Page 20 of Gage (Love Under the Lights 1)

“Yup,” she giggled as she leaned her head on my shoulder and settled in to watch the movie.

I’d been to red carpet premiers and opening nights with dates in the past, but I’d never gone to see a movie with a woman just for the sake of watching it with her before. Having a beautiful woman on my arm had always been a part of the business since it was expected. It was also a pain in my ass because my date inevitably ruined the movie. They never let me enjoy the damn thing, always trying to use the opportunity to capture my attention. But with Morgan—just as with everything else—the experience was different. Better.

I paid as much attention to her enjoyment of the movie as I did to what was happening on the screen. I smiled at her laughter. Wiped away her tears. Enjoyed the simple pleasure of holding her hand and kissing the top of her head as she rested it on my shoulder. It didn’t matter that I’d already seen Casablanca several times; it was the most fun I’d ever had watching a movie—and that included seeing myself on the big screen the first time.

“That movie gets me every time,” she sighed as I helped her into the passenger seat of my car afterward.

“I figured it must since you cried like a baby,” I teased before shutting the door and walking around to the driver’s side to slide in.

Morgan waited until I pulled away from the curb to respond. “Try to deny it all you want, but I could swear I saw a suspicious-looking glint in your eye at the end there too.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I denied with a wink.

“Uh-huh. Sure, you don’t,” she laughed. “Just so you know, I wouldn’t find you any less masculine for crying. I mean, that movie. Gah! I don’t know how anyone could hold back tears; it’s so beautifully heartbreaking. And that ending is absolutely brilliant with the way they hint at a new beginning.”

We discussed our favorite movies during the drive to her condo, and I was blown away by her insight. Morgan wasn’t just another pretty face. Being smart, gorgeous, funny, and kind made her an anomaly in Hollywood. I’d have to be a fool to let her get away from me, and nobody had ever accused me of that.

“Getting on my plane tomorrow is going to be hard as fuck,” I admitted as I walked her to her door.

“Why? Are you not excited about the project?”

“The project isn’t the problem.”

Morgan paused in front of her door and turned to look up at me, her head cocked to the side while concerned blue eyes scanned my face. “Then what is?”

“You.”

“Me?” She gasped as I pulled her into my arms.

“Yeah, I have a feeling that being away from you will be tough since I’ve quickly become addicted to spending time with you.”

“Oh!” Her plump lips formed a perfect O.

I bent my head low, and growled, “Kiss me.”

“As if it were the last time?”

“That might have been a great line in Casablanca, but there isn’t a chance in hell of this being the last time we kiss,” I swore. “I’m leaving for Georgia to shoot a movie tomorrow. Not heading off to West Africa to join the Free French Army.”

“Any guy who books a private theater to watch one of my favorite movies with me and then follows it up by showing he paid close attention to it deserves as many kisses as he wants.”

“There better not be any other guys who fit that description when I’m gone,” I warned before capturing her mouth in a deep kiss—one that would have to tide both of us over for the next month.ElevenMorganI was exhausted from another day of pre-Oscar events. I’d long dreamed of being nominated, so, of course, I was over-the-moon happy about it, but I was also learning just how much work went into it all. The public events, luncheons, dinner parties, photo shoots, and interviews were more than a full-time job. I was willing to bet people who planned inaugurations did less work. I was so wrung out it was almost a form of torture to know there were still eight more days until the actual event.

Letting myself into the condo, I frowned when I realize Allie wasn’t home. I was hoping we’d catch a few more episodes in our True Blood marathon. Glancing at my watch, I noted it was dinnertime, which likely meant she was at her parents eating a home-cooked meal. I grumbled with envy as I headed into the kitchen and put water in a cup of macaroni and cheese. My parents had retired to Florida, which meant I didn’t get a lot of home cooking anymore. As supportive as they were of me, they hated Los Angeles and pulled out at the first available opportunity. I got it, even though I didn’t like it.

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