Picture Perfect by Lucie Simone

on the gas pedal, blowing past a minivan and a VW Beetle with a surfboard strapped to the top.
    Jack is still just a bobbing red taillight in the distance, and I know if I don’t want to lose him, I’m going to have to steel my nerves and push through my fear. I grip the steering wheel tightly as I accelerate, switch lanes and pass a Volvo on my right. The Volvo’s headlights flash in my rearview mirror as I slide in between it and an old clunker that looks like it’s headed for the junkyard. I press on the gas, coming dangerously close to the clunker, and swiftly maneuver into the left lane again to pass a green Hummer just before smashing my foot on the gas and taking off like a 747 on one of the runways at LAX.
    My car surges forward with an ease that surprises me as I close the distance between Jack and me. It feels lighter, almost as if it’s capable of flight, and my body seems to be responding according to its needs, my foot alternatively pressing down and lifting up on the gas pedal as I jockey through streams of cars, my hands gently caressing the wheel as I slip in and out of lanes, my eyes scanning the horizon, looking for a gap to fill. This must be what they call the thrill of the chase.
    It isn’t long before I catch up with Jack. The further we travel up PCH, the fewer cars there are on the road to slow us down, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m driving close to ninety miles per hour. Jack’s motorcycle is only a few feet from the front of my car now, and I have the insane urge to pass him, to taunt him. But instead, I lightly lift my foot, decelerating until he’s a safe distance from me again.
    Finally, Jack pulls over to the side of the road. I follow his lead, parking directly behind him and killing the engine. Jack hops off his bike and walks over to my door. My heart is racing from the drive, and when he taps on my window, I nearly jump out of my skin. I unlatch my seatbelt with shaking hands as he opens my door.
    “Come on, beautiful,” he says with an air of cool confidence.
    I throw my purse over my shoulder as he takes my hand and helps me out of the car. The night air is cold and blustery. The wind whips through my thin blouse and shivers crawl up my back. Jack slips out of his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders.
    “Thank you,” I say, shoving my arms into the sleeves.
    Jack grabs the ends of the jacket and zips it up to my neck.
    “Aren’t you cold?”
    “I’m fine,” he says with a smile. “Come on.”
    Jack grasps my hand and leads me across the deserted road to a wooden stairway winding down to the beach. I follow him down carefully, barely able to see each stair for the sky is too cloudy and dark to illuminate our path. Reaching the bottom, he hops down onto the sand and pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me off the bottom step and then setting me down.
    “That last step is a doozey,” he says.
    My spikey heels sink into the sand, and I nearly topple over backward as he releases me. As gently as if catching a leaf falling from a tree, he wraps his fingers around my waist and rights me.
    “Have a seat.”
    He points to a weathered, old, tree trunk lying in the sand, and I follow his command. The moment my ass hits the cold, hard wood, the reality of what I’m doing crashes over me like one of the waves breaking on the beach. Fooling around with my lead actor the same day I learn that my cheating husband and conniving assistant are trying to sabotage my career? This is exactly what they want. I’ll be branded a pathetic has-been trolling for hot, young actors to exploit. My reputation will be trashed, and my career will be in the toilet. I really don’t need any more trouble right now.
    And this guy is definitely going to get me into trouble.
    Jack kneels before me and runs his hands along my thighs, down my legs to my frozen feet. He slips my shoes off, and caresses my icy flesh with his warm hands.
    “Jack,” I say, shoving my hands deeper