Page 37 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
I just watched him put on his Hollywood face.
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” he says warmly.
I tune out my sisters as they babble at him, talking about their favorite movies, asking him about living in LA, what it was like to move home. My attention jumps back to the conversation when Lucy asks for his signature—I’m not at all confident she wouldn’t offer up a body part—but she pulls out her journal, and I relax back into my careful study of Flint’s behavior.
I do not think he minds the attention. I’ve told him I have sisters, and that they lived with me, and he came here willingly. If he wanted to avoid them, I’ll be at his house tomorrow to finish up my week of research. He could have talked to me then.
But the way he’s interacting with Lucy and Summer, it feels very practiced. When they ask for a picture, he agrees, but he seems very conscious of where he puts his hands—on their shoulders, with lots of space still between them. He answers their questions, but he doesn’t really tell them anything significant. He maintains eye contact, smiles just warmly enough to make them feel seen, like they’ve had a personal interaction with him. But nothing about this feels personal forFlint.
It’s fascinating.
And impressive.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say to my sisters. “Time for you to go home.”
“You’re banishing us to the basement?” Summer says.
“I’m banishing you to yourapartmentthat just happens to be in my basement,” I say.
“It was nice to meet you both,” Flint says, and it’s this that finally makes them move. “Summer and Lucy, right? I’ll remember that.”
My sisters pause their awkward backward shuffle through the kitchen—an obvious attempt to get as much face time as possible on their way out. “You’ll remember our names?” Lucy asks.
Flint shrugs easily. “You’re Audrey’s sisters, and Audrey is a friend. Of course I will.”
Oh my gosh, the man is a master.
Summer makes a noise like she’s trying to swallow a squeal while Lucy breathes out, “Flint Hawthorne is going to remember my name.”
I clear my throat. “Goodnight, guys!”
Their sighs follow them to the basement steps, but the sound of them actually goingdownthe stairs never follows.
“Door!” I call out, and they huff before the door finally clicks closed. I roll my eyes as I drop onto the couch. “I’m sorry about them,” I say. I motion to the empty space across from me. “Want to sit? Oh. They interrupted before I could get you anything. Do you want water? I’m nixing the Dr Pepper idea because that would mean opening the basement door again, and I think that’s probably a bad idea.”
He smiles, and this oneisreal. The mask from moments before is gone. “I’m okay. But thank you.”
A tiny ribbon of satisfaction unfurls in my chest. I’m not getting actor Flint. I’m just getting Flint. I didn’t realize it was something I appreciated—something that even mattered—until right now.
I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. “That was pretty impressive how you handled them,” I say motioning toward the kitchen and the basement door just beyond. “They can be a lot, and they’re big fans.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
He shrugs, but I don’t miss the way his jaw ticks first. “It’s part of the job. And trust me, they were a lot nicer than a lot of people are.”
“I don’t know how you endure that kind of attention all the time. It would make me want to crawl out of my skin.”
A flash of uncertainty crosses his features. “Why, do you think? Is it the crowds or talking to people you don’t know, or…?”
I narrow my eyes, studying him. His question—or maybe the way heaskedthe question—feels very specific. Like he’s looking for a particular kind of answer. “I mean, I’m not incapable. I defended my dissertation in front of an entire auditorium of biologists, and I’ve spoken at multiple conferences. I can handle attention. I just don’t like it. And it drains my social battery pretty fast.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“Does that ever happen to you? A drained social battery?”
He grins. “My brothers would say no, and admittedly, it takes a lot. But yeah. It happens. Press junkets usually do it.”
