It sounded terrible. I had been worried about looking stupid. Not losing myself. I swallowed, his next words pushing my anxiety even higher.

“My turn.” He rubbed his bottom lip, his other hand tucked under his elbow and looked at me. His turn. I’d been so personal with my question. What would he ask me? Probably how many men I’d slept with.

My bra size.

My favorite sexual position.

My—

“Who is your favorite actor?”

My mind stuttered. “My favorite actor?”

“Yes.”

“Like… to date? Or who I respect?”

He shrugged. “Both.”

Five months ago I’d have rattled off his name without hesitation. Not as the actor I respected the most, that honor would have to go to an older man. But as the actor I found the most attractive… Cole Masten had always held that spot in my mind. Always. He was everyone’s gold standard, the photo first in Google Results when you keyed in ‘heartthrob.’

“Ummm…” His eyes sharpened and I cleared my throat. “As far as actors I respect…” I swallowed. Brecken had told me, whenever I felt the urge to say a filler word, to swallow. Take a breath. Or a sip of water. “Jake Gyllenhaal. He was really strong in Nightcrawler. And Christoph Waltz. And… Tom Hanks.”

“Interesting list.” He nodded at me to go on.

“As far as actors I find attractive… maybe Chris Pratt?” I don’t know why I gave my answer in the form of a question.

Cole’s brow furrowed. “Chris Pratt?” he repeated.

“Yes. The guy from Parks and Recreation? He… he was really hot in Jurassic World.”

Cole’s mouth twitched. “Anyone else?”

I tried to think of someone, anyone who was as opposite from Cole as possible. “Jonah Hill,” I blurted out.

Cole tilted his head, my explanation rushing out before his question came. “He’s very talented. And smart. I like that in a man.”

“And he’s fat,” Cole said flatly. “You have all of Hollywood to choose from, and Jonah Hill is your choice.”

“He’s not… he’s cuddly.”

“And that’s what you want? A cuddly guy?”

I raised my chin. “I answered your question.”

“Yes, you did.” He got off the stool and walked back to the wall, flipping back on the lights. Halogen and hot, their glare unsettling. “With only one ‘umm.’ Let’s go through a few more with the lights, then we’ll turn the camera back on.”

“Don’t you have other stuff to do? This doesn’t exactly seem to be something you need to waste your time on.” I needed him out of there. He was too close, too casual. Just the two of us, now brightly lit by lights… it was too much.

“Is that your next question?” He settled down on the stool and kicked out a leg, resting the sole of his shoe on my stool and just like that, we were connected. I looked up from his leg.

“No.” I had another question, one waiting in the wings, one that had been pushing at my brain for three weeks and now, in this empty room, with his smart mouth quiet, his eyes on me… now was the only time I might ever be able to ask it. “I have a different question.”

“So ask it.” His voice had deepened, like he knew what was coming, all humor out of it, and I braced myself for his answer, my hands together, in between my thighs and gripping at the edge of the stool.

“Were you telling the truth? When you said I was a bad kisser?”

CHAPTER 53

Oh, what an innocent, naïve question. Someone shouldn’t put themselves out there like that. Show their insecurities. Show that you cared enough about a man’s opinion to ask a question like that. She had showed up, the morning after that kiss, all bubbly energy and friendliness. He’d been convinced, right then, that she had gotten over his snipe. Had been certain that he’d been the only one to carry that moment around. Dwell on it. Fester on it.

But here, in the hunch of her shoulders, the gentle drop of her vowels, the hurt was still present, the moment not forgotten.

“Do you want the industry answer or the truth?” He asked the question to buy time, valuable seconds needed because he had no idea how to answer. No idea what to say that didn’t lay him bare or give her an opening. She couldn’t have an opening. Right now, he needed his heart packaged in bubble wrap and locked behind six feet of steel. Half because it was a condition of DeLuca’s representation. Half because DeLuca’s reasoning was right.

“The truth.” She said the words simply and he could see her spine when it found its strength, steeling against whatever was to come, her shoulders sliding back, chin coming up. She was such a paradox. In some ways, the strongest woman he’d ever met, her fire and spite and self-sufficiency clear and defined. In other ways, she was the softest, most vulnerable. She put herself too far out there, felt too strongly, would love too fiercely, give too freely, her actions a roadmap to destruction that would one day kill that spirit. His instinct to protect that spirit, to strengthen her defenses… he both wanted to throw her to the wolves and lock her away in a castle, all at the same time. It was an inner struggle that would drive any man mad. It was an inner struggle that, right then, he didn’t need to be dealing with.

He let his foot drop from her stool, and its impact with the floor was loud but she didn’t jump. Maybe because Brecken had actually taught her something. Or maybe because she’d been expecting it all along. He stood and fought the urge to lean forward, to rest his hands on her thighs and kiss her, right there, in a way that left no doubt as to her effect on him.

Instead, he picked up the stool and gave her the only thing he could manage. Two letters. “No.”

“No?” She shot back the word quickly, her brow rising, the word a challenge between them.

“Don’t ramble. Be concise,” he reminded her.

“Is be evasive also a rule?” She was on her feet, coming after him, and damn, she wasn’t going to let this go.

“Actually yes. Anytime you can be evasive, you should.” He set the stool against the wall where he had gotten it and she stared at it, her eyes narrowing when she turned back.

“You always run when put in the corner, City Boy?”

“I’m not running. I have other things to do. As you just pointed out.” He flicked off the lights and reached for the handle, her grip tight when it grabbed his forearm.

“Wait.”

He stopped, turning to her despite his better judgment, his features masked, any emotion hidden behind two decades of practice. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” She blushed, her hands pushing into her back pockets. “It sounds really stupid but I needed to know that. It’s just… you know. Been a while.”

“Since you were kissed?” No, no. She hadn’t meant that. She had been referring to the compliment. Only… the moment his incredulous words fell out, he knew that they were right. It had been a while since she had been kissed.

How was that possible? Didn’t everyone in these small towns just fuck and farm? How, with her looking like that, with her being like she was, had she not been kissed every day, multiple times, suitors lining up around the block like dominoes waiting to be knocked over? And how long was a while?

Her eyes flicked up, and there was a moment of petulance in her face before it smoothed over. “Thanks for helping,” she said stiffly.

“I’ll talk to Casey, Brecken’s boss. See if we can keep you away from the press.”

“Because I’m terrible.” She said the insult almost cheerfully.

“Without sugar coating, yes. You’re too rough right now.”

She nodded, stepping back from him, and he almost followed her. “So… I can go. No more media training?”