Ship-Wrecked
Cassie Cross
Contents
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
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Chapter One
When I was a kid, my dad built a little stage for me in the backyard, complete with red velvet curtains that my mom sewed from an old bolt of fabric she found at the thrift store. My brother Beckett draped strings of Christmas lights along the curtain rod draped across the two wooden beams holding the whole thing together, and I was artfully lit by two flood lights hanging up on the side of the garage.
Every Friday night during the summer, right before dinner, they’d dutifully watch my truly terrible one-woman shows. After, my dad would hand me a bouquet of carnations that he’d yanked from the garden, and when Mom tucked me in those nights, she gave me the confidence to keep trying, to keep getting better, to do whatever it took to make my dreams come true.
Their help and encouragement carried me through my teens, when the stage productions became more sophisticated, and an agent found me one humid August evening when I was playing Beatrice at Shakespeare In the Park.
Now, with twelve commercials, two TV shows and ten movies under my belt, my life is every bit as amazing as I dreamed it’d be. It’s a glamorous life that only comes with two real downsides, but those downsides are the bane of my existence at the moment. They are, in no particular order:
1. The paparazzi, and
2. The internet
Have I used the paps to my advantage before? Yes. Have they ruined my life? Also yes.
The internet is another double-edged sword. Perfect when I want to buy the veggie peeler from the Instagram ad that sucked me in at 2 AM, but not-so-perfect when pictures of my boyfriend cheating on me with his gorgeous co-star are splashed everywhere, courtesy of the aforementioned paparazzi. That’s when everyone and their mother become armchair body language experts analyzing my every move, guessing my emotional state, and plotting revenge on my behalf.
I just wanted to be humiliated and heartbroken in peace, not have pictures of me drowning my sorrows in a couple of scoops from Salt & Straw with my best friend Kendall posted on all the gossip sites.
I should ignore it, I know, but it’s hard not to look. It’s like knowing there are people whispering about you, being able to listen without them ever knowing, and somehow not doing it. The temptation is too strong!
That’s why I’ve grown to love the little things, like walking my dog Gigi on a sunny fall day, and stopping off for a coffee at my favorite shop where I know no one will notice or care that I’m there. It’s mid-morning on a beautiful Tuesday, and I have twenty minutes before a meeting that my publicist hastily arranged yesterday. A certain dread has been gnawing at my stomach since she called, and I want to drown it out with an iced vanilla latte with a mountain of whipped cream on top.
Gigi’s happily trotting along, sniffing at the trees that line the sidewalk and excitedly looking to passersby for pets. I scoop her up and put her into the bag that’s slung across my shoulder. My brother makes fun of me for having a “purse puppy,” as he calls her, but I’m a woman on the go who was in need of an easily portable friend. She’s sat with me through countless flights, and curled up in my lap on sets across the world. I just love her to pieces, and it seems like the feeling is mutual.
The barista—Jen—greets me with an infectious smile when I walk in. She makes the latte and hands over a little treat for Gigi. I stuff a twenty in her tip jar for the kindness and head back out into the sunshine, where I take a seat at one of the two tables outside and put Gigi down at my feet.
A few people walk by without paying any attention to me, but one girl makes a stutter step, gives me just a quick second glance, trying to place my face. I don’t get it often living here in a city full of famous faces, but occasionally I’ll get that look, just a second or two of an eye squint or a flash of recognition.
I take out my phone to keep me occupied and to check the time, and on my third sip of coffee, my bag shifts to the left and Gigi takes off like a bat out of hell, her leash trailing behind her. I bolt up and run after her, hoping one of the people on the sidewalk will grab her before she does something stupid like run into the street. Thankfully, it seems like her target is a golden retriever at the end of the block who is safely on the sidewalk.
I run around a few people, break through one group, only to see Gigi and the golden retriever meet with happy kisses and wiggling butts. The retriever’s owner isn’t anywhere in sight, but he has a water bowl at least, so he’s not completely abandoned.
I go for Gigi’s leash first, just to get ahold of her, but she and her new friend are too excited. The golden starts chasing her around the tree trunk, and before I know it, the golden’s leash is wrapped around my calves and my balance is quickly fading. One playful lunge at Gigi later, and I’m on my way to busting ass on the pavement. I cringe and prepare myself for impact.
Impact that never comes. At least where I’m expecting it.
Instead of hitting the sidewalk, I fall back into what feels like a wall of muscle that smells like soap and happiness. The wall of muscle’s muscular arms wrap
