Page 22 of #Starstruck

As I hopped up and hurried into the kitchen, I wondered if he knew the water would be from our tap. No bubbles, nothing sparkling, and nothing infused with any kind of fruit. When I walked in, I realized I hadn’t cleaned up the remainder of Zelda’s version of sharing.

“Did you need help?”

Chase so startled me I nearly dropped the Swiffer mop. “I’m fine. I just realized there’s some mess. From earlier. That I need to clean.” I must have been seriously impressing him with my mastery of the English language.

“I can get the drinks. Where are the glasses?”

“In that cabinet there. Left of the sink. You’ll find them behind the sippy cups and bottles.”

He wasn’t anywhere near me, and I was still shaking. Shivers skated up and down my spine. Like someone was dripping ice water on my bare back, a single drop at a time. Would I ever feel totally calm around him?

Part of me whispered that I wouldn’t want that. I liked the physical sensations he caused.

“What kind of sorcery is this?” he muttered, and I turned to see him struggling with the cabinet lock.

“The whole house is childproofed. But somehow they keep managing to get in.” It was one of my mother’s favorite jokes, so it just sort of slipped out. It did make him smile, though.

It was too late when I realized what I was doing. He stayed put, and I leaned in close to undo the latch. I should have moved back.

I didn’t.

“Thanks,” he murmured, feeling his breath against my still-wet hair.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered. We weren’t touching, but it felt like we were. All I had to do was take one step back and I’d be flush against him. Or just turn my head and we’d practically be kissing.

Instead, I reached inside the cabinet. I almost exploded in flames when he put his hand on my wrist. “I said I could get it.” His voice was low, gruff. Exciting.

“I’m supposed to be the hostess.” He didn’t respond, and he didn’t let go of my arm. My skin pulsated underneath his touch. Gulping, I extricated myself, pulling my arm free. Even though I didn’t want to.

Which was surprising.

“You could mop. If you want to help,” I said when I could speak again.

“Selfishly, I’m happy to let you clean up the kid puke.” I heard him put the glasses on the counter, open the freezer to look for ice, and break out cubes from a tray. Then he opened the refrigerator. “Where’s the water?”

“In the faucet.” I sneaked a glance at him, sure he would be grossed out or surprised. He was neither. He just lifted the tap and filled the glasses.

“So is this a new service you’re offering all your fans? Free babysitting?”

He let out a short bark of laughter. “Um, no. I don’t even take pictures when I’m asked.”

“Really? Why not?” That seemed harmless as far as fan interactions went.

“A couple of reasons.” He leaned against the counter, his drink in hand. “When I’m filming, on a typical day almost every minute is scheduled. And if I’m stopping thirty times to take selfies, that adds up and puts me behind. Which isn’t fair to the people who are waiting for me, and it isn’t very professional. Plus, when you take a picture with a fan, they immediately upload it to social media, and then there’s electronic evidence of where you are right that minute. I don’t want people to know that. Especially not tabloids.”

“I have to tell you that I was surprised when you showed up without a trail of paparazzi behind you.”

“They’re easy to avoid. There’s some places it can’t be helped—big events, award ceremonies, movie premieres. There’s certain restaurants they stake out. Which is why celebrities go there. They want to be photographed. Those actors and singers you see complaining about their lack of privacy? Those are the ones who have a paparazzo on their payroll, and they pay them to show up and take pictures everywhere they go. You can absolutely avoid them and have real privacy.”

“What about the airport? They always have pictures of celebrities going there.”

“Again, that’s on purpose. The airlines offer private entrances and will make elaborate arrangements to get you out of the airport so no one even knows you were there.”

That wasn’t what I had thought. I thought stars like him couldn’t even walk outside the door without being accosted.

“I’m usually fine in big cities like Los Angeles or New York. The people there generally leave you alone. The problem is when I go to small towns. But wear a hat, put on some sunglasses, and people overlook you.”

“I doubt that,” I said. Because there was something special about Chase. I had seen it earlier when he’d had my siblings eating out of his hand. Most people were just average. You didn’t notice them when you were in a store or walking down a street. But Chase was different. It was like he gave off a special glow. I couldn’t stop looking at him or being drawn to him, and I’d witnessed him having that effect on every person on set yesterday. He was larger than life. I couldn’t imagine any scenario where he’d be out in public and wouldn’t draw the eye of every woman in the vicinity.

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