He pulls me into his arms. “Why don’t you come to my room for a little while? We can celebrate, and I can tell you all about the script,” he says in a velvety voice.

“I’m already here celebrating with my friends.”

“And just what are you celebrating?”

“My birthday is this week.”

“Well, happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” I tease him before I walk away. “You know, I’m totally going to be watching you in action. Good luck with finding a uh, roommate.”

When I lie back in my chaise, RiAnne says, “Who is that guy? Is he an actor? Ohmigawd, he is so hot.”

Vanessa says, “He is hot, but isn’t he a bit old for you?”

“You dated that twenty-six year old. He’s not that much older. Um, I never asked you at the time, but was it, like, good with him? Was his being older, like, a benefit in any way?”

She laughs. “If that’s your way of asking if the sex was good, the answer is yes. It was amazing. He knew way more than any high school boy and a lot more than the college guy. Plus, he had way more stamina.”

“Stamina?”

“Yeah, like he could do it for a really long time. Sometimes, he’d go so long, I’d almost get bored. Almost,” she says with a pleased smirk.

“He’s going to be my neighbor,” I tell her with a grin.

“Let me know when he moves in.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. “I’d like to give him a special housewarming gift.” Then she nudges me. “Or maybe we can share. He looks like he’d be into that.”

“You’re naughty,” I say with a laugh. Then I take a drink of beer and let my eyes wander back to the bar.

I’ve moved on.

9:30pm

We hung by the pool, had some drinks, had dinner in the bar, then I headed home.

I’m looking forward to taking a long, hot bath and going to sleep early.

I wander into the kitchen to see who’s home. James and my mom are sitting at the kitchen table shaking their heads at each other.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing, honey,” Mom says, but I know she’s lying.

“Abby, I think she needs to know about this. We don’t know what this guy is doing, and this doesn’t make sense. She needs to be on alert too.”

“On alert about what? Is this about the creeper again?”

“Yes,” James says grimly. “Your mom found a letter in her purse. It happened while we were at a cocktail party tonight.”

“Weren’t you there, James? Aren’t you supposed to be watching out for stuff like that?”

“I was there. I don’t know how it happened. She only spoke to people she knew.”

“So does that mean the stalker is someone she knows?” I ask. “I thought it was that weird pale guy?”

“We’ve pretty much ruled him out,” James says.

“Okay, so where were you tonight?”

“We were at an industry cocktail party. We spoke to a ton of people, from actors, to producers, to investors, to agents, to the guys that work the cameras. It was a fundraiser,” Mom tells me.

“And I lowered my guard because of it. I can’t do that again,” James says.

“None of you should lower your guard. So you knew the people at the party; big deal. What about all the waiters? The bartenders? Do you know how easy it would be to pretend to be one of them? He also could have paid someone to slip it in her purse. He wouldn’t have even had to do it himself, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“So . . . what did the letter say?”

James slides the letter across the table. I read it.

I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but your nudity and sex scenes in To Maddie with Love disgusted me.

I was so mad when I saw them, I wanted to fucking kill you.

To make you pay.

I thought you should know that I’ve moved on.

I’ve found someone younger and even more beautiful than you to love.

Farewell, Abby.

—Your former biggest fan

“So why are you upset about this? He’s done with you? That’s awesome, isn’t it?”

James stands up and starts pacing. “That’s what I don’t get. For the past fifteen years he’s been professing his love, but it was no big deal, just your basic fan mail. Then it began to sound violent, and he threatened you and the kids. Now we’re supposed to believe that after all this time, this is it? He’s done with you? It just doesn’t add up. What if he just wants us to let our guard down?”

“It really sounds like he’s moved on, James. I was freaked out about how the note got in my purse, but I did leave it on my chair for most of the night. And I know this sounds bad, but I’m glad he’s someone else’s problem.”

“I think we should cancel the party, Abby. There’s going to be six hundred people there. You’re going to be way too exposed.”

“CANCEL MY BIRTHDAY PARTY!? You can’t!”

Mom says, “Don’t be silly, James. We aren’t canceling her party.”

I run over and hug Mom. “Thanks, Mom. James, I know it’s your job to be uptight and on guard and all, but no stalker is gonna crash my birthday party. Especially one who says he’s moving on.”

“Well, I’m doubling the security, and, Abby, you’ll have a two-man team with you at all times.”

“Whatever you think is best,” Mom tells James.

I go in my room, fill my tub with water, get in, and think about my party.

About everything Vanessa and RiAnne said today.

They’re probably right about Brooklyn.

I pull Cush’s number up and send him a quick text. Ask if he’s coming to the party.

He doesn’t reply.

Thursday, August 18th

Commit social suicide?

8:30am

I open my eyes to a bright sunny day. The perfect weather for my birthday.

At midnight, Brooklyn called, woke me up, and told me happy birthday. I thought it was really sweet. And I don’t want to listen to my mind. I want to listen to my heart. My little sisters also came in at like five am, but I was able to go back to sleep.

I text RiAnne and Vanessa and tell them that I took their advice and texted Cush, but that he didn’t bother to reply. I told them I’m going to convince Brooklyn to come to my party, and that I’d like them to make him feel welcome.

I still think my plan will work. My best surfer friends will meet my best school friends, and by the time we head back here for the after-party, they’ll all be new best friends.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that my life is going to be perfect.

My phone vibrates with a text.

Vanessa: Are you trying to commit social suicide?

Okay, maybe not so perfect.

I should reply, say something snarky back, but I’m not going to. I don’t care if dating Brooklyn is social suicide. I love him.

And I really believe if they get to know him, they will see why.

I grab a bikini out of a drawer and pull it on.

I’m meeting Brooklyn in a few minutes. We’re gonna catch a few waves, and then he has something planned for my birthday.

Brooklyn isn’t on the beach yet, but I’m feeling so happy that I skip up the beach and start doing cartwheels in the surf. These next few days are going to be practically magical, I’m just sure of it. And it could be months before Brooklyn gets everything together and actually leaves.

A big wave comes in and knocks me down into the sand in the middle of my cartwheel.

I laugh, get up, and do it again.

“I might have to add a scene like that to our movie,” I hear a voice say. I turn around and see Vincent. He’s dressed casually in a Ralph Lauren swimsuit and a white t-shirt.

“You seem awfully chipper today.”

“Of course I am. Today’s my birthday.”

He walks closer to me, pulls me into a hug, and kisses my cheek. “Well, happy birthday.”

We sit down in the sand.

“Thanks. Sooooo . . .you’re here on the beach in a swimsuit. How come?”

“The guy I’m purchasing the property from is an older gentleman. He wants to teach me everything. The funny thing is, I don’t think he knows. From what I can tell, he hires everything out. I think he’s lonely. He also gets up at the ass crack of dawn. I’ve been here since six-thirty and had four cups of the worst coffee of my life. Honestly, from what I can tell, his big excitement of the day is watching the women jog down the beach in the morning. I’m pretty sure that’s why he gets up so damn early.”

I laugh at his story. “That’s funny. You’re sweet to do that. Spend time with him like that.” But then I think about what he just said about the guy. How my mom often jogs on the beach in the morning all by herself. Could an old guy like that be the one creeping on her? I make a mental note to tell James about him.

Vincent rolls his eyes. “It’s not really sweet. I just don’t want him to back out of our deal. So we didn’t get to talk much the other day. How was being in Europe all summer?”

“I think we should talk about the rest of your afternoon. You stayed at the bar for a long time. Anything happen after I left?”

He gives me a sly grin. “That’s none of your business.”

“That means yes.”

“You were going to tell me about your summer?”

“Oh, yeah, it was great! Brooklyn and I surfed what are supposed to be some of Europe’s best waves. Then we hung out with Twisted Dreams on their tour. Remember, you were at the Undertow the night of their farewell concert? The lead singer, Damian, is one of my best friends. I’ve known him since I was little. Really, it was the best summer of my life.”

I realize Vincent isn’t really paying much attention to what I’m saying. He seems to be lost in thought.

“Earth to Vincent,” I say.

He blinks his eyes quickly. “Sorry, we’re here on the beach. My mind is going. I’m picturing scenes. Stand up for me, would you? In front of the ocean.”

I stand up between him and the ocean.

“Smile,” he says.

I give him my biggest grin.

“Let’s see how you look on film.” He holds his phone in the air. “Do you mind?”

“I don't mind. What do you want me to do?”

“You’ve seen A Day at the Lake?”

“A few years ago, yeah.”

“You know the poster where she's blowing a kiss?”

“Yeah. Lame.”

“Lame? That poster sold millions of copies.”

“I know. I just thought it was more about her boobs. She basically stood like this and blew a kiss.”

I mimic Mom’s poster.

“So what can you do, besides cartwheels?”

“I told you before, I’ve taken dance classes since I was three. I’m varsity soccer. I’m decent at kickboxing. I lower my head and confess. “I broke a girl’s nose at a party. I’m not proud of it or anything, but I did.”

“Show me.” He slides his phone into his pocket and holds up his hands the way Tommy’s trainer does.

I punch them gently.

“Come on, you’ve got to have more than that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to hurt you,” I tease. He grabs my wrist. His grip is quite strong. “Wow, you’re stronger than you look.”

He looks hurt. “I don’t look strong? Wow, way to punch a guy’s ego.”

“Well it’s hard to tell with that loose T-shirt on. You know, guys your age can take their shirts off and be all flabby, or they can be all ab-a-licious . . . ”

Vincent pulls his shirt up over his head.

OMFG!!

My mouth falls open as I stare at his perfectly sculpted chest, his strong pecs, his thick ab muscles, and that sexy little line of dark hair trailing down into his swimsuit.

“What?” he says with a laugh.

I manage to close my mouth. “I’m guessing you work out a bit?”

He tilts his head and grins. “You could say that. So, back to our video. Do some cartwheels or dance for me. No, I know. Blow me a kiss. Do it your way.”

I think about it.

I turn my back on him and prance into the ocean. I reach down, grab a handful of water, and then swivel my upper body back toward him, naughtily tossing the water out of my hand as I blow him the sweetest kiss.

“That’s perfect,” he says. “Sweet, but naughty. Exactly how we want your character to be. So I take it you’d rather have people looking at your ass on a poster than your boobs?”

“Uh, I never thought of that. I was just playing around.”

He replays the video, studying it intently.

Eventually he says, “The camera loves you. Meet me at my studio tomorrow.”

“I can’t. Today I have birthday stuff, tomorrow too, then Saturday is my big birthday party.”

“Did my invite get lost in the mail?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t—um—do you want to come? I could get your name on the list.”

“Of course I want to come.”

I see Brooklyn wandering down the beach toward us.

“What’s up?” Brooklyn says to Vincent.

“Just telling Keatyn that getting the house has been tougher than I thought it would be. So, I was looking at surfboards the other day and felt a little overwhelmed. Do you have any suggestions?”

Brooklyn says, “Go to Davey’s, tell him I sent you, and tell him to fit you for a board. It’ll be perfect for you. The guy’s a genius.”