Oz. They called him Oz like Sal had. Who the hell was he?
Lucian tried valiantly to adopt an easy expression, but I knew him enough now to tell that his smile was fake as hell. “Hey, guys.”
“Oh man, this is totally cool,” said the blond. “Whatcha doing here, Oz?”
“Having lunch.”
They all laughed the unsteady laugh of those who knew they’d stated the obvious but were too enthralled by fame to show any real embarrassment.
“Tough break about the Cup.”
“They haven’t been the same without you.”
“You’re not really quitting forever, are you?”
The questions peppered Lucian like pellets, and his expression grew more remote with each hit. Sal hustled over, looking more than a bit panicked. The boys didn’t notice; they were too busy gazing upon their idol.
“That hit, man. God, it looked bad.”
“Had to have hurt like a bitch. Do you remember it?”
Lucian stood abruptly. Woodenly, as though every inch of him was frozen inside. I had no idea what they were talking about, but clearly everyone else did. I stood as well, unable to sit there when Lucian was on the brink of bolting.
“I’ve got to get going, guys.” His voice was a thread pulled too tight.
“Aw, man.”
“Can we get a selfie?”
For a second, I thought he might snap. But he smiled—more of a grimace—and bit out a terse “Sure.”
Without being asked, Sal stepped in and took the phone, as though well versed in doing so. I stood there, numb and confused. The young guys posed for a few photos with Lucian “Oz,” and more people started to hover, the crowd murmuring with greater intensity. How the hell did everyone know him? Why didn’t I?
His face had been familiar, though, when I’d first seen it. But I hadn’t been able to place him. And then he’d opened his mouth, all gruff and snappish, and he’d simply become Lucian—hot but closed-off man who liked to take late-night naked swims and make me laugh despite myself.
The second the photos were taken, Lucian said goodbye to the guys with a finality that was polite but firm. He grabbed his tray without looking my way, dumped it, and began to stalk off, as though in a trance, leaving Sal and me to hustle after him or be left behind.
“What the hell?” I hissed to Sal as we followed. Ahead of us, Lucian strode with purpose, his big body stiff as a log.
Sal’s expression was taut with unhappiness. “It’s his story to tell. Just know . . . he’s going to be difficult for a while.”
Difficult? The man already was.
Lucian unlocked his truck but didn’t acknowledge us before he got in. The pickup was a four door, but I wasn’t about to force Sal into the back seat so I could ask questions. I hopped in the back seat, hoping to catch Lucian’s eye in the rearview mirror. But he never glanced my way.
Many times, he’d been silent, broody, sarcastic, but he had yet to ignore me until now. It shocked me how much it bothered me. It was as though I’d become fully awake and alive under his attention, only to dim when it was taken away. No one should have that power over me. Except it didn’t feel like oppression. It felt right and real in a way that scared me.
Worse, though, was my concern because he was hurting. The encounter had shaken him.
The drive back was tense and silent. I took the time to breathe deep and easy. It was something I’d learned to do while on the set to keep myself grounded. Dark Castle was a good working environment, but tempers and egos still flared now and then. God, but I already missed it. Or maybe I missed the safety of a steady job. Frankly, the show had a reputation for its sex scenes, and I was more than happy to never do another nude love scene again. Saint had been a perfect gentleman, but it still made for an uncomfortable afternoon of filming.
Those thoughts distracted me long enough for Lucian to reach the estate and turn into the drive that snaked around to the side of the house. Without preamble, he put the truck in park and got out.
Sal and I exchanged a look, and then I braced my shoulders and followed. It wasn’t easy catching up to him. The man had long legs and was hell bent and determined to outpace me. But I was an expert at speed