Page 77 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
“I don’t doubt it,” he says, his tone more serious. “But come on. This will be fun. I spent over an hour searching for the perfect movie to keep you entertained on the flight. And I really think you’ll like this one.”
“Fine,” I say. “But later, I’m going to make you listen to my article.”
“Sounds like a perfect bedtime story,” he says. “It’ll lull me right to sleep.”
I roll my eyes at his joke, only momentarily distracted by the idea of going to bed with Flint. I’m positive Flint has zero expectations on that front. He’s given me control of whether we even kiss. But to maintain the charade, his PR guy Simon says we need to stay in the same room. At the very least, we need to appear as though we’re using the same bathroom, sleeping in the same bed. Otherwise, hotel staff might talk.
Apparently, it doesn’t take much to motivate a hotel maid to sell a few lines to gossip magazines. And “Flint Hawthorne’s girlfriend is sleeping in a different hotel room” would make a very juicy headline.
At least according to my sisters, who have dissected this entire situation inside and out.
After a flight attendant takes our drink orders, Flint turns on the movie, leans into the corner of his seat, then pulls me against him so I’m leaning against his chest. Like this, it’s easier for me to hold the phone, so I take it from him, making it possible for him to secure his arms around my waist.
Okay. So there are definitely worse ways to sit on an airplane, even if, from this position, I can see the ladies across the aisle staring us down.
The women can’t be much older than I am, and one of them is so blatantly ogling Flint that it makes my blood start to boil. Feeling surprisingly bold, I intentionally meet her gaze, lifting my eyebrows in ado you have something to saygesture.
The woman leans back the slightest bit and drops her eyes.
Behind me, Flint chuckles, his chest vibrating against me. “Well done,” he whispers.
Not sureactual for realjealousy is necessary for afakerelationship, but if it’s going to help sell it, well, might as well lean into how I’m feeling.
I tilt my head up and back and press a kiss to his jaw.
I feel more than I hear Flint take a stuttering breath when my lips press against him. His beard is sharp against my lips, but it’s a rasp I’ll take over and over if it means kissing him again.
Desire sparks in my gut, spreading outward, making me feel hot and tingly. I do my best to rein it in, both for the obvious reason—here is absolutely not the place—and the not-so-obvious.
Even if the not-so-obvious reasons are getting harder for me to remember.
The flight from Asheville to Atlanta is brief; there, we change planes for a longer flight directly to LAX. We repeat the same process we went through in Asheville, hiding out in a lounge until the plane is mostly boarded, then jumping on at the last minute. Flint poses for another photo with the gate agent and another with the first-class flight attendant before we’re finally in our seats.
“Do you ever say no?” I ask him, and he shrugs.
“Not usually. Enduring fifteen seconds of posing for a photo is easier than dealing with people going online and telling all of Reddit that you’re rude.”
“People do that?”
He nods. “‘Always be polite, always be respectful, always be generous with your time and energy.’ Those are Simon’s words. Says abiding by them will make his job a lot easier and my career a lot more successful.”
Fortunately, there are a couple of businessmen sitting across from us on this flight, both of whom look like they couldn't care less about who Flint is or what movies he’s starred in. I guess technically that means we don’t have to lean into the faking, but that doesn’t seem to stop Flint.
He must touch me a thousand different times in the almost five hours it takes us to get across the country. A steadying hand on my back when we hit a bit of turbulence. A nudge against my knee when something funny happens in the movie we finish on this flight because we didn’t have time to get through it on the last one. An arm around my shoulders when the flight attendant gets particularly bold and asks if he’s dating anyone.
I mean, does she think I’m his sister or something? Has she not noticed themany, manytimes we’ve touched throughout the flight?
Flint handles it like a pro, deflecting the question with an easy, “I’d rather not talk about my personal life, Jessica. I’m sure you understand.” But then his arm was around me, his expression pointed as Jessica nodded and excused herself. Every time she passes by, he makes sure we’re touching, at one point even pulling me in for a soft kiss just below my earlobe.
“You know, it’s nice having you here,” he says just before the flight lands. “Normally I keep Nate beside me to help fend off overeager fans, but you’re a much more entertaining shield.”
“I’m so glad I’m useful,” I deadpan, and he grins.
“You’re a lot more than useful,” he says. “This is the best flight across the country I’ve ever had.”
The mood stays light until we land at LAX. As the plane taxis to the terminal, Flint sobers quickly. He pulls on his hat but leaves his sunglasses off. “You don’t want the full disguise?” I say, and he shakes his head.
Joni answers for him, leaning forward from where she and Nate are sitting behind us. “No disguises this time,” she says. “We need the photographers to get a clear shot of your face. There can’t be any doubt that it’s you.”
