A Blockbuster Proposal_The Trouble with Dating an Actor Page 4
Allie took mental notes of how Kate handled George’s whining. Too often, she’d been bowled over by customers as they asked for an extra dollop of whipped cream or—heaven forbid—gravy, and ended up paying for the extras out of her pocket. Not anymore. She was going to adopt Kate’s technique and put an end to the pushers and takers in the café.
Kate counted down from three, and the curtain parted to reveal three of the most beautiful men Allie had ever seen. First was the athlete, Anthony. He wore a tight-fitting Braves shirt that accentuated his muscles and complemented his dark skin, along with a pair of jeans.
Next was Beau Mckay. Though he was seriously good-lookin’ in his well-fitted jeans and button-up shirt, Allie was surprised to see a touch of gray at his temples and wrinkles around his mouth. In his movies, he still appeared fresh out of acting school, though his skills were far beyond a beginner.
Lastly, though certainly not least, was Mark Dubois. It was a good thing Allie had started on the other end of the trio, or her eyes would have never gotten past Mark. His hair, longer on top and shaved on the sides, was boy-next-door adorable, while his turquoise blue eyes electrified her heart, shocking the organ into palpitations. His broad shoulders and trim waist were draped in easygoing faded jeans and a white T-shirt that pulled across his muscles. Holy moly, the guy was face-fanning hot.
Speaking of face-fanning, Kate was waving at her to get on with the freak-out.
For the teens. “Eeeeee!” Allie did a little hopping dance and then went right ahead and fanned her face. She needed it more than she would admit out loud. She sighed heavily, placing her other hand over her heart.
Her squeal startled George into action. He stepped in front of Allie and thrust his hand out for Anthony to take. In no time, he was pumping arms like he was running for governor.
Allie held back, letting him have his moment. After all, neither one of them would be here if he hadn’t bought that raffle ticket in the first place. Plus, she wasn’t sure what to say. Hi, I’m Allie, would you like gravy on that? was all that came to mind.
When he got to Beau, George slapped him on both shoulders. “I can’t believe it’s you. Say the line—go on, say it!”
Beau’s mouth twisted wryly. How many times had he performed this for fans? Poor guy. Allie shook her head. Wait, this was Beau Mckay—Atlanta’s self-proclaimed player. Poor little rich guy indeed.
Dipping his chin and lowering his voice, Beau said, “You only cross that line once.”
George threw his arms in the air. “Yes! That was awesome.”
Beau chuckled. Gesturing to Mark, he said, “This is my good friend Mark Dubois.”
“Of course!” George stepped forward and gave Mark a man hug he wasn’t quite ready for. Mark pounded him on the back, and George coughed hard. Allie bit her cheek to keep from smiling.
“You’re my favorite on-screen cop.” George stared at Mark like he was a real hero and didn’t just play one in the movies. “I mean, you must really shoot. You handle a gun like you’ve been trained.”
“He does,” stepped in Beau. “Mark, tell him about going through FBI training while you two order pizza.”
Mark smiled, but his tight jaw and cocked shoulder told Beau he was in trouble.
“Anthony, you coming?” asked George, too excited to let this baseball guy out of his sight.
She watched Mark walk away, a very happy moment indeed, for his backside was just as beautiful as his—
“And who might you be?” Beau put his arm around her waist.
Allie looked up and into his alluring hazel eyes. He’d turned on the on-screen charm he used to seduce women, and she played along … for the kids. Giggling, because the room was tipping, she placed her hand on his well-defined chest. “I’m, like, your biggest fan.” She quickly removed her hand and pressed her palm over her mouth to stop twittering.
Beau’s smile warmed considerably. “Let’s get a table.”
“Don’t you want pizza?” Allie really wanted pizza. She was lightheaded enough from lack of food, and all these muscles in one area weren’t helping.
“I’ll have them bring some to the table.” He pulled out her chair and motioned to one of the servers in a white chef’s coat.
Allie twisted in her seat to watch the guys watch their pizza cook. Mark turned at the same moment, and their eyes met. A sweet charge shot through her belly and she froze in place, worried that if she moved she’d wake up in her bed. Mark winked, and she melted against the chair. That was so not fair. No man should have that kind of power at his disposal.
A server appeared with several pizza pies, which he placed in front of them. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked Beau.
“I think the lady should order first.”
“I’ll take a water, please.”
Beau chuckled, the cleft in his chin deepening. “I’m buying, so order whatever you want.”
“Thanks, but I don’t drink.”
He shrugged, ordered beers for the rest of the table, and turned his full attention on her again. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she half whispered, uncomfortable under his attention. Not uncomfortable like she was with George. That was repulsion mixed with the panic of having a spider in your hair. This uncomfortable feeling came from knowing he could see right through her act. Like he knew she wasn’t some fancy-pants woman.
The other three took their seats around the table, with Mark ending up on her left. He smelled of some manly cologne and leather. Heaven help me. Where does a guy pick up the smell of leather? Beau was bad enough with his cocky grin and expensive cologne, but she could write him off as a man looking for a fling.
Mark was something else altogether. He was … interesting.
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that today was about living like the other half, about being in a fairy tale, and by darn it she had on her sparkle pants. She was on the verge of introducing herself to Mark with a confident handshake when Beau leaned forward.
“Anthony, Mark, this is Allie and she doesn’t drink,” said Beau.
Allie gave them all her brightest smile. “I do eat, though. Pass me a slice, will you?” She directed her words to Anthony—the least threatening of the three because of the ring on his left hand.
She should have sat by him. Way less pressure over there.
George would have killed her, though. He was as enamored as a fifteen-year-old boy and just as ready to shove her to the ground for talking to his Anthony. He took a large bite and then talked around the food. “How’d spring training go this year, Anthony?”
The guys leaned over the table, reminding Allie of her older brother and his friends. She leaned back, enjoying the meal, content to let George have his moment. At least with him here, she didn’t have to make conversation.
Just as she took a large bite of pizza, Mark turned to her and asked, “Are you a baseball fan?”
Choking, she took a sip of water to clear her throat. Mark Dubois was looking at her with his vibrant blue eyes, guarded though they were. Although what he thought he needed protection from she didn’t know. Nor did she understand how she got that vibe from him so easily. Taking in his broad shoulders and sinewy forearms, she assumed he could protect himself just fine without having to put up walls.
She wouldn’t mind being protected by those arms. Stifling a giggle, she took another drink of water before she realized she hadn’t answered him. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
Mark inclined his head. When the curtain had opened and Allie squealed, he’d brushed her off as another crazed fan. But when their eyes met across the restaurant, he’d practically tripped into her gaze. That had never happened before—not to him.
“Do you like baseball?” he repeated, wondering if he’d stuttered. He might have; his tongue was thick.
“Sure, go Braves.” Her fist punched the air and stayed there. After a moment, she tucked her palms under her legs.
“What do you like to do?” he tried again.
Interesting. Was she a workaholic? Was she dating someone? “What’s your job?” Usually the fans were the ones peppering him with questions, but he couldn’t stop them from coming. Allie glowed. Not in the glimmer-and-gloss way that Aspen liked, but there was this light that she put out in the world. He couldn’t explain how, and yet she was shining away like a beacon.
“I’m a waitress.”
A waitress? He looked her over. She didn’t look like any waitress he’d ever seen. “Not your dream job?” he ventured.
“Heavens no.” She reached for the crust left on her plate and tore off small bits, her hands trembling.
Her response left him wondering what she would do if she could do what she wanted. Did she have a dream job? Did she have dreams? “What do you do on your days off?”
Allie stared at him. “Do you really want to know? I mean, you don’t have to talk to me if you’d rather talk to them.” She gestured towards the guys.
Mark stared back. He hadn’t met a person so unassuming in his life. “I really want to know,” he replied, leaning closer.
“All right, then.” She glanced up and then quickly away.
He wanted her gaze back, wanted that link to her, and found himself frustrated that she’d taken it away.
“I work as the maintenance person for the building I live in. So I clean out drains and stuff like that.” She made a funny face.
Mark chuckled and put his arm across the back of her chair.
“I also conduct the children’s choir at my church.” Her eyes went wide. “It’s not my church. It’s God’s church. But I go there.”
“That sounds like …” Mark searched for the right word to describe wrangling a bunch of children. “A lot of work.”
She laughed lightly, the sound sparking deep inside him, awakening feelings he hadn’t felt for a very long time. He leaned back in his seat, startled at the zing of attraction that went all the way to his toes. He studied her, wondering how a woman’s beauty could be as effortless as it was downright gorgeous.
“Oh, there’s work involved, but those kids are the best part of my week. They’re so sweet and love to sing and move, and they’re so full of love. They don’t care if you’re a washed-up, divorced waitress or a bloomin’ billionaire—they just want to spend time with someone who thinks they’re wonderful.” She ducked her head. “I’m rambling.”
“No, you’re talking and it’s … nice.” Mark scooted as close to her as he could and still remain on his chair. He took a long swig from his drink to relieve the sudden dryness in his mouth. “What’s your favorite song to sing with the kids?”
“‘Build an Ark,’” she replied without hesitation.
He could easily guess the subject matter, so he asked, “Why?”
“Because it has a great message and an upbeat tempo so the kids can wiggle and dance. We made up all these movements. It’s fun.”
Mark discreetly admired her long hair and thin frame. He could imagine her being silly and singing about Noah and two-by-twos and rain, but he very much wanted to know if the image in his head resembled the real deal. “Let me hear it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” She turned rosy red. Her eyes darted to the guy she’d come with. He was showing Anthony a scar on his forearm and bragging about sliding into third base.
“Just a few lines,” Mark encouraged quietly. “I have a daughter, she—maybe she’d enjoy learning the song too.”
She sucked in as if she could draw courage through her breath, before nodding. He’d sing this song a thousand times with Chloe, just to remember the blush on Allie’s cheeks.
Allie cleared her throat. “I can be like Noah …” she began. Her voice was pure and sweet. Gaining confidence as she went, she did little hand movements for each line, her eyes dancing and her body swaying, putting on a performance that drew in the guys on the other side of the table. Their conversation stopped.
Mark had the insane desire to move with her. No wonder the kids loved her. She was—he stopped dead in his thoughts—real.
Allie wiggled her fingers and waving her hands to imitate rain. When she finished, the whole table clapped and she turned bright pink—just like he thought she would. The sight made his heart pound against his rib cage.
“Do you sing professionally?” asked Beau.
“No. Well, I did a few musicals in high school and at the local theater, but that was a long time ago.” She fumbled with her napkin, clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention.
“Beau, what’s your latest movie?” George asked, and the conversation changed.
Mark nudged her with his shoulder, the contact zinging right to his gut and then bouncing around. “You should try performing somewhere. At least karaoke—it’s obvious you love to sing.”
“Thanks, but that ship sank a few years ago.”
“You could—” Mark was cut off by Kate, who appeared in front of their table.
“Has everyone had enough to eat?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Okay then, let’s come over here and get those autographs going.”
George pouted like a five-year-old as he got out of his seat. Mark reached out to put his hand on the small of Allie’s back and yanked it back at the last second. Stuffing his hands in his pockets seemed like a good idea.
She checked her phone.
“Are you in a hurry?”
She tucked the phone guiltily into her back pocket all covered with sparkles—yeah, he’d checked out her backside. He was a guy, okay? “Just excited to get to the hotel and soak in a tub.”
The conversation with Kate about the additional hotel room came to mind. Had Allie asked for the extra room, or was that George? Probably George. He’d dropped several hints about making lunch a standing monthly get-together or meeting up for a game sometime.
Mark glanced down and found a baseball in Allie’s hand. For Anthony, no doubt. And there would be a T-shirt or glossy photo for him to sign too. He’d been temporarily blinded by her cute choir director performance. But in the end, Allie was just like everyone else who wanted a piece of him. At least he’d seen a flicker of truth in her. But, he cautioned himself, a flicker wasn’t enough to sustain a relationship of true value.
Except his gut told him that Allie was different in all the right ways.
Allie handed the baseball to Anthony. “Can you make that out to José, please?”
Anthony poised the sharpie over the ball. “Sure. Is that your son?”
“He’s my friend’s son. He’s the cutest kid in the world and he’s probably your biggest fan.” Excitement to give José the baseball built inside her chest and bubbled out as a laugh. “He’ll probably sleep with it. This is going to make his year.”
“Has he been to a game?” asked Anthony.
“He has a hard time sitting still.”
“Sounds like a kid; you should take him,” said Mark. He’d stuck close to her side and at one point Allie swore he’d touched her back. When she turned, his hand was in his pocket. Maybe she’d only been hoping for the contact.
Allie shook her head slightly. “He has autism and a few other health problems. Getting him to his social group is a major effort. He couldn’t sit in the stadium seats for long.”
A deep line appeared between Mark’s brows. “Where’s his social group?”
“At Aaron’s Home for Autistic Children. They have a craft class on Fridays that he loves.”
Anthony handed her back the baseball. “Maybe I could help with that.” He gestured to the pregnant woman Allie had talked to about being a mom. She’d hung out in the corner with Kate and a few of the other staff members during the lunch. Maybe she was Anthony’s personal assistant. That would explain the funny look she gave when Allie asked if she’d won a contest too. She glided over to their group—seriously so graceful.
“Did we give away all the VIP tickets yet?” Anthony asked
.
She placed her hand on Anthony’s arm. Not in a possessive way, but in an I-can-hardly-stand-being-so-close-and-not-touching-you way. Allie glanced down to see their matching rings. Oh! Not his personal assistant, his wife. She watched the two of them discuss the ticket situation all while having a whole other conversation—one that asked how she was feeling, she replied that she was tired but happy to be here, and he said I love you—all without speaking a word.
Allie pressed her hand against her chest, where an ache for someone to love like that opened a hole. She’d thought Reed would be her one and only forever and always, but he wasn’t. Giving up that dream of someone to love had been harder than giving up that no-good cheat.
Allie stole a glance at Mark. Falling into eye-conversations wouldn’t be difficult with him. Her cheeks burned. She shouldn’t even entertain thoughts like that about him. Different universes.
“I think we have a few left, why?” asked Leticia.
“There’s a kid named José who needs to see a home game.” Anthony brushed his wife’s hair over her shoulder.
Surprised by his generosity, Allie waved her hands. “You don’t have to do that, really—the baseball will be more than enough.”
“Nonsense, let me get your address and I’ll have them sent over. They’re box seats.”
Allie held up her hands. “What does that mean?”
“It means he’ll have a couch to watch the game from,” said Anthony.
“That’s really so sweet of you.” Allie knew she was gushing, but there was no stopping the torrent of gratitude. “He posts the schedule on his bedroom door every season and marks who won and who lost, and he talks about the players like he knows them. He’s going to flip out.”
“Are you going with him?” asked Mark, his eyebrows drawn together.
“Me? No way. His mom should go.” Allie laughed. “Who do you think taught him all the players’ names?”
Mark frowned.
Allie glanced at the group. George looked like he could lock her behind bars forever. Oops. “Selina is one of my heroes—the kind of person who’s handed a tough life and thanks the good Lord for the privilege.”