Page 71 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen. “I promised you dinner,” I say. “Will you stay? I was thinking we could eat while we watch a movie.”
A flash of trepidation crosses her features, and her eyes cut to the front door before darting back to me.
“As friends, Audrey. I promise. I have no ulterior motive here. I just enjoy your company, and I’d like you to stay.” My words sound so convincing, I almost believe them myself.
Except that isn’t quite good enough. I have to make myself believe them. Find a way to be content if Audrey is only ever my friend.
She nods. “Okay. I’d like that. I like the sound offriends.”
I lead her to the kitchen, willing, even if begrudgingly, to make this new dynamic work. Things are awkward at first, but then we both start to relax, falling into the same easy pattern we had when we were in the pool. Conversation comes easily, energy buzzing between us, and Audrey’s smiles come quickly and frequently. We eat sitting at the island in my kitchen, our knees close together under the bar, and every time Audrey gets up—to get a napkin, to refill her water glass, to grab a second piece of bread—she touches my shoulder as she passes by. I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it. Either way, it confirms my earlier suspicion. She might be afraid, fighting whatever this is, but itissomething. She feels the pull, too.
And that thought fills me with a potent (and dangerous) emotion. At least when it comes to Audrey.
Hope.
Chapter Nineteen
Audrey
Idon’tevenknowwhat happened.
One second, I was inches away from kissing Flint Hawthorne, from letting my heart give in to whatever was happening between us. Then the next, I was caught in a nearly blinding panic.
Suddenly, all I could see was a future of photographers scrambling to take Flint’s picture everywhere we went. Of fans wanting to talk to him, touch him, writefanfictionabout him. Then I spiraled into thinking about what those fans might think ofme.Would they judge me? Criticize my hair? My wardrobe? My career choices? Would they dig up old pictures from my high school yearbook and wonder why Flint Hawthorne was dating someone so completely nerdy?
The thought of all that attention, all thatnoisein my life. It was too much.
So I pushed away.
And it was the right thing to do.
Wasn’t it?
I do not want to date a man well-known enough for Ann down at the Feed ’n Seed to put his face on a cookie.
I want a normal life. Asimplelife.
I mean, yes. I actuallydidhave a good time on Saturday night. Once we decided that our evening wouldn’t involve any kissing.
We ate, we laughed, we talked for an hour before we finally settled in to watch a movie, a drama about a wildlife biologist who gets trapped in the Amazon and survives on her own for three weeks before she’s rescued.
Flint was right. Ididlike the movie. From beginning to end. It was thoughtful and informative and, according to the research I did after I came home, mostly historically accurate. I mean, I’m not fully converted. But I’m at least willing to acknowledge there might besomemovies out there that aren’t a waste of my time.
Though, let’s be honest. I could have sat on the couch and watchedSesame Streetfor two hours as long as Flint was beside me.
Which is why all of this feels so complicated.
I don’t want to like Flint.
I shouldn’t like Flint.
Everything logical and practical and smart tells me that liking him would be averybad idea.
But Idolike him. When I’m around him, none of those practical reasons seems to matter.
I’ve seen him half a dozen times in the five days that have passed since last Saturday—don’t judge, those squirrels arereallyinteresting—and every time, it’s harder and harder to see him as anything but a normal guy. Well, not normal exactly. He’s much too charming to be normal. Charming, handsome, funny, thoughtful. He’s basically perfect. Andperfectandnormaldon’t feel like they belong in the same sentence. I just mean it’s hard to think of him as a celebrity. Because around me, he really doesn’t act like one.
I zip up my last suitcase and slide it off the bed, setting it by the door. Joni came over to help me pack earlier this morning andgood griefshe has me bringing way more than I actually think I’m going to need. The only thing I didn’t have to pack was my gown for the premiere, which Remy promised me would be pressed and perfect and hanging in my hotel room by the time I arrive.
