Shock Waves. Colleen Collins

pencil,” whispered Jimmie.

      Bill released the eraser tip from his teeth. “Oh, shut up.”

      Ellie slipped her thumbs underneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms and lowered them, slowly, an inch or so. Bill ground his teeth, his entire body on edge, as he read the black-scripted tattoo at the base of her spine.

      “Queen of Evil?” he rasped.

      “Yeah,” murmured Jimmie, “that’s what it says all right.”

      Bill groaned.

      Jimmie leaned closer. “So, is she a five?”

      Bill returned his gaze to her, gave his head a slow shake. “She’s more than a number, Jimmie. I share a past with her.”

      “ELLIE ROCKWELL.”

      Standing at the food table in the backstage tent quaffing a blueberry muffin, she froze. Even with her back to him, she’d know that voice anywhere. Swallowing her bite, she set down the muffin and turned.

      A shiver passed through her.

      Bill was even hotter up close.

      His skin, naturally mocha, was darker from the sun. His full, natural hair looked like a deliciously dark aura. Stubble coarsened his jaw, making her think he’d probably rolled out of bed and come straight here for today’s audition without shaving. She shouldn’t have thought about him rolling out of bed, because she started wondering if he was one of those men who slept in his shorts or pajama bottoms.

      Or naked.

      She sucked in a shaky breath. He’s only said my name and I already have him naked in bed.

      A hint of a smile raised a corner of his mouth. She hadn’t noticed before that he sported a soul patch, neatly trimmed, underneath his full bottom lip.

      “Ellie Rockwell, right?”

      “Bill Romero,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I saw you in the audience.”

      “I thought you noticed me.” He looked her up and down. “You’ve…changed.”

      “You don’t know the half of it,” she murmured, her gaze sliding down to the colorful tattoo that trailed from underneath his sleeve down to his elbow. Appeared to be the tail of something.

      “It’s a dragon,” he explained.

      Her gaze traveled back up the green and burnished gold scales that disappeared underneath his sleeve.

      “The rest,” he murmured, “goes up my arm. One claw’s on my back, and its head falls across my chest.”

      She stared at his chest, imagining the head of the beast permanently inked on his molded pec.

      “A fire-breathing, ice-breathing or acid-spitting dragon?”

      “Fire.” He looked surprised. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”

      Being a good glam goth chick, she knew her dragon basics, but no way she’d admit that. Usually her attitude was if somebody didn’t like her style, tough. But this was different. This was Bill Romero. He’d obviously come backstage to see the beach babe Ellie, and no way she’d let on he’d fallen for a look that was the antithesis of the real her. This was Cinderella at the ball time. The prince was flirting with her, and she was going to run with it.

      “I think I saw some of those dragons when I got my Queen of Evil tattoo,” she lied.

      Bill made a murmur of approval. “Now that’s a tattoo I’d like to hear more about.” He glanced over her shoulder at the half-eaten muffin. “Looks like I interrupted your snack?”

      She made a dismissive gesture toward it. “I’d skipped breakfast, so…”

      “I skipped breakfast, too.” His gaze held hers for a moment. “If I didn’t have to get back, I’d suggest we grab a bite. Catch up.”

      Get back? She flashed back to yesterday when he’d asked if that was her car. He hadn’t been dressed up either day…could he be making money parking cars? She wouldn’t ask, didn’t want to embarrass him. What had happened to his dreams?

      “Last we saw each other,” she said nonchalantly, “you were leaving for film school.”

      “Yeah, went to New York University.” He cocked that half smile again. “Surprised you remember.”

      She shrugged as though, oh, sure, just one of those things that popped up from some distant memory instead of something she’d thought about a lot these past seventeen years. Everything about that night he’d told her he was moving away was burned indelibly into her brain. The moon had been full, yellow and waxy in a smoggy sky. Lavender scented the air. Down the block a radio blasted a popular Ice-T rap song.

      She waited for Bill to say more, but nothing. Had he come back to L.A., armed with his degree, only to find nobody wanted to hire another starry-eyed wannabe? She’d seen a lot of people lose their dreams in the city of dreams. Actresses who thought they’d be the next Meryl Streep, writers who thought they’d be the next Eszterhas, directors who thought they’d be the next Scorsese. All of them waiting for their big breaks while serving tables or working on construction sites or…

      Parking cars.

      She dropped her gaze, caught the splatter of brown on his shirt. “Spill something?”

      He looked down, back up with a sheepish smile. “Coffee. Actually, I took a break from my casting duties to see if I can get it out. My buddy’s covering for me.”

      She blinked. “Casting duties?”

      “Yeah.” He raked a hand through his thick, full hair. “I’m just helping out, for today only.”

      “Part-time job?”

      “More like a favor.”

      So things hadn’t gone well. She’d get off the topic, help him save face. “I’d suggest dabbing that with soda water. If you can’t find that, cold water.” She smiled. “I run a coffee shop so I deal with stuff like this all the time.”

      “Coffee shop, eh? I’ll definitely take your advice, then.” But he didn’t do a thing except stand there and stare at her. Was her bad-girl blonde makeover working?

      “I should be getting back,” he murmured.

      “Sure.” Do something! Invite him to the beach house, ask him out for another cup of coffee to make up for the one he sloshed, ask his zodiac sign, something. “Nice seeing you.” Good one, El. Your big moment and you wuss out.

      “Nice seeing you, too.” He started walking away, paused. “Going to the festival later?”

      “I’m entering some of the events. My girlfriends and I want to win the grand prize. You can enter as a group, you know, so that’s what we’re doing.” I’m babbling. “Except for this audition. Not a group thing, obviously. We figured after I was done over as a beach babe…” Not good. Overbabble.

      “Done over?”

      She smiled shakily. “Girl talk for getting fixed up.” She’d never lied this much. “I probably wouldn’t have auditioned if they hadn’t made me do it.” At least that was the truth.

      He looked her down, back up, making a zillion goose pimples skitter across her skin.

      “I’m an idiot,” he mumbled. He hit the palm of his hand against his forehead. “I got so caught up seeing you again, I forgot to tell you something.” He smiled warmly. “It’s a good thing your girlfriends talked you into auditioning, because Ellie Rockwell, you’re hired.”

      She blinked. “I am?”

      He nodded.

      “You get to pick people?”

      “Just