“Mum said he got pissed last night,” the smaller of the twins tells me.
“Charlie. You know to tell Americans it’sdrunkand notpissed. Bea will think I’m angry otherwise.”
The smaller boy—Charlie, it seems—grins.
The bigger of the twins—clearly Eddie, if I’ve identified Charlie correctly—is also grinning.
I’d keep smiling too—it’s way more fun being on this side of watching teenagers push boundaries—but I’m working through being confused and wary.
I arch a brow at Simon. “So you weren’t angry?” I murmur.
His attention snaps to me so quickly that I imagine he’s feeling it in his head. “I—did I…say I was?”
People are watching.
So I don’t answer.
He slides his sunglasses down his nose and makes real eye contact with me.
My skin tingles, and I resist the urge to rub my nipples, which have contracted so fast and hard that they ache.
All because Simon is staring into my soul with those blue eyes.
It should be illegal for a man to be this attractive.
And it’s not just the perpetual smile that I’m still suspicious of, or those perfect blue eyes, or the way he carried me out of the ladies’ room last night, or how he’s wearing a women’s soccer team’s T-shirt.
It’s all of it together.
I swallow hard. “You don’t remember last night, do you?”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he shoots a glance toward his kids before sliding his sunglasses back up his nose. “Are you decent with any of these carnival games? I’m certain I’ll be rubbish at all of them, but I can hardly teach my boys that they must try if I don’t try myself.”
If he weren’t Simon Luckwood, and if I had any interest in dating someone, I’d be planning to set up a time to talk to him later about what happened last night.
But heisSimon Luckwood. Beloved world-famous actor with a big life that’s likely to only get bigger. And I’m a small-town girl who’s gotten everything I want from the spotlight, and whose ex has gotten far more by abusing my short time in the spotlight, so we’re definitely not talking about this later.
There is nolater.
This is—fuck.
What is this?
Tying up loose ends?
Sure. Let’s go with that. “I’m banned from doing musical chairs, but otherwise, I’m as good as anyone else.”
“Why are you banned from musical chairs?” Charlie asks.
“They think I cheat.”
“Why would you cheat at that dumb game?” Eddie wants to know.
“Because every prize is a full-size cake.”
Both boys’ eyes go round, exactly as you’d expect of teenage boys being told they could win a whole cake for themselves.
“And you can’t play? For real?” Charlie says.
