She’s still singing, looking both so sweet and so sexy that I can barely stand it.
Lana opens her eyes and catches me staring. Smiles and beckons to me.
I don’t hesitate.
I hop into the bed of the truck with her and take her hand. Spin her round, then pull her close, one hand on her hip and the other intertwined with hers as we begin to slow dance. The arid evening air is warm and smells of salt and citrus. In the glow of the setting sun, Lana now looks like she’s on fire. Bronzed skin, honeyed hair, eyes so dark that they spark like coal set alight as they catch the last glimmer of daylight.
Her head comes to rest on my chest as my arms circle around her, holding her against me as we sway gently. The entire world feels sweet and good right here, right now.