“For example,” I say, “let’s say a girl comes up to you for her picture and…” I hesitate. Do I have to show him?
He raises his brows, waiting. He doesn’t think I can do this.
But I totally can. I want him to know I don’t melt into a puddle of useless swoon-goo whenever he’s near me.
“Let’s say she puts an arm around your waist.” I demonstrate. “And one on your chest.” I put my palm on his chest, clenching my teeth to ignore the feel of his pec under my hand. It’s just a pec. A firm, shapely pec under a thin shirt I could easily rip off.
Why did I think this was a good idea?
“Okay,” he says. “What now?”
I keep my hand light on his chest, which is dumb because I’m supposed to be playing the part of an overaggressive fan. “Now you draw the line. Are you comfortable with the hand around your waist?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. That’s normal for pictures.”
Yep, this is all entirely normal.
“What about the one on your chest?” I ask.
He looks down at me, and there’s the slightest hesitation as he meets my eye. The air in my lungs evaporates.
“Um,” he says, “not with a stranger, no.”
Does that mean heiscomfortable withmyhand on his chest?Not important, Mia. “Totally normal. So, what should you do?”
“I don’t know. If I push her hand away, she’ll feel stupid.”
“Not if you do it while saying something to make sure she knows you appreciate her—just not her grabby hands.Thanks so much for coming to my concert. Something like that.”
He nods, then pulls my hand away from his chest. “Thank you for coming to my concert,” he repeats. “What do I do with her hand now?”
He’s still holding mine awkwardly, and I can’t help but laugh. “Just let go of it. What other options do you have?”
He threads his fingers through mine. “I could dothat.”
I shoot him a look. “Yeah,ifyou want her to think you’re into her. Are you?”
His brow hitches, and his lip pulls up at one side. “Are we talking about a random fan or about you?”
I pull my hand and roll my eyes, but he tightens his hold.
“Okay, okay. No, of course I’m not into her.” He lets go of my hand.
“See? Not that hard.”
“Not that easy, either.”
I have no clue if he’s talking about letting go of my hand specifically or about drawing boundaries. I’m going to go with the second one because it keeps my heart rate steadier.
“Look,” I say. “You claim you’re known for being charming and fun?—”
“I am.”
“Sure. So, use those things to your benefit when you’re drawing a boundary. Distract the fan from taking offense by saying something to let them know you’re not being rude.”
He looks at me, then chucks me under the chin. “You’re a smart cookie, Mia.”
I grab his hand and pull it away, gently but firmly. “Thanks for coming to my concert.”
