Flirting with Boys (11 page)

N
ick!” Celeste called later that evening, poking her head into the silent dining room. All the tables were made up for breakfast the next morning—all except for one, where Nick sat, surrounded by papers and folders. There were several glasses and some plates sitting in a stack in front of him, and he was scribbling furiously on a legal pad. He looked up and grinned, but Celeste could see the grin fade as he spied Travis coming in behind her.

“Travis wanted to come and see how the plans are going,” Celeste said, pulling out a chair. “That's cool, right?”

Nick shrugged. “Whatever,” he said briefly, looking right through Travis as if he weren't even there. He
shoved the legal pad toward Celeste. “I just finished making up a master list of all the stuff we still need to do.”

Travis sat down and ostentatiously put an arm around Celeste's shoulders. He pulled her into him and started rubbing the side of her neck. Celeste glanced at Nick. He was watching the display with his lip slightly curled. Oh, this was not going to be the most relaxing night of her life. She resisted the urge to shrug off Travis's massaging fingers and pulled Nick's legal pad toward her instead. She scanned the list. “Vendors, tastings—” She pulled away from Travis slightly. “Um, thanks, Travis, I'm good now.” He stared at her resentfully for a second and then dropped his arm, rocking back in his chair and aiming a challenging glare at Nick, who narrowed his eyes and glared back.

“Don't worry, babe, I'll give you a better massage later,” Travis said to Celeste, although he was still staring straight at Nick.

Nick shuffled a few papers around. His face was cool and bland. “I'm impressed you know a big word like
massage
, Travis. I guess all that mowing out in the sun hasn't fried too many brain cells after all,” he said smoothly.

Travis's fist clenched convulsively on the tablecloth and Celeste grabbed his arm to head off the impending train wreck.

“Wow, you're so organized,” she said to Nick, still hanging on to Travis's arm. She felt the muscles relax under her hand and gingerly let go, ready to grab it again if Travis pounced. “Who would have guessed?” To her relief, Nick grinned.

“I'm full of surprises,” he said, aiming his comment directly at Travis. Travis frowned and dug his phone out of his pocket. Celeste glanced over as he started checking his messages.

She squashed down a little thread of irritation and examined the list again. “Okay, you want to do the table settings?” she asked Nick. He was staring at Travis and seemed on the verge of speaking but closed his mouth with a snap.

“Yeah. Here, I got some samples from the stockroom.” He unstacked the different plates in front of him and started matching them up with glasses.

“Hmm.” Celeste considered the five different arrangements in front of them. “What do you think, Travis?” she asked. She glanced over when he didn't answer. He was rapidly typing on his phone. “Who are you texting?” she asked, squashing the worm of irritation again.

He looked up. “What? Oh, the guys are getting ready to go out.”

Celeste blew air out of her nose and glanced at Nick. He arched one eyebrow. “Where are you all meeting?” she asked.

“At those hot springs where we went to that party. I told the guys it's the best.”

“Travis!” Celeste exclaimed in surprise. “You can't take the guys there. That's only supposed to be for Pinyon staff.”

“It's the desert, Celeste. It's public,” Travis said. Celeste noticed Nick watching the exchange with lively interest. She turned back to Travis.

“Whatever,” she said. “Do whatever you want. I just think that spot would be better if everyone didn't know about it.”

Travis exhaled. “Stop worrying, okay?” He shoved back his chair. “See you later, babe. Have fun with the plates.” He leaned down and kissed Celeste on the mouth, complete with tongue. She tried to pull away after a moment but he held on to her. Why did she feel like a preschool teacher with a class of two?

There was a moment's silence after Travis left. “That went well,” Nick offered.

Celeste rolled her eyes. “It did not.”

Nick gave her his slick little smile. “I know. I was just trying to make you feel better.”

Celeste punched him in the arm. “All right, let's get some work done.” She started shuffling around the place settings. “Hey, by the way, when do you want to screen the film? We should block out, like, two hours, right?”

Nick looked embarrassed for a minute. He fidgeted
with a napkin. “Well, it's, um, only twenty minutes.” He stared down at the table and then glanced up quickly, as if expecting Celeste to laugh or something.

“What? What's wrong with that?” she asked him.

“Well, most people are used to feature-length movies. So they usually smirk when they hear my film is only twenty minutes.”

“Well, that's just stupid,” Celeste told him firmly. “They just don't understand that there are other kinds of movies other than the big, splashy Hollywood type.”

“Right!” Nick's face lit up. “I mean, it's like everyone expects a sex-in-the-shower scene and a car chase, or it's not a good movie.”

Celeste tilted back in her chair, balancing on the two back legs. “So what's your film about? We've been planning this whole party and everything, and I keep forgetting that it's not just a party—it's actually all about the film.”

Nick's tanned face started turning pink again, and Celeste thought in spite of herself that he looked cute when he blushed. It was also kind of cute that the arrogant Nick got embarrassed talking about his film.

“Well, actually, I um, brought it with me.”

Celeste banged her chair forward on the floor. “You did?”

Nick's face was now so pink, he looked like he had a terrible sunburn. “Yeah. It's on my laptop.” He lifted the
MacBook Air onto the table and then put his hands in his lap.

Celeste waited. “Well, okay, let's see it!” she finally said.

“Only if you're sure you really want to.” Nick fumbled with the catch on the laptop lid.

Celeste scooted her chair around next to his and he opened a file labeled “Director's Cut.” An intense wash of color immediately grabbed Celeste's attention. She watched, rapt, as an ocean crashed and, in the foreground, two sailboats raced side by side. A girl was sailing one and a guy was sailing another. The film had clearly been shot by someone who loved the ocean—Celeste really felt like she was part of the race. The sailors struggled to overtake each other until the girl finally won. The scene shifted and the girl and guy were shown tying up their boats in a harbor. They were staring at each other. Then an older man appeared and the girl went off with him, her head on his shoulder and her arm around his waist. For reasons she didn't entirely understand, Celeste felt an intense pang of sadness as the camera showed the guy on the dock, staring after them. The scene shifted again and the camera showed the outside of a small white house in a gorgeous, sun-drenched seaside town. The guy from the race walked up to the door and went inside. The girl from the harbor was waiting for him on the sofa. The camera faded to black.

Nick clicked the screen closed and wiped his hands on the sides of his jeans, as if his palms were sweaty. “So, what do you think?” he asked, looking at the table instead of Celeste.

She considered a moment.

“Okay, just say if you don't like it!” Nick burst out, his cheeks still pink.

“Hey, calm down,” Celeste said. “I was thinking, that's all. I think it's really interesting—who was the girl? Why did she go off with the older guy?”

Nick looked up. “So you don't think it's totally amateurish?”

“No!” Celeste reassured him. “I mean, I don't know anything about film, but every shot was really beautiful. And the story builds quietly, you know? Like, you go through this range of emotions without even really knowing why.”

Nick let out a giant sigh and flopped back in his chair. He dangled his arms and let his head fall back. “I was a little nervous showing it to you.”

Celeste stifled her giggle. “Oh yeah? I could never tell. So come on, who was the girl?”

“Well,
I
know who she is,” Nick said, straightening up and regaining some of his usual composure, “but I like to let the audience figure it out for themselves—I mean, she could be anybody. People can make her whoever they want.”

Celeste sat back and draped her arm over the back of the chair. “Wow,” she said. “That's good. I…” She looked down at her hands and let her sentence trail off.

“What?” Nick asked. “Wait, no, don't say—let me guess.” He tapped a pencil on one of his teeth, pretending to think. “You're really surprised that a suave ladies' man like me could actually make something so delicate, insightful, sensitive, and thought-provoking. A movie so heartbreaking that it rivals even—”

“Stop!” Celeste held up her hands, laughing. “I'm just surprised. It's not what I expected from…” She stopped again.

“Spit it out,” Nick said. He folded his hands as if waiting for a scolding.

Celeste smiled a little. “Well, from the annoying, spoiled kid who won't stop trying to flirt with me.”

“I have to admit, something about you does bring out the flirt in me a little.” Nick smiled.

“A little?” Celeste teased.

“Okay, a lot. You just look so cute when you get annoyed.” He looked at the ceiling.

“Thanks a lot,” she said. “Hey, are you hungry? It's almost midnight.”

“Starving,” Nick admitted. “You know my dormant inner asshole needs to be fed on a regular basis.”

Celeste stood up. “Kitchen raid?”

“Wow,” Nick said, following her through the big
swinging doors into the vast, immaculate, silent kitchen. “I feel like I'm entering some sort of inner sanctum.”

“You are—the kitchen's like the Holy Grail of Pinyon.” Celeste pried open one of the huge industrial refrigerators and gazed inside. “Usually, Solomon keeps stuff in here in case a guest demands, like, filet mignon at three a.m. or something.” She rummaged among the metal tubs and plastic-wrapped dishes, her head and torso almost disappearing into the frosty interior of the fridge, and emerged with a big plate and a bowl. “Jackpot.” She set the dishes on the counter. “Leftover chocolate soufflé and whipped cream.” She grabbed two bowls from a nearby shelf.

“Oh my God, that looks incredible,” Nick said. Using his fingers, he stuffed a bite into his mouth. “It
is
incredible. Taste this.” He held out a glob of chocolate soufflé.

Celeste paused.
Don't be so uptight
, she told herself. She leaned forward and licked the soufflé off Nick's finger, letting the creamy, fluffy chocolate spread over her tongue. She closed her eyes for a minute, just savoring the taste, and then, opening them, realized that Nick's blue eyes were staring right into hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek. She stared back at him, their faces only a few inches apart. Then Celeste turned away so fast, she almost knocked her bowl of soufflé into the counter. “Well, we should probably get back to work,”
she said awkwardly, blundering through the doors and back into the dining room.

The next few hours flew by as Celeste and Nick bent over their papers and calendars spread out everywhere, making to-do lists and master lists, and hammering out schedules. By three o'clock, Celeste felt like her eyeballs had been coated in sand and dipped in salt water. She groaned and put down her pencil. When she closed her eyes, yellow sheets of lined paper and calendar pages danced in front of her eyes. “Oh my God, I definitely need a break.” She twisted her back right and left, listening to the series of cracks. Beside her, Nick rubbed his red eyes and fell out of his chair, landing on the carpet with a crash.

“Are you okay?” Celeste asked, peering down at him.

“Fine,” he mumbled, his face mashed into the rug. “Just wake me up when people start coming in for breakfast, okay?”

Celeste got up from her chair and reached down, hauling at his arm. “Get up. We're done anyway.”

Nick hauled himself up from the carpet and they headed out into the dry, cool desert night. Celeste inhaled deeply. The fresh air smelled great after spending hours indoors. She and Nick walked down the red sandstone path side by side, their footsteps echoing against the silent buildings. Celeste wondered what had happened to the easy camaraderie of the meeting. She could
sense the warmth of Nick beside her and accidentally bumped his shoulder as they walked. “Sorry!” they both said at the same time. There was a pause, and they looked at each other and laughed awkwardly. Celeste could feel the spot where he'd bumped her searing on her shoulder like a burn.

At the turnoff to the staff quarters, Celeste stopped and turned to face Nick. They looked at each other. The moonlight reflected off Nick's cheekbones, turning his eyes into deep hollows.

“Your skin looks silver,” he said softly. For a long moment, Celeste stood frozen, and then she took a little step back.

“Um, see you tomorrow?” she almost whispered, wondering why her heart was pounding.

“Yeah,” Nick said huskily. He turned and disappeared down the path.

Safe inside her room, with the warm yellow light dispelling all that dark tension outside, Celeste threw herself onto her bed. She curled up in a little ball and hugged her pillow to her chest. Where did all that come from? Celeste thought of kissing Nick at the party last year. That had been nothing—just drunk sloppiness. The party had been going on for a few hours, and everyone, including herself, had been pretty trashed. Madonna had been playing, and he'd leaned over and kissed her with a mouth that tasted like vodka. She hadn't really
thought about it too much at the time, and she certainly hadn't felt anything. She hadn't really seen that kiss coming. But tonight, under the stars, she'd been able to see in his eyes how much he wanted to kiss her.