“Are you gonna open it?” he whispered in her ear, winding a chunk of her blonde hair around his fingertips.
The little tug echoed lower, between her legs. She shifted.Down, girl.
She didn’t get turned on when doing an acting job, there was no reason to be turned on now.
To distract her from the hair pulling deliciousness, she popped the Styrofoam lid.
There, wrapped in red-checkered wax paper, was a super sad strawberry, banana, and Nutella crepe. Sure, it was probably fine to eat, but it looked like it had seen the bottom of a boot—or an aggressive spatula.
“I dropped it, but the container stayed closed, so the food is fine,” he added.
How sweet was he?
“You brought me a crappy crepe!” Bonus, she didn’t have to eat it with his scary mother.
His eyes glittered with…was that pride? That was totally pride.
She leaned in and brushed her lips at his cheek. Unfortunately, he turned his head as she moved. She didn’t want another nose collision, so she pivoted close and her mouth landed smack against his.
He jolted a little, didn’t move, but he didn’t move away either.
If they were a real couple, she’d reward him for bringing her a crappy crepe by giving him a serious kiss. The kind that wasn’t chaste or a quick peck.
What the hell. This was a show, right?
She parted her lips, moaned a little because it felt right, and deepened the kiss when he went right along with it.
She’d never really enjoyed kissing parts before on set or stage, they were just another thing to do. But this was different.
Another moan and that’s all she got to do before Knox took over. Oh boy, did he take over. There was tongue in all the right spots, hands skimming her jawline to places along her neck she did not know were erogenous. She groaned into his mouth, and it wasn’t the least bit for show. No, he coaxed that out of her with a substantial amount of skill.
And then…she attempted to sort out what that might mean.
Before she formed even the slightest cohesive thought, he pulled away. Hands clasped behind his head, he kicked back. “Enjoy your crappy crepe, Noodle Cup.”
“You don’t want to give me a score?” she asked, cautiously.
“Say what you need to say. Think what you need to think.” He opened his eyes, stared straight into her soul. “But that second moan wasn’t fake, so I know it was a ten for us both.”
“How would you know what’s real and what isn’t? I’m a professional at convincing people to believe what I want them to believe.” She’d been through a crapload of workshops, classes, and school to learn her craft.
“Tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself.” He winked. Then closed his eyes. “I know the truth.”
She didn’t really like that.
But what was it she didn’t like?
Did she not like that he was correct? Or was it that he called her out on it? That she wanted more of him and wished the kiss had been real?
Her mouth tasted like sawdust, and not the good Knox scent, either.
Knox sat there with his eyes closed.
She leaned over and brushed her mouth against his cheek. “Knox?”
“Hey.” He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze.
“I thought you might want a bite of my crappy crepe.” The cellophane wrapper crackled when she removed the red plastic spork with a great deal of flair.
