Al paused at that before asking, “You two are both staying over, correct?”
Dex shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, sir, but I booked a motel in Tillamook.”
Al laughed. “The ‘Mook? Oh, you don’t want to stay there. Good for cheese and that’s about it. I insist you stay with us tonight.”
I looked at Dex. There was no denying it—I totally hoped he would say yes.
Dex smiled politely but stayed firm. “And I insist that I don’t. I’ve got a worried girlfriend back in Seattle, and she’s already none too happy that I’m spending the weekend down here with your barely legal niece.”
I felt like someone stabbed me in the gut and I was just leaking disappointment everywhere. Girlfriend? I hadn’t heard him mention a girlfriend yet. And his Facebook didn’t say anything about it either. Then I remembered the pictures of him with his arm around Jennifer Rodriguez. Could that be her?
I looked over at Dex, with his eyebrow ring, dark clothes, long sideburns, shaggy black hair, the end of a tattoo that sometimes peeked out beneath his shirt sleeve, alternative music tastes and overall zany personality. He couldn’t possibly be interested in a girl like that, could he?
But then again, what was I expecting? The guy was a filmmaker and, apparently, a composer and one-time singer. He certainly could be charming when he wanted to be, and he was blessed with some very good genes. It made sense that he would have a hot babe as a girlfriend.
I felt foolish. I don’t even know why, I didn’t even really like the guy, but I still felt stupid, nonetheless. As if my subconscious was on the prowl hoping to make a meal of him one day. And how ridiculous was that anyway, like I could even get a guy like him, let alone a guy who is ten years older than me. Didn’t he just say I was barely legal?
I took a deep breath and tried to brush it off. It shouldn’t bother me, but of course it did. Most things that wouldn’t bother anyone else bothered me.
While my mind and heart were having a minor scuffle with each other, Dex and Al were chatting away.
“So, is there a key we could use to get in? We would like to minimize any damage to the lighthouse,” Dex asked Al. “Not that anything would get damaged, but you probably don’t want Mr. Miyagi over here kicking down any doors.” He jettisoned a thumb in my direction.
I smiled brightly, hoping he hadn’t spotted my momentary weakness.
“Yes, there is a skeleton key you can use,” said Al. “Now, come inside for some coffee. I’ll put on a pot.”
Oooh, coffee. That would be welcome, warm and distracting.
“Appreciate it,” said Dex, “but we’ve got do some set-up shots before it gets dark.”
Damn.
He turned to me and gestured to the trunk of the SUV. “Perry. I’m going to need your help getting the equipment out.”
Al sighed and shuffled inside, disappointed at losing coffee company. “I’ll get you the key.”
I felt bad for him. Last weekend aside, I had a feeling he didn’t get company too often. My parents often said most of his friends were actually his ex-wife’s friends. I made a note of actually talking to Uncle Al later and asking about him instead of running off as I would normally do.
He came back out and pressed the key into my hand, his gentle, worried eyes looking deep into mine. “Don’t stay out too long. I’m ordering Chinese food for us all tonight.”
I nodded and hoped Dex would at least take him up on that offer. Dex gave him a quick wave. “Sounds good.”
Dex headed for the car and I followed, watching his slim hips saunter and his thick, dark hair get whipped up by the breeze.
He opened the trunk and handed me a tall cardboard box.
“What’s this?” I peered down the shaft.
“Just a white bounce board. For light.”
I pulled it out and it flapped out into a round circle that rippled in the wind. I aimed the board at his face, lighting up the shadows under his eyes. He batted his eyes at me, that smirk ever-present.
“Think that’ll make me good-looking?” he asked, untangling some cords.
I desperately thought of something smart to say. All I could think of was how damn good-looking he was. I was screwed.
He looked up from the cords with interest, goading me to say something.
“No,” I blurted out lamely.
He laughed and shook his head, turning his attention back to the cords. “I’m disappointed in you. Surely I thought you’d have come up with some grand insult.”
“I was trying,” I said. “And don’t call me Shirley.”
That smile again. It made my chest feel funny. Funny in a good way, which made it funny in a bad way. My brain rerouted to thoughts of his girlfriend. Damn her. Damn her and damn me for caring.
Dex put the cords neatly away and started fiddling with a camera. Without looking at me, he pointed to a long canvas bag.
“Tripod. Don’t take it out, though; just put in on your shoulder.”
I took the tripod bag and awkwardly tried to get the strap around me. It was almost longer than my body and kept hitting the ground and then hitting me in the face. Dex watched this uncomfortable dance with the tripod, which only made me feel more bumbling. Once I had it somewhat under control, he got up with a tiny remote microphone in his hand and stood in front of me.
“Shit, you are short, aren’t you?” he stated gleefully. He bent down and pinned the microphone onto my sweater. His face was mere inches away from mine. I didn’t dare breathe. I studied the bead on his eyebrow ring; it looked like black obsidian, with the tiniest scrolls of grey and white. My heart thumped in my throat. That rush of energy and warmth started creeping through my body again.
This was ridiculous. I needed to detach myself from the situation. Pronto.
“You’re short,” I shot back. “For a guy.”
He finished pinning the mic but kept his head at my level and looked into my eyes. For a split second I wondered if he was going to kiss me (of course, he wasn’t) and I immediately felt awkward. I swallowed hard. He held my gaze intently and his mouth lagged into an easy leer, like he was enjoying making me feel uncomfortable.
Well, I wouldn’t let him. I narrowed my eyes at him, breaking the spell. “What are you looking at?”
It didn’t phase him but he did straighten up and look away.
“Oh, me? I’m just seeing what I’m working with here,” he said casually, and pulled a bigger camera out of its bag.
“And what is that, exactly?” I asked, steadying myself against a gust of wind.
“I don’t think I’ll find out anytime soon.” He picked up the white board and shut the trunk. “Shall we?”
I nodded and we walked off toward the beach. It wasn’t until I was a few feet behind him that I let out a long breath. It’s like I’d forgotten to breathe for the last ten minutes.
We didn’t head to the lighthouse right away. Dex thought it would be best to film some opening shots out where it was scenic.
I stood on the beach facing north toward him. The lighthouse sat potently in the background. Dex had originally wanted a shot of the ocean crashing wildly behind me but the amount of sea spray that was whipped in the air was damaging to the camera, not to mention the fact that it blew my hair out in front of me. It took two seconds to realize I couldn’t be a good host if I was Cousin It.
The white board was placed on an angle at my feet. I had my Chucks on top of them to keep the board from flying away, but thankfully, he was only shooting from the waist up. Like my fat ass needed to be on film anyway.
Dex set up the tripod as a precautionary measure to keep the camera steady as the wind gusts threatened to blow him over.
“Thank fuck I brought the wireless mics; otherwise we wouldn’t be hearing shit right now,” he grunted, his eyes fastened on the camera’s viewscreen.
He seemed to grow tyrannical when he had the camera in front of his face. I did what he said and tried to go with the flow but I could see his mind going a mile a minute, his eyes searching all physicalities of the space in front of him. He reminded me of a mad scientist.
He pulled the focus back and forth, making miniscule adjustments, keenly watching the screen. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, or at, precisely. I just hoped he didn’t have it zoomed all the way up my nose.
I sighed and looked at the ocean. I didn’t feel the familiar ebb and flow of emotions as I usually did when I stood on the beach. Today the ocean was a stranger. Cold, rough, and ready to take me out. As the waves sucked back, they grasped the wet sand like desperate fingers, reaching for me.
“Stay there,” Dex said, his voice quiet. “Don’t move.”
I tried to stay where I was, staring at the ocean.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked with interest.
I wanted to turn and look at him. “Nothing.”
“You think too much.”
“You’re telling me,” I said. “Can I move yet?”
“Fuck, do whatever you like. Moment’s lost.”
I looked over at him. He straightened up and stretched his arms above his head. His shirt raised up a bit and exposed a flat stomach with a thin trail of stomach hair that disappeared into the band of his boxers. I looked away before he could catch me staring.
“Sorry,” I told him. “Well what now?”
He sighed, long and exaggerated. He clasped his palms together and stared at me like he had at the car earlier; he gazed right through me. I shivered. I’m pretty sure it was because of the cold and not because I found his eyes disquieting at times.
They moved from looking through me to looking at me. They relaxed considerably. He cocked his head to the side. “Did you bring something warmer to wear? Do you want my hoodie?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. But thanks.”
He watched me for a few seconds as if to verify that I wasn’t lying. “Am I giving you the creeps?”
I let out a nervous laugh. Normally I would have just said anything to make the other person feel better, but with Dex I discovered that being straight with him was the only way to go.
“Well, yeah,” I shrugged. “For someone you said wasn’t transparent, you seem to always be looking through me.”
He smiled.
“I appreciate your honesty, Perry Mason. If I continue to get all creepy on you, do let me know.”
I felt better now that it was out in the open. But despite having no trouble telling him that he freaked me out at times, there was no way in hell I would tell him I thought he was growing increasingly cuter by the second.
“OK, let’s do a quick shot here.” He pointed at me to stay put. “Can you get the hair out of your face and tuck it around to the right?”
I reached over and gathered what hair I could. I grimaced at the touch of my strands, matted and tangled from the wind and salt. He smiled at the image on the camera. He was probably laughing at me. I gave the camera a look.
He looked up. “When I said you weren’t transparent, I meant it. You’ve got a lot going on inside.” He tapped the side of his head.
