Page 43 of #Starstruck

And the fact that he’d spent most of that movie in a Speedo had absolutely nothing to do with my choice.

I mean, maybe a little.

“That character was a drunk, which was what caused the accident. His father and grandfathers were alcoholics, too. I probably should have made that connection before I fell down the rabbit hole myself.”

“That addiction runs in your family?”

“It doesn’t so much run. Instead, it casually strolls through, taking its time to get to know everybody personally. Anyway, now you get to choose the movie.”

This was probably what it was like to date a chef and have him say, “You choose the restaurant.” I didn’t want to pick one of his, because that would be weird, right? And I didn’t want to go total romantic comedy on him, because even though I loved them and thought we were in a place where romance was a possibility, nothing was happening. Did I pick a stuff-blowing-up movie? Depressing one with subtitles? Sci-fi? Fantasy? What if I selected something he thought was terrible and it totally changed his opinion of me?

“Would you like to see the new Brad Pitt movie?” He mentioned the title. I knew for a fact it wasn’t available to rent because Lexi had been begging Gavin to take her to see it.

“The one that’s still in theaters?”

“Yeah, one of the producers wants to work with me, so she sent this over to show me the kind of work she does.”

“That sounds good.” His world was so very different from mine.

Chase messed around with his remote and got the movie started. I tried to pay attention. I really did. But all I could think about was our seating arrangement. I was close to him. Close enough that if I leaned sideways, we’d be touching. But we weren’t cuddling like Lexi and Gavin always did when they watched TV.

Plus, Chase kept up a running commentary throughout the movie. He commented on the lighting and the costumes and the camera angles. How he would have made different choices as the lead actor. The lines of dialogue that sounded cheesy. Thing was, that’s how I normally watched movies. It made Lexi crazy, and she had pretty much stopped watching them with me.

Except Chase’s movies. She didn’t watch those with Gavin, because they were ours. But I had to promise to keep my mouth shut and not mock bad accents or poor acting choices, and I most definitely could not theorize on foreshadowing and plot twists.

Another thing Chase and I had in common. But I didn’t join in. I stayed mute, feeling weird and wondering what exactly was going on. Because I kept thinking of this as a real date. I had built it up in my mind, even though all he’d said was that he liked me as a person and wanted to hang out with me. I reminded myself that he’d said he was interested and that he thought me beautiful, but for all I knew that meant something entirely different in Hollywood. He’d never said he saw me as girlfriend potential, and despite some particularly opportunistic moments, he hadn’t kissed me. That was the thing that bothered me the most. Why hadn’t he made any kind of move?

Maybe it was like I’d thought earlier—I was just a kindness experiment. Maybe his plan had beenfind a pathetic fan, befriend her in real life, and become even more self-actualized as I make her life better.

He did put his arm across the back of the couch at one point, but he didn’t put it around me. He just left it there. Taunting me.

And the longer I stayed, the more pathetic I felt. When the credits began to roll, I stood up and said, “Thanks for inviting me over, but I have class in the morning. I should probably get going.”

I went into the kitchen to retrieve my purse, and I was almost to the front door when he called out my name. He jogged over. “Are you sure you have to go?”

So very, very sure. I wanted to escape with whatever remnants of my dignity I still possessed. “I’m sure.”

He opened the door before I could, and I had to duck under his arm to get outside. “Okay, bye!” I said over my shoulder, desperate for the sanctuary of my car.

“Wait.” He tugged on my arm, turning me around. Then he took both of my hands in his, and I told myself to stop reacting. It didn’t mean anything. “You seem tense.”

Maybe that’s because the guy I’d dreamed about kissing since I was thirteen didn’t seem all that interested in it. “I’m not tense. Just, um, alert.” And stupid, apparently.

“I had fun tonight.”

So had I, until I’d thought he wanted to kiss me, and instead he wanted to sit next to me in a dark room and not kiss me.

He stepped closer, and the air around me forgot how it was supposed to function in providing me oxygen. Either that or my lungs had stopped working. He leaned in, and my entire body cheered,Yes! Finally!

And then ... he kissed me on the forehead. Like I was a child he thought was cute.

Like I was Zia.

“Good night.”

Utterly humiliated, I didn’t say it back and instead walked away, putting my hands over my cheeks. I functioned on autopilot as I got in my car and drove off.

I couldn’t believe he’d kissed me on the forehead. Don’t get me wrong, it felt amazing. His lips were warm and firm, and I still had electric tingles shooting through my body from that brief contact.

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