Abby Road by Ophelia London

combed back, briefcase, black town car. Very “Mr. Big.”)
    “For how long?”
    “Less than a year. I didn’t really need the job at the time, but that wasn’t why I left. I realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.”
    Todd’s family was obviously loaded. Though he didn’t flaunt it like some of the other Richie Riches I knew, it was plain to see the evidence of old money. He simply had that way about him. Classy.
    A few years ago, before I witnessed on more than one occasion actors hooking up with their makeup artists and debutantes running away with their chauffeurs, I would have considered Todd unequivocally out of my league. Celebrity or no celebrity, he totally outranked me.
    “Then what?” I asked. “Like, what were you doing a year ago?”
    Todd leaned forward. “What were you doing a year ago, Abby?”
    “One year ago I was on my way to England,” I began without having to think, “five shows in five days in five cities. Then Europe. Then Asia.” I folded my arms. “Top that.”
    “I was climbing Everest.”
    “Oh,” I sputtered and then swallowed, recalling a blurb I’d read on the back of a pamphlet once: Mount Everest is 29,035 feet. One hundred and twenty corpses are still stuck up there, frozen in the ice, until I don’t know, global warming sets them free? And it cost upward of $65,000 even to attempt the climb.
    I carefully regarded the man at my side—he was like a sexy Jack Bauer. “Did you make it all the way?” I asked.
    “To the summit?”
    I nodded eagerly.
    He chuckled. “Of course not.”
    “How high?”
    “Camp One, twenty thousand, fifteen feet. Then my buddies and I literally crawled back down the mountain to base camp.” He paused and scratched his chin. “I spent the next week puking my guts out, crying for the stuffed dog I had when I was four.” He ran one hand through his hair and grinned at me. “Admit it, Abby. You’re totally turned on right now, aren’t you?”

{chapter 8}
    “IF I FELL”
    T o catch more of the cooling wind, Todd and I moved up to a twin pair of the bleached-out rocks a few feet from the breaking waves. Little tidal pools dappled the sand here and there, and I dug my feet into the cool, wet grains. Todd looked straight ahead at the water, his fingers laced behind his head, hair and clothes moving in the breeze. I wished I knew how to use my camera phone so that in months to come I could remember how he looked. I snapped a mental picture before turning back toward the water.
    The waves were calm and smooth, making the grand Gulf look more like a sleeping lake. A tiny sand crab inched its way near my feet as I kept perfectly still. With its white, almost translucent shell, it looked like a phantom against the pale sand. It crawled over my buried toes then continued on its merry way along the water’s edge until it disappeared into the sand.
    The heat was welcoming, like a big hug, and the sun was a warm kiss on my face. Or maybe it was just a hug and kiss I was craving as I sat with my toes in the sand.
    “Do you like it here?” Todd asked.
    “So awesome,” I replied, tipping my chin. “How do you know about this place? Isn’t it private property?”
    “I know a guy who lives over there,” he said.
    Like me, Todd had buried his toes in the sand—such a playful, childlike thing. I resisted the urge to lean up against him, even though I knew the feeling of our sides together—and maybe his arm around me, too, if I let my fantasy wander—might have been just what Dr. Robert ordered.
    I unburied my right foot and tapped the top of his left with my toes. His eyes moved to mine, and he smiled. I recognized that kind of smile; it made my pulse throb in my lips. His expression turned serious as his eyes dropped to my mouth. The carnal impulse sweeping over me was hard to hold back because it felt like my lungs had caught fire.
    I was relieved, yet disappointed, when Todd stood and waded a few