“Hell yeah, I mean, one time, back in the day I was on a type of… diet before my wedding, and let me tell you, it nearly sucked,” he emphasized sucked, “the life out of me… can’t imagine, man, can’t imagine.” He pulled a fry from my plate and chomped down. “Right, Will?”

Will wiped his face with his hand then threw his napkin onto the table, stood, and walked off. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“They got food in there?” Zane burst out laughing.

I felt my face heat even though it’s not like I was innocent in any way, I just got their reference and hated how irrationally angry I got thinking about Will with anyone but me.

The first time I’d read about it online I’d slammed my phone against the wall.

I went through a lot of phones that year.

And then I went numb again.

“What about you Ang?” Zane leaned in. “Oh, and eating’s code word for sex just in case you’re really slow like Alec over here.”

Alec glowered.

“This isn’t proper dinner talk,” I mumbled.

“Holy shit did you just say proper?” Demetri observed with an amused smirk, “Say it again.”

Alec threw a napkin at Demetri’s head.

Zane leaned in and rubbed his hands together. “Come on sister, give us the goods, we’re all old and married.”

“The hell you are!” Demetri laughed, “You’re engaged, and I’m still waiting for her to dump you on your ass! You aren’t even house trained People wear pants, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll be sure to remind myself that next time I get all the sex because of lack of pants, I mean come on, easy access man, why have them on, at all?”

By Demetri’s sudden silence, I could only assume he was suddenly wondering if Zane wasn’t a genius.

I dug back into my food and stilled mid-chew when Demetri elbowed me and asked again, “So?”

I rolled my eyes. And held up two fingers.

“Days?” Zane.

I shook my head.

“Months?” Alec.

Maybe I’d choke on my burger and die? Yeah that sounded nice.

Another shake of the head.

Demetri’s voice was hopeful. “Dog years?”

I dropped my burger onto my plate and scooted my chair out, “I think, I may just, use the bathroom too.”

“Cool,” Zane nodded, “If you run into Will maybe give him some of your food.”

“I don’t think I need any more brothers!” I yelled over my shoulder.

“Too late!” Zane yelled back.

I smiled all the way to the bathroom, rounded the corner, and ran directly into Will’s muscled chest.

My mouth was still half filled with hamburger.

And I had visions of sharing my hamburger.

But not the one I was chewing.

How were the guys suddenly the bad influence while I was left blushing and gaping, mouth half open, at the only person who had the power to continually hurt me in a merciless cycle of pain?

I jerked away.

His stare always did me in — he knew it, I knew it, America knew it. Maybe it was the way his eyes searched yours like he was prying tiny bits of information from your soul; or in my case, prying bits away so he could use them against me later. He really did have the best eyes, they made you think you mattered, his eyes. They made girls believe that every single time he opened that mouth of his, that his words, his pretty poetic words were just for them.

At one time, I believed they’d been for me.

It was a short-lived fantasy.

There’s a reason that they called his smile the Sutherland Sunset, it made you feel warm, protected, sexy.

But he wasn’t smiling now.

No he just looked — like he always did. Contemplative, angry, reserved, and too damn sexy for his own good, and mine if I was being truly honest.

“I was just going to use the bathroom.” I blurted then tried to sidestep him, his hand pressed against the wall, his arm blocked me. “Something wrong?”

“No.” He bit down on his lip, his lazy sexy eyes focused on my mouth. My feet rooted to the floor even though I wanted to bolt. “It’s just, you have… ketchup.” He rubbed his thumb across my lower lip. “There, all better.”

But it wasn’t.

Nor would it ever be… better.

My brain took action forcing my limbs to move as I ducked under his arm and shoved the bathroom door open, locking it behind me.

I was shaking by the time I made my way to the sink, gripping the porcelain with both of my hands, staring at myself in the mirror like I was a stranger.

I looked… young.

No makeup meant I looked like I was eighteen instead of in my twenties.

It also meant I looked… innocent.

And for the first time in a long time, that word made my lips curl into a small smile as I released the sink and splashed my face with water.

I had to wonder — with all the pestering about food, what would shock Will more? The fact that I’d been celibate since rehab? Or the fact that the last guy I ever slept with that meant anything to me.

Was him.

I could always take it a step further and toss one of his band shirts at him, the one I still hid inside my pillow.

Yeah give him a heart attack at thirty.

Good plan.

I shut off the water.

Forced my shoulders back.

And returned to the chaos.

“JAY!” I WAVED my script in his face. “Dude, why is everything blank after my name? Am I just standing there or what?” I yawned and gave my head a shake. After last night’s dinner, I was emotionally and physically spent, not only was I trying to corral all my clients via keeping in touch with email, but I still had conference calls with tour managers for Zane, not to mention butt loads of amounts of all the other shit that I had to take care of for AD2 and their new merchandising ventures.

Add yet there I was.

On set.

In Hell.

And apparently with a blank script.

Ang and I had shared two words since carpooling to set that morning. I said hello, she said, it’s early.

Okay so that was three.

Wordlessly, I’d made coffee.

She’d poured us our cups, adding sugar to mine.

We were a pair.

Both of us on lockdown since we’d sung together, since I’d jumped in after her in the freaking ocean.

Since I’d agreed to not only be on set but be in the movie for reasons I still couldn’t even understand or even begin to explain to anyone.

“Right, mate.” Jay examined the script, nodded a few times then looked up at me, “What’s the problem?”

“First, don’t call me mate.” I shoved the script against his chest. “Second, if you want me in it, shouldn’t you tell me what I should be doing other than… Will: sit on beach?”

He regarded me with a funny look before grabbing my shoulder and going, “There’s really nothing to say except your only plan is to go sit on that beach right there, and try not to speak when Ang runs her lines.”

“She has lines during that scene? Since when?”

“Since we added them this morning, keep up.” He patted my shoulder and jogged off, grabbing his headphones once again while one of the PAs handed him his coffee. Sometimes I hated his British ass.

At least half the time.

Begrudgingly, I stomped over to my spot on the sand. Honestly, at least I was wearing clothing, poor Angelica was handed a black string bikini and sunglasses while I at least got neon board shorts and a black tank top.

The neon pissed me off, but everything else was fine, including the Ray-Bans that I told Jay I got to keep for emotional duress.

He didn’t argue.

I shoved the aviators on my face and sat.

“Quiet on set.”

“Balls, I hate my life,” I grumbled.

“Quiet on set!” came a second yell.

I threw up my hands and mouthed sorry.

The scene was slated, and I entered into the Seventh Circle of Hell also known as Bikini Armageddon or death by strings.

Ang jogged by me, her heavy breasts spilling out of her swimsuit top nearly blinding me with so much lust that I almost improvised the scene and dove ass first into the ocean.