Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
So when Dashiel Buckley returns to Cherry Tree Harbor for a wedding, I’m determined not to let my massive crush on my best friend’s older brother hijack my good sense.
(It happened once before. Do not recommend.)
But when my hand is injured, it’s Dash who steps in at the diner. The moment he realizes I can’t afford to fix my car, he takes care of it. And when he hears about the way my toxic ex treated me, he refuses to let it go.
Now it’s not just his blue eyes and sexy smile that have me swooning, it’s the way he wants to help me. Encourage me. Protect me.
I can’t resist.
Our text messages heat up. Our phone calls melt all my defenses. “Just friends” turns into “just once,” and “just once” becomes a distant memory. Night after night, he warms my bed, my body, and my heart.
But it can’t last.
Our dreams have us on two different paths–Dash wants the lights, camera, action of Hollywood, and I’ll always be a small town girl.
If only I could be his.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
ONE
dash
“I’m sorry, Dash,” my agent said over the Bluetooth speaker in my car. “You didn’t get the part.”
“They said no?” I asked in disbelief as my SUV inched forward in L.A. traffic. I’d been so sure last week’s audition would finally be a yes. “But it went so well. I thought they really liked me.”
“They did, darling.” Izzie’s tone was soothing. “But they ended up going with a name.”
“I have a name,” I argued.
“Of course you do,” Izzie assured me, because it was her job. “But so far, the only thing your name is associated with is playing Bulge on Malibu Splash. We need to change that.”
I slumped in the driver’s seat as traffic came to a stop again. My agent was right. For the last five years, I’d played the hot but one-dimensional lifeguard on a beach show mostly popular with teenagers. Now that the final season was over, I was eager to move on to meatier, more mature roles. But despite the fact that I was twenty-seven, I couldn’t get a single casting director to see me as a leading man in a big-budget film.
Out the driver’s side window, I saw a billboard for an upcoming spy thriller, the kind of movie I’d give my right arm to be in. “I told you my friend Mike got seen for the next Katherine Carroll project, didn’t I? The wartime drama called All We’ve Lost?”
“Yes, Dashiel. You told me.” Judging by my agent’s tone, I might have mentioned it multiple times.
But I couldn’t help it. Carroll was one of the top directors in the industry, famous for her breathtaking visuals and heart-stopping action sequences. And she often cast lesser-known actors in major roles because she felt the audience’s lack of familiarity with them contributed to an overall sense of unpredictability and tension.
At the moment, I was feeling pretty lesser known.
“I saw the script. The role of Johnny is perfect for me,” I told Izzie as traffic began moving again. “A small-town guy who goes off to fight the war, gets shot and captured, and falls in love with a nurse behind enemy lines. She risks her life to help him escape, and then he risks his to go back for her.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“I can do that kind of part, Izzie.” I easily imagined myself huddled in a trench, nothing to my name but a rifle, a tattered love letter, and the will to survive. “Can you get me an audition?”
Izzie sighed. “You always get the same feedback after reading for those kinds of roles, Dash. They like you, but your work lacks emotional depth.”
The familiar words stung. “I’m working on it, okay? I’m going to sign up for some coaching with that method acting guy.”
“But method acting is about mining your life experiences for strong emotions. You need to connect more to your own feelings.”
“My own feelings are irrelevant,” I insisted. “It’s about the character.”
“You can’t convey the full range of a character’s emotional pain when you refuse to explore your own.”
“I’m not refusing to explore it. I just don’t have any,” I lied. “I’m remarkably well-adjusted.” My emotional pain was nobody’s business. Not my agent’s, not any casting director’s, and certainly not the moviegoing public’s.
“Everyone has emotional pain, Dash. It’s just that some people keep it all buried, and good actors know how to mine it for gold.” Another big sigh. “You know what? I’m not booking any more auditions for you until you agree to a psychic healing with Delphine.”
I suppressed a groan. My agent was always threatening to drag me to her woo-woo friend who cleansed auras or something. She was convinced I had some sort of spiritual black cloud hanging over me. “I don’t need a psychic healing, Izzie. I just need a lucky break.”
“You want to play the sexy, romantic lead in a gritty wartime drama?” my agent pushed. “You want to make people believe you’d risk it all for love? You have to get out there and do it for real, Dash. Right now, you don’t have a place to go to dig into those emotions. You don’t let yourself feel.”
“I feel,” I protested in defense. “I choke up every time I watch Toy Story 3.”
“That is not the same! Have you ever even been in love? Do you know what it’s like to fall for someone so hard you’d put everything on the line to be with her, like that character does?”
“It’s called acting. I want to play the guy who falls in love, not be him.”
“What do you have against love?”
“Nothing! It’s just not for me.” I turned into the gym parking lot. “Love is for older people, Izzie. Like wrinkles. Or gray hair.”
“Are you listening to yourself? No wonder you can’t go deeper with your characters. Your focus is entirely on the surface level.”