Page 75 of #Starstruck

“I’m trying to decide if his abs are as good as Chase’s.” Her eyes flicked up to one of her posters. “Although Chase’s are probably Photoshopped.”

They were so not. And they were better in real life. But I couldn’t tell her that.

“While you’re figuring out that deep mystery, I’ve got to get to class. See you later.” I grabbed my book bag, took my laptop from the kitchen, and headed out. On my way to school, my phone buzzed.

Chase had sent me a text with a photo. It was a picture of me sleeping.

That made me smile a little. I thought about Lexi saying I needed Superman to break down my walls. Which made me think of Chase and how he didn’t want me to stay in his house without him being there to protect me. How he’d threatened bodily harm if someone hurt me. That he thought of me as his girlfriend.

I didn’t need Superman. I had Captain Sparta.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Although I missed Chase when he was away on his European press tour, it couldn’t have come at a better time. It allowed me to study for and finish my finals so that when he got back, the only thing I’d have to do was find a grown-up job. I still had my fingers crossed that the Foundation would hire me on full-time, but I worried on days like today when everything was so slow that I had nothing to do.

I should have used the time to study, but instead I went through some of the texts and e-mails Chase had sent me while he’d been gone. Like the picture of the back of a minivan with one of those stick families on it.

It reminded me of Chase’s disdain for marriage, something I hoped had started to change, given our last conversation.

Then there was the black-and-white photo he’d taken of himself lying in his hotel bed. To say he was photogenic would be an understatement. He was lying on a bed on fluffy white pillows with an arm behind his head, surrounded by a massive comforter. His shirt was off, and he wore that sly, sexy smirk I loved.

Instead of drooling all over the photo and letting him know I’d only barely retained consciousness after I’d seen it, I texted back:

We talked on the phone when we got the chance. He’d called last night, and I had gone out on our tiny balcony to talk to him.

“What have you learned about this week?” Chase hadn’t had traditional schooling or gone to college, but one of the things I loved about him was that he read about subjects that interested him all the time. He thought it was because his on-set tutors let him choose which things he wanted to study. Sometimes to do research for a movie role, other times because the topic of the book appealed to him.

“In women’s studies I learned men suck.” I had told him many a tale about our discussion topics in that class.

“Present company excluded, of course. I meant other than that.”

I had this ancient–American civilization class to fulfill a world-civ requirement, and we’d ended the semester with a guest lecturer who taught us about the Mayans. I told Chase some of the things the professor had said. “I’m kind of fascinated. I went out and bought the book he brought to class, and I’ve been reading it when I should be studying for other classes.”

“Who is it by?” His voice had a strange quality I didn’t quite recognize.

“Michael D. Coe.”

“Hang on.”

I got an alert that he had sent me a picture. It was of his nightstand. At the top of a pile of books was the very same one I’d been telling him about. It had a different cover but the same title, same author. I was pretty sure I hadn’t tweeted about it or told him about it before. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I was in a used bookstore in Dublin a couple of days ago and came across it. I thought it looked interesting. I guess you and I are on the same wavelength.”

Or it was another one of those signs Chase was always looking for. Although reading the same book at the same time was probably just a coincidence and not a message from the universe saying that Chase and I were meant to be.

“You really should get a tablet. You’re going to strain your back carrying around all those books.”

“It’s okay. I’m strong.” Then he sent me a picture of himself flexing, and I had to use my notebook to fan my face. He had the best arms. I did think it was adorable that he insisted on reading only paper books because he liked the feel and smell of them. I loved that he read because he enjoyed it and not because some professor forced him to or because he was a random hipster hoping to show up on some girl’s Instagram reading paperbacks in public (and yes, I once went out with a guy like that).

My phone beeped, interrupting my daydreams about Chase’s arms. He had put out a new tweet.

Every time Chase deliberately substituted aZfor anS, it was a special tweet meant just for me.

But it didn’t help my blood pressure when stupid Amelia Swan, who was on the press tour with him, tweeted back:

Grr. Stupid Amelia Swan.Why wouldn’t she leave Chase alone? Were you allowed to punch movie stars? Or was that reserved for politicians and scary clowns?

My grandma always told me not to hate people, so I knew I shouldn’t hate Amelia Swan, but if she were on fire and I had a glass of water, I would drink it.

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