Page 54 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
Snatches of sensation flood my mind in rapid succession. His hand curved around my waist. His sun-warmed skin under my palm. The press of his thigh against mine as he pulled me close.
I groan and grab my pillow, using it to muffle the sound as I grumble out my frustration. This is fake.Only fake.I shouldn’t be frustrated about anything.
A knock sounds on my bedroom door. “You okay in there?” Summer calls. “Do I need to call for help?”
I sit up and lunge off the bed and across the room where I yank the door open.
“Whoa. Hey,” Summer says. “What’s with the crazy eyes?”
“Flint told me he had fun this afternoon.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Okay? That’s a good thing, right?”
“And Ialsohad fun.”
“Still not seeing the problem,” Summer says.
I grab Summer’s wrist and pull her all the way into the bedroom, then tug her down on the bed beside me.
“Summer, it felt…I felt…I liked being with him today.”
She gives me a dry look. “Honestly, I think I’d have you committed if you felt anything else.”
“Stop with the movie star stuff. I didn’t like it because he’s a movie star. He could be a normal guy, and I still would have had a good time.”
“Okay, but to clarify, would the normal guy version of Flint Hawthorne include the pool and the house and all the muscles?”
I breathe out a huff of frustration. “You’re missing the point.”
“Then make your point more clearly. What are you trying to say here, Audrey?”
I groan and drop back onto my bed. I have a feeling I’m going to get awfully familiar with the blades of my ceiling fan over the next couple of weeks.
Summer taps my knee. “Okay. Let’s treat this like a research project and start with what we know. What are the facts?”
I sit up. I can do research projects. “The facts,” I repeat.
Summer nods encouragingly.
“I ampretendingto be in a relationship with Flint Hawthorne.”
“Right. Good,” Summer says. “What else?”
“In exchange for my presence in his photos and my attendance at an event later this month, I’m gaining access to his land so my research may continue indefinitely.”
“Yes. Fake dating. Land. Got it.”
“I have been given no indication that our relationship is now or ever will be anything but strictly professional.”
Summer lifts her hand in slight protest, like she’s not quite comfortable with my last point.
“What?” I ask. “That’s a fact.”
“No, I know,” she says. “I was only protesting the use of the word professional. Is there reallyanythingprofessional about paying a woman to be your date?”
“He’s not paying me. That’s not what this is.”
“It is what this is. He’s not paying you withmoney,but he’s still paying you.”
