Page 10 of Anyone But the Superstar
I might not have gotten the last word if she hadn’t made anobvious and aggressive jerk-off hand gesture as she said it. ‘I don’t have a premature ejaculation problem!’
Her eye roll is cut short when she pulls her shirt over her head, mumbling something that I’m sure is less than complimentary. Once dressed, she slides on her sandals and my panic reaches new heights.
Quick-stepping, I move in front of the door. ‘Don’t go. Let’s just wait a minute to see if the numbness subsides.’
‘Ooove.’ She’s a vision with flushed skin and knotted sex hair. Like she was plucked straight from my dreams. A dream that turns nightmarish when her pretty eyes flatten into snake-like slits.
Scared shitless and knowing full well that I’m making things worse, I cross my arms over my chest and plant my feet. ‘No.’ My bravado is laughable as my hands shake under my biceps.
Anne, still glaring and apparently not the least bit intimidated, squares up to me while wiping moisture off her face with the back of her hand.
I can’t tell if she’s brushing away drool or tears. Either way, all my anxiousness and panic evaporate on a heavy sigh. I can blame Jack all I want, but I did this. This carefree, gorgeous woman was unlucky enough to think me a good time, and instead of living up to that expectation, all I did was scare her and possibly make her cry.
I’m an asshole.
Disgusted with myself, I hang my head, playing through what I need to do to try and make this right.
Get dressed, Google the nearest twenty-four-hour clinic. Call Jack.
If I’m recognized, so be it. One silver lining to the incident that started my personal life shitstorm a few months ago is that I now have a PR firm on payroll. If it leaks, hopefully they canhandle it. And Camilla… well, there’s no telling what she’ll do, but hopefully, my lawyers will handle it.
But first, I need to apologize.
‘Anne, I…’ Looking up, I catch sight of fury-filled eyes before pain radiates between my legs and everything goes white. Air explodes from my lungs in a strangled moan and bile climbs up my throat as I drop to my knees.
Anne’s small hands push me the rest of the way over until I’m lying on my side, gaping like a fish with my hands cupping my privates.
Stepping over my legs, she opens the door with one hand and flips me off with the other. ‘Uck off, ass-ole.’ Then she slides her phone out of her pocket and takes a picture of me – hurt, dumb-founded and half-naked – before slamming the door behind her.
Game. Over.
3
LIZ
‘So, Anne, what do you think of NASA?’
‘Ish b’gar an I ought.’ I cringe in apology to Emily Durham, NASA’s public relations manager. ‘Orry.’ Thankful thatthis timemy incoherence is due to a mouthful of food and not a cock covered in numbing cream, I grab a cup of coffee from the table that the catering company set up for the first day of filming, forcing the stale, tasteless muffin down with a scalding sip. ‘Uhh.’
Emily’s eyes widen in concern before she rushes to hand me a napkin.
Eyes watering, I use it to dab my eyes. ‘I’m okay,’ I wheeze out after a few shallow breaths. Which is kind of true. If you don’t count the Urgent Care visit or my recent homelessness due to a housing issue between my college and the studio.
The past three days in Texas have been eventful, to say the least.
It seems since I’m here as my professor’s assistant and not as a storyboarder the studio hired, film production housing doesn’t apply to me. Nor does the shuttle that takes them to and fromNASA. Both of which my professor failed to realize when he offered me the internship.
Not only did I have to find and pay for a hotel, but I needed to extend my car rental agreement since the hotels within walking distance of NASA charge astronomical rates.
Pun intended.
You’d think Houston would be overrun with hotels to choose from, but while NASA’s address may be Houston, it’s really located in the smaller suburb of Clear Lake. Houston made a narrow southern extension of the city’s zip code so they could claim NASA as their own.
I guess ‘Clear Lake, we have a problem’, doesn’t have the same ring to it.
The rhinestone hair clip holding back one side of Em’s blonde bob sparkles in the overhead fluorescent lights as she scans the crowd of production team members gathered for the press junket.
I only just met the petite and sparkly NASA PR manager today during the morning tour. Despite her shorter than my average five-foot-six height and how every aspect of her outfit is shiny, sequined or glittered, the crew shifted uncomfortably under her glare as she imparted a welcome/warning on where they could and could not go during filming.
