She finally finished and stood, wrapping the towel around her chest and tucking it under her armpits. She frowned down at our feet.

"What's wrong?" I asked, glancing down as well.

"I didn't get to teach you how to build a real sandcastle!"

I laughed and used a finger to gently lift her chin until her eyes met mine.

"I guess that means I get another date."

She didn't flush, but I saw her eyes flick down to my lips as she swallowed hard. I ran a thumb over her mouth before dropping my hand and wrapping my fingers around hers.

"Let's go eat."

I slipped my feet into my flip-flops and grabbed our sand buckets before pulling her with me across the beach toward the car.

"You change first," I handed her the neatly folded clothes from the bottom of the bag and opened the pa.s.senger side door for her.

"Turn around, you creeper!"

I pouted out my bottom lip in mock disappointment, "You never let me have any fun!"

I turned and looked back across the beach while she changed. The sun was inching slowly downward toward the western horizon, casting a blinding reflection off the water. In a couple more hours, with any luck, I'd have her wrapped in my arms over the tide pools watching it set.

"Your turn!" she announced "That was fast!" I held out a hand to help her out of her car.

"I just put my clothes on over my bathing suit. My days of getting naked on the side of the street ended with college."

Well that left a lot to the imagination. She had probably just spent a lot of days sunbathing on the beach in between cla.s.ses, but I couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever had to get dressed in a car after a day of more... Entertaining activities.

It was gonna be a b.i.t.c.h to get the d.a.m.n Speedo off over the hard-on that had reappeared.

"You made me turn around for that?" I asked, incredulous I sank into the front seat and leaned back, not bothering to wait for her to avert her gaze. When my d.i.c.k sprang free of the tight swimsuit, she squeaked, threw her hands over her eyes, and turned away from the car screaming swear words into her palms.

"Oh stop," I chastised, "It's not like you've never seen a p.e.n.i.s before. We're both adults here."

"Of course I've seen a p.e.n.i.s!" she shouted, "I've just never seen your p.e.n.i.s. In all its rigid glory, even! I have a hard enough time..." She cut herself off.

"A hard enough time, what, Holly?" I whispered into her ear. I had managed to get my underwear on and I stood close to her, pressing my hips into her a.s.s. She let out a tiny whimper and involuntarily leaned into me just a tiny bit.

"A hard..." she swallowed, "A hard enough time..."

I wrapped my hands around her hips and pulled her into me. I could feel the shiver that ran through her body.

"Do you have a hard time keeping my naked body out of your head, Holly?" I grinded my shaft against her, "Christ knows I think about yours often enough."

Another moan and her hips swiveled ever so slightly.

"Just one night, Holly. Let's get it out of our systems."

I felt her body go rigid and, after a brief moment of indecision, she stepped forward and turned.

"Food, Porter. We need food. And a table. There needs to be more s.p.a.ce. I need a buffer." Her eyes trailed down my chest and stomach to the outline of my erection, "Now!"

She turned and walked off in the wrong direction, forcing me to grab my jeans and tee shirt off the front seat. "Holly!" I called after her as I struggled to get my legs into my pants, "Wrong way!"

She turned and came back toward me, not even bothering to laugh as I hopped around on one foot trying to get myself dressed.

I finally got my life together and managed to b.u.t.ton my pants. I tugged my shirt down over my head as I power-walked after her.

"Slow down!" I yelled, "We're not in a rush and you're about to sprint past the crosswalk we need!"

She came to an abrupt halt next to the traffic signal pole and mashed the b.u.t.ton to cross. I caught up with her right as the light changed and she was off again.

"Holly!" I grabbed her wrist as we hit the opposite corner, "Jesus Christ, woman! I was just flirting! Take a few deep breaths and calm down! If you don't want to sleep with me, I can just jerk off until it turns blue and falls off. It's not a big deal!"

She furrowed her brow at my joke, glaring scarily.

"I'm sorry," I tried, hoping she'd lighten up some, "It was wrong of me to invade your s.p.a.ce like that."

"Porter," she sighed, frustrated, "me not wanting to sleep with you is definitely not the problem."

"I'm lost then," I held my hands out to the side, "What the h.e.l.l was that all about?"

"It's the fact that I do want to sleep with you that has me a little freaked out. I haven't wanted someone the way I want you in a very long time. I'm just not sure how to deal with it. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. I don't even know if it's the right thing to do. Or not do for that matter. I'm out of my league here and I don't like being out of control. I've been there before and it's not something I ever plan on experiencing again."

"Wait a minute," I put my hands to the sides of my head to keep it from spinning, "Let me get this straight: The reason you won't sleep with me is because you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes!" she yelled, "Well, no. It's not that. It's.... It's complicated, Porter."

"I'm gathering that."

"Can we just reset and go get food? I don't want to ruin such a good day with my relationship issues."

I sure as h.e.l.l wasn't going to let the issue drop, but for the time being, I'd put it on the back burner. It could wait.

"Sure," I said with a gentle smile, "but only if you'll hold my hand again."

She looked down at my open palm like it was a snake, but slowly slipped her hand into mine.

"See? Not so bad, right?"

"Don't make fun of me, Porter."

"I'm not," I placated, "I'm just saying that we can enjoy each other's company and touch without spontaneously combusting."

I wasn't so sure about the last part, but figured I'd throw it in there for good measure. If I did burst into flames from the heat I felt when I touched her, at least I could say I died a happy man.

Halfway down the block, I pulled open the gla.s.s door to the restaurant and held her hand as she stepped up the single stair. We sat down at a two-top near the door and waited for our server to bring us menus.

"So, what got you into the industry?" I hoped that the topic was a safe one that could lead us back to having a good time together.

"My parents. My mom was an actress and my dad was a producer. Nothing major, but they made ends meet and paid for my schooling. Of course, each of them thought I should follow in their footsteps, but I just didn't have an eye for production and I'm a terrible actor. Like, Nicholas Cage bad. So, after several failed attempts in design, makeup, and screenwriting, I finally landed a gig as a secretary at an agency. The boss was impressed with my ability to read people and, after a couple years, I was offered a position as a casting director. I got the s.h.i.t films for a while, but when my eye started turning n.o.bodies into somebodies, they started handing me the bigger projects. Bigger budget means bigger names. Bigger names mean more connections. Those connections are what I rely on to get A-listers to even glance at a script."

"You're totally a shining example of the American dream then," I said with a smile.

Holly laughed and the tension in my chest loosened. I hadn't realized how bothered I was that she was upset with me until that moment.

"I wouldn't say that," she smiled, "My parents had a lot to do with me getting in at different places. They knew people who knew people. Once I landed the position where I'm at now, it was just a matter of working hard and proving myself."

"That sounds all-too familiar."

"You had much bigger shoes to fill, too. I can only imagine what it was like for you. How old were you when you got into p.o.r.n?"

"I didn't really get into it on a large scale until I was twenty-three. I had put a few videos up on paid sites before then. My parents never found out about that, luckily. It wouldn't have gone over so well in our house to know that one of the Hale boys was releasing 'cheap' videos on the internet."

She nodded her head as our waiter walked up and set two waters with lemon on the table, "Can I get you anything else to drink?"

"Water's fine for me," I said with a smile.

"I'll take a Sapporo, please."

The guy nodded and walked off to retrieve her beer.

We picked up our menus and browsed through the rolls featured for the month. It didn't take me long to pick three and two appetizers.

When the waiter came back with Holly's beer, she ordered two rolls and no appetizer.

"Hungry?" she asked as she smiled around the neck of her bottle.

"I told you near death experiences make me hungry. I wasn't kidding about that part!"

"And how many near death experiences have you had, Porter?"

She placed her elbows on the table in front of her and stared at me expectantly.

"A few," I shrugged, "I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Usually the trouble I get myself into is relatively safe, but there's always something that can go wrong. Not to mention I work with volatile p.o.r.n directors. I can't even count the number of blunt objects that have been thrown at my head over the course of my career."

"I hardly think a flying d.i.l.d.o counts as 'life threatening'."

I laughed quietly at her joke, "No, the d.i.l.d.os I can take, but the lighting stands are a bit on the painful side. I've gotten good at dodging them though, so don't worry."

"p.o.r.n directors really do that? I mean, they take that stuff that seriously?"

"Contrary to what the conservative-types in this country would like you to believe, the adult film industry is a nearly a hundred billion dollar industry, globally. So yes, directors take it very seriously. They stand to make a lot of money on a good film. If we're not up to par, they tend to get a little touchy about it."

"I don't think I've ever heard of any director in Hollywood taking things that far though. I mean, who the h.e.l.l would throw the equipment they rely on to make money? Those lights are expensive! I can't imagine they're something that production companies just have lying around in excess."

"Generally speaking, you're right. Most production companies don't. Luckily, or unluckily, for me, the companies I work with at my level are generally bigger outfits with a budget to back it up."

"I guess that makes sense, but I still don't see how abusing your talent gets anything done."

"It's just a scare tactic. It works on the new kids. Personally, I've gotten to the point in my career where I'll just walk off set. I don't need that s.h.i.t in my life and, on the off-chance I have a contract already signed, I can afford to pay for the breach. It hasn't happened in a while, but I think it came pretty close on my last shoot. The director was super p.i.s.sed that I was late. He kinda blew up and tossed hot coffee all over my driver who was posing as my a.s.sistant."

She tipped her head to the side and smiled, confused, "Why the h.e.l.l was your driver posing as your a.s.sistant? Don't you have an a.s.sistant?"

That question did a h.e.l.l of a job at reminding me that we were both coming from very different worlds.

"No," I shook my head as the waiter set my edamame and wantons between us, "I can think of four major p.o.r.n stars that actually have a.s.sistants. And when I say 'major' you should think like, Jenna Jameson level. My dad didn't even have one until the last five years of his career, and then it was because he needed a wrangler, not an a.s.sistant-someone to make sure he got to where he needed to be when he needed to be there."

"To be honest, I think that's why most regular movie stars have a.s.sistants. I've seen some of those people stumble into my office at ten in the morning either already wasted, or still wasted from the night before. I don't know how they do it. I was in pretty bad shape the day after Preston's party and I didn't even get to drink that much before some oaf walked over the top of me and spilled my martini on my Choos."

Low blow, Nash. Low blow.

"I think we were all a little rough after that party," I said, ignoring her jab, "I think Marco was slipping s.h.i.t into everyone's drinks."

"I think mine might've been the two bottles of wine I drank after the party, but who's to say?"

"Ooooh," I cringed, "Wine hangovers are the worst. My whiskey hangover was pretty s.h.i.t-tastic, but I'd rather deal with cotton in my head than feeling like I peeled my eyeb.a.l.l.s off the carpet. No wine drunks for me!"

She lifted her beer in salute, "I'm trying to refrain."

We picked at the appetizers and stuck to small talk until our sushi arrived. As the waiter placed the fifth and final plate on the table, I saw her cast her gaze around the table.

"Looking for soy sauce?" I asked.

"Yeah. They usually keep it on the table and bring you a little bowl and wasabi."

I shook my head as I stuffed the first ma.s.sive piece of rice, seaweed, tuna, and carrots in my mouth, "Not here. Each roll comes with its own sauce specific to the roll. It would be an insult to the chef to use soy sauce on it." I swallowed, "Kinda like salting your food as soon as it hits the table without even tasting it first."

"Porter," she picked up a piece of one of her rolls and sniffed it cautiously before stuffing it in her mouth, "I'm gonna ask you this, oh this is delicious, but you can't get offended."

"Oh s.h.i.t," I set my next bite back down on the plate and waited, "This is gonna be bad, isn't it?"

She swallowed the food in her mouth and pinned me with a serious gaze, "Are you a food sn.o.b?"

"Are you kidding?" I wasn't sure that was the question she had meant to ask. Maybe she was a lightweight and the beer had already gone to her head.

"No. I'm dead serious. Are you a foodie?"

I shook my head slowly, not sure of the answer she was looking for, "I wouldn't call myself a food sn.o.b, no. I mean, I like fine dining as much as the next guy, but I'm also perfectly fine attending a backyard barbecue in a trailer park. I just have very little manners away from the dinner table, so table manners are where I make up for it. My mom used to kick our a.s.ses for bad table manners, so I think it probably just stuck."

"Good," she said, still serious, "because my cooking sucks. If I ever invite you to a dinner function, be prepared for boxed food or takeout. You might get catered food if I'm feeling particularly celebratory. I am the only person I know who can burn water."

I popped my abandoned piece of sushi in my mouth and smiled at her, "You and Parker would get along in the kitchen then!"

We devoured the rest of our food in silence, mopping up every drop of the sauces with their respective rolls.

"I'm going to hate myself when that rice starts expanding," Holly groaned with a sigh. She leaned back heavily against her chair and rubbed her stomach.