“I’m not a big movie star,” I say, casually shrugging off the statement.
She snorts. “Okay, maybe you’re not like, Chris Evans yet, but you’re going to be some day. Everyone loves you. Oh, speaking of…” She looks over the top of the flowers at me, a suddenly bashful expression on her face. “I know I sound like a total loser right now but, my best friend, and my little cousins, and—let’s face it—my mom, would freak out if I sent them a picture of a famous movie star…they would think it’s so cool.” She bites her lip and holds up her phone. “Would you maybe… let me take a photo of you?”
Even after a few years of being an actor, it still blows my mind that people get excited to meet me. It’s a cool feeling. And it’s surreal. And it makes me wonder what the rest of my life will be like. Do I really want this kind of fame forever? No… but it’s okay for now. I don’t mind taking photos with fans, especially when they’re polite about it.
“I’ll do you one even better,” I say, motioning for her to come over to my side of the table. “Come get in the picture with me.”
She grins and walks over, bringing the scent of her perfume with her. I slide over on the small pleather bench seat to make room for her, but she doesn’t sit. She just kind of kneels down a bit so that we’re both in the picture. Only her arm is shorter than mine so she can’t hold the phone out very far.
“I’ll do it,” I say, taking her phone and holding it out to capture the perfect selfie of us. I snap a couple of pictures—if there’s one thing I’ve learned about taking pictures with fans it’s that they always want a few to choose from.
“Hold on, I need to get closer so you can’t see my entire robe,” she says. “Makes me look like a hobo slob without real clothes on.”
She lowers closer to me so that both of our faces are in the frame and you can’t really see the details of what she’s wearing. She’s wobbly as she stands here in the little trailer’s dining alcove, balancing in a half-squat. I put an arm around her back to steady her before I snap the picture. I get a couple good ones, and then she slips.
And falls right into my arms. Right into my lap.
I tighten my grip around her back. “Whoa. We can’t have you falling and getting injured,” I say playfully as I hand her phone back. “The director would lose his mind.”
She chuckles too, but her cheeks are flaming red. It feels like mine are warming up, too, and I’m very grateful for my summer tan, hoping it’ll hide any evidence that I’m blushing like a schoolgirl.
Time seems to stand still. Annie is sitting in my lap and I don’t want her to leave. But of course, we both know she should get up and go back to her side of the table. It’s the appropriate thing to do. We are just friends. Friends don’t sit on each other’s laps.
I take one look into her eyes and I’m undone. I kiss her. Or she kisses me. Or maybe it was some magnetic pull we both felt at the same time and no one is to blame because we’re both kissing each other. I breathe her in, feel her soft lips on mine. This time there are no cameras, no witnesses. This time it’s even better than before—which I hadn’t thought possible because kissing her in that ballroom was magical.
This is somehow better.
She pulls away, jumping to her feet. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”
She practically bolts over to the other side of the table, where she sits and covers her mouth with her hands. Her eyes are wide with shock.
“It’s okay,” I say, not sure what I should say in this moment. My head is still foggy, after all. That was one epic kiss.
“I guess that was just… muscle memory.” She swallows, nodding quickly. “Because we had to kiss earlier for the scene and, I guess my lips were just, you know, on automatic muscle memory mode…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah, totally. No big deal.” I nod in tune with her rambling explanation for what just happened. It’s bull crap, and we both know it.
But this is the lie we’re choosing to go along with.
So I’m going to make myself believe it.
CHAPTER11
Annie
Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.
I can’t believe I just kissed him! Again! Without a director telling me to!
What is wrong with me?
He probably thinks I’m some idiotic fangirl and he’s going to put a restraining order on me the second I leave his trailer. Maybe he’s used to it—I’m sure I’m not the first woman he’s ever met who wants to kiss him at inappropriate times. I bet all the women want that. The thought does not comfort me one bit.
I walk over to the front of his trailer where a couch and a TV are and I pretend to be very interested in reading a newspaper on the table just so I have somewhere to look that’s not directly into his eyes. They’re green, by the way. Dark green that almost seems brown from far away, but up close they’re the color of a sunlit forest canopy with little flecks of gold, like a sunset sprinkling in through the leaves.
I swallow.Stop thinking that!
He is a famous actor and I am a nobody who doesn’t even have a real job or a home right now, so the phrase “out of his league” doesn’t even apply here. It’s not that I’m out of his league—I’m not even playing the same sport. A man like him would never be interested in a loser like me. Not to mention the whole famous thing.
