I take a long drink and let the taste of Delilah’s lazy day slide down. It’s crisp, sweet, a burst of freshness. Kind of like Delilah.

“How’s the leg?” She sits forward and peers at my calf.

Earlier, I went with North to the doctor’s to get my cast off. The first sight of my emaciated leg wasn’t heartening. I wiggle my toes, and the weakened muscles along my leg shift beneath my pasty skin. “Looks like hell, but it feels good. No pain or twinges.”

“And your back?” Her lips twitch as she carefully keeps her eyes on my leg. Is she remembering the spectacular attention she gave my dick as I soaked away my aches? I hope so.

“Good as new. You must have magic fingers.”

A furious blush graces her cheeks, but Delilah doesn’t say anything as she picks up a script and starts reading it. Chuckling, I relax and drink my Pimm’s, enjoying every damn icy-cold sip. The sun is low in the sky, getting ready to set, and the sea goes quiet as if waiting for that final kiss of light.

“Are you thinking about doing this movie?” she asks, the ice cubes in her glass clinking as she drinks and reads.

“I am.” I lean over and glance at the script. She’s reading the superhero one. It’s supposed to be top secret, reveal on pain of death. But I trust Delilah. “Why? I thought you liked comic book heroes.”

When we were kids, we used to camp out on her family room couch and watch the X-Men animated series. Delilah wanted to be Rogue, despite the fact that the character could never touch another person without risk of killing them.

She meets my gaze for the first time today. “I love them. Seeing you in this would be . . . I don’t even have the words. Surreal. Awesome.”

“I like those words,” I tease. “But? What?”

She bites her bottom lip, clearly considering her words. “I guess it depends on what you want out of this career. You’re basically playing a superhero now, only with swords and leathers. If you play one again . . .”

“I run the risk of being typecast,” I finish, understanding dawning.

“Then again, these movies are insanely popular.” She smooths a hand over the script. “You can easily become a superstar.”

“Who will quickly fade when he gets too old and beat up to play those roles anymore.”

She chuckles but shakes her head. “Not necessarily.”

With a sigh, I lean my head back and stare at the sea. “I need to diversify, take on different roles. But all these”—I gesture to the pile of scripts—“are basically for action films.”