Act Like You Love Me (An Accidentally in Love Novel) (Entangled: Bliss) (3 page)

Chapter Three

Brynn’s plan to ignore Sawyer had hit a snag that first night—how was she supposed to know
he
was the one banging around in the house next door? She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to go yell about it instead of calling the police. Probably the fact that she’d been half asleep.

But other than that, she’d hardly spoken to him for the rest of the week. She even managed to focus and deliver her lines like she usually did—all out, not worrying about the too-cool-for-school guy in the front. He’d been on his computer most of the time, anyway. Not that she’d been paying attention. The guy wasn’t taking hints very well, though—for some reason he kept trying to talk to her after rehearsal. Every time he tried, she darted away, afraid if she had a real conversation with him, he’d recognize her. Then she’d have to relive awful memories as he laughed at her, the nerdy girl who’d dared to go after someone like him.

Maybe he’d already figured it out. Surely he would’ve said something, though, right? Brynn’s heart kicked up a few notches. Maybe that was why he wanted to talk to her.

In that case, she’d avoid him forever.

She peeked around the empty theater, satisfied everyone had left, and then got out the paints so she could work on the sets. Paul and his band were playing at the Tavern later tonight, so she had a few hours to kill before she headed over there. Since she used to work on sets when she was in drama club, she’d told Nora, the old director, that she’d spruce them up—and man did they need it.

Brynn made sure the ladder was steady, balanced the paints on the tray near the top, and then climbed up. Everyone else had been in a hurry to leave, since it was Friday night, and while the effect of the empty theater was a bit spooky, there was also something peaceful about it, like the magic was still hanging in the air, waiting for someone to grab hold of it and transform props and costumes into a story.

Humming a tune, she swirled the paintbrush in the yellow and stretched onto her toes to touch up the dingy-looking sun. She thought she heard the echo of a door and froze, brush hovering in the air. Keeping one hand clamped onto the ladder, she glanced behind her.

“Hello? Anyone there?” Her voice echoed across the stage and came back to her. She squinted into the darkness for a moment, then went back to humming and painting. The scent of the paint brought back memories from high school, when she used to watch the people onstage, wishing she could be performing, too. And now she was, a lead in one of her favorite plays.

With that happy thought, the humming morphed into singing “Honey, Honey” from
Mama Mia
at the top of her lungs—it’d been on her iPod earlier when she was driving, and really there was no way to sing it except all out.

“Brynn?”

She whipped around so fast her foot slipped. The paintbrush hit her in the chest, and the ladder screeched as she struggled to hold onto it. Hands came up on the sides of her waist to steady her, and then she was slowly lowered to the ground. When she turned around, she was chest to chest with Sawyer.

His eyes really are like emeralds.

She quickly shook that thought off. It was stupid and not in keeping with the ignoring-him plan. She stepped back, but of course the ladder was there. It knocked into the fake wall and the paint tipped over, splashing yellow splotches on the way down.

“Damn it!” She dropped to her knees to scoop the can up before it could make an even bigger mess. “What’s wrong with you?” she said in Sawyer’s direction. She wasn’t a klutz anymore—this wasn’t her fault, it was
his
. “You can’t sneak up on someone like that.”

He crouched down next to her. “I wasn’t
trying
to scare you. And you’re welcome for my catching you, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen if you weren’t creeping around in the shadows.”

He laughed and she shot him a dirty look. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t ‘creeping around in the shadows.’ I brought in my toolbox so I could work on the sets.” He gestured toward a big gray box. “And I said your name so you’d know I was there, because I could tell from the way you were singing, you thought you were alone.”

She lowered her chin, focusing on the paint. Was there some kind of rule that said she had to embarrass herself around him?

“You’ve got a great voice,” he said. “Do you do musicals, too?”

She swiped her hair behind her ear. “I’ve done a couple, but they make me nervous. If you deliver a line wrong, you can usually cover pretty quickly. But you mess up in the middle of a song, then you’re struggling to hit the right notes, and… Well, it’s a lot harder for me to focus on the singing and acting all at once.”

The way his mouth kicked into a half smile as he looked at her made her heart rate hitch up a few notches.

He reached out and then his fingers were in her hair and all she could do was freeze in place, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. “You got a little paint in it.” He brought his hand down and wiped it on his jeans.

“Oh. Thanks.” Seconds stretched out between them and he was still staring at her. A flutter started low in her stomach, working its way up.

Stop it, Brynn
.
Stop it right now.
She wasn’t doing this again. She had to shut it down. No thinking about how she always thought he had artist’s hands, though they weren’t bad at catching a football, either. And definitely no thinking about the way his dark lashes lined his eyes and made the green stand out even more.

“I better get a rag and clean this up before it sets.” She grabbed a spare rag, hurried to the bathroom to wet it, and then rushed back.

Sawyer had a mop out—she had no idea where he found it—and was wiping up the last of the paint. The floor cleaned up easily enough, which just left the yellow splashed across the blue sky to take care of.

“See, no harm done.” Sawyer’s gaze lowered to her shirt, which had a dashed yellow pattern thanks to the paintbrush rolling down it. His shirt had a smear from when she’d been pressed up against him.

She wiped at her shirt, though the paint was already dry. “I’m wearing my painting clothes, so it’s not a big deal.”

He gave her another half smile. “Dang, I thought I was going to get to see you change again.”

Her face flooded with heat. “I… That was…”

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m kidding.” The other half of his mouth got in on the smile, and it made those supposedly dormant butterflies come back full-force.

Was he actually flirting with her? She took a couple steps back, not sure how to handle him. “I better try to fix the sky.”

“While you’re working on that, I’m going to see if I can’t repair the sagging walls of the house.” Sawyer opened up his toolbox and took out a hammer and a box of nails. “You can keep singing if you want. Don’t hold back on my account.”

Brynn picked up her paintbrush and started for the ladder. “No thanks, but if
you
want to sing, feel free.”

“I think you’d change your mind if you heard me sing.”

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then she realized she was blinking way too quickly—her body’s automatic attempt to flirt. Because nothing says
Hey, look how hot I am
like rapid-style blinking. She quickly turned to the work in front of her, not wanting to encourage him. It was possible, though, that he wasn’t
quite
as awful as she’d thought he was. Maybe he’d changed since high school—she certainly had.

A few minutes later, Brynn bit her lip and studied the sky. It was looking more green than blue. Perhaps it’d be better to let it dry and then attempt to paint a white cloud over the top.

When she dropped down off the ladder, she peeked at Sawyer. He was putting nails into the walls of the house backdrop, the muscles in his arm and back moving with each swing of the hammer. His tongue was poking out between his lips and his forehead was creased in concentration. It was no wonder she’d chosen him to obsess over in high school. Even now that she wasn’t all sappy in love with him, he was still one of the best-looking guys she’d ever seen.

“Can you come hold this up for me?” he asked. “I can’t quite keep it in place and really swing like I need to.”

Crap. He must’ve known she was staring. She moved closer and stretched onto her toes to hold the canvas in place. His body brushed hers as he set a nail, and her breath came out shaky. She caught a whiff of his cologne—musky, with a hint of something that smelled like freshly cut grass.

If she wasn’t going to think about him like
that
, then she needed to look away. And cover her nose. She tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. Water. She desperately needed water.

“Do you mind?” He was so close, she could feel the vibrations of his deep voice.

Oh, holy crap, could he tell I was sniffing him? I’m never going to be able to come to rehearsal again.

He lifted his hand higher, extending the nails to her. She took them and tried to focus on not dropping them.

He finished driving in one nail and then held out his hand for another. “So why’d you leave LA?”

“What?” she asked, trying to follow the question. If only she hadn’t been so distracted by the muscles and the closeness.

Sawyer lowered the hammer and looked at her. That’s when she remembered that the other night he’d said something about her being from LA. She’d been too angry at seeing him again—at finding out he’d apparently moved in next door—to tell him he’d guessed wrong.

“I’m surprised you’d come here when there are so many acting opportunities there,” he said.

She was going to correct him, but then she’d have to explain that she was from here, and then he’d probably ask what part, and what if he realized who she was? After their conversation about her changing her shirt, it would only add to the humiliation, and then she really
would
have to pull out of the play. Besides, being an actress from California sounded way cooler and more exciting than her real life. Plus, it’d throw him off if he ever did start to think he knew her from somewhere. So she decided to just go with it.

“I needed a break from all the pressure of LA.” Wasn’t that what people said? Sounded okay enough. “I ran away from it all, only to end up back at the theater.” She smiled, liking her made-up past. A bit tragic, but like she couldn’t help but be drawn to the stage. Which was kind of true.

“Yeah, I needed to get away for a while, too. Not from theater, but from everything in New York. Things got messy there and… Anyway, taking a break was the right move. Plus, my mom needed me here.”

Aww, he came to help his mom. As much as she wanted to keep on hating him, he wasn’t making it easy. She supposed saying something nice to him wouldn’t
kill
her. And most Hollywood actresses would probably be impressed by him. So really, she was simply playing a role, not forgiving him for hurting her in the past. “Well, it’s very impressive that you made a movie.”

“My aunt made me sound more important than I am. I’m just a screenwriter. I write movies.”

“I actually do know what a screenwriter is.” There he went, being condescending again.

“Right, of course.” He drove in the nail that was sticking halfway out and then reached for another one. “You know, it’s funny, I’m actually digging this play, and all that goes into it.”

Damn, now he was being nice again. She couldn’t help but return the smile he flashed her. They were having a decent conversation, and she hadn’t made a total fool of herself in the past few minutes, which was always a bonus. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I never would’ve guessed it. Back at my high school, the only people who did the theater stuff were huge dorks.”

All her happy vibes died, anger rising up in their place. She slammed the remaining nails on the fake flower bush next to him and strode back to her art supplies, gathering them up as fast as possible. Painting the rest would have to wait.

“Brynn?” Sawyer swung his arms out, the hammer still in his hand. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got other things to do.”

“Wait,” he said, but she didn’t. What a
jerk
! There she’d been, thinking she was wrong, that maybe he’d changed, but
nooo
, he was the same arrogant ass he’d been in high school.

And this dork was going back to staying far, far away from him.

…

He so didn’t get women. One second he’d thought maybe he and Brynn could actually get along—in fact, he’d been starting to have thoughts about her that pushed the boundaries of professionalism. The next, she was storming off as if he’d offended her. Sawyer went back over the conversation in his head, but nothing stuck out.

He shouldn’t be thinking about her anyway. Not how cute she was when she was onstage, putting everything she had into her acting. Not her voice. Or the scent of her floral shampoo or perfume. And definitely not the way she’d felt in his arms, as brief as it had been. That was why he’d asked her to help him, even though he was perfectly capable of holding up the canvas and putting the nails in at the same time.

The last actress he’d dated had been like one of those pain scale ratings they showed you in the hospital. One minute Zoey would be all happy with a big smile on her face, then she’d be weepy, and then she’d be fine. He never knew what would set her off, but she was smart and pretty and driven, and best of all, interested more in her career than their relationship. They’d both agreed on a casual arrangement, that their work should come first, which was perfect.

But then she’d gotten her big break—a role on a TV show. And suddenly she wanted him to visit the set all the time and start looking at lofts so they could move in together. When he told her he might be moving to LA, she’d asked if she was even a consideration in his plans. He hadn’t immediately answered, because she hadn’t been, though he knew better than to say that to her. Then she’d started throwing things at his head, telling him how she’d cheered him on while he’d been writing his screenplay, and how could he do this to her?

That would’ve been bad enough, but she had to take it a step further, manipulating him in a way that still made his blood boil whenever he thought about it. He’d vowed no more actresses then, and he couldn’t believe he’d let himself think that it could be different with a girl here, just because he was in North Carolina and this was a small production. Brynn was obviously a Hollywood actress at heart, like all the rest of them. Probably a liar, too, and even if she wasn’t, she definitely had the moody thing down pat.