Page 35 of Anyone But the Superstar

The phone rings, and I sigh, tired of being repeatedly cut off. I reach for the phone again, lit up with Jack’s name and picture.

Anne slides it out of reach. ‘Listen.’ She silences the call with a press of the phone’s side button. ‘I feel like it would be wrong to kick you out after you went to all this trouble to cook me dinner.’

I frown at her sudden one-eighty, my mind racing trying to figure out what changed between her threatening to call the police and now. ‘It would?’

She nods solemnly. ‘And with you not being much of a threat given your—’ she waves her hands as if having trouble searching for the right words ‘—regrettablemedical condition.’

‘My what?’

Her eyes drop below my waist. ‘It can happen to men your age.’ She gives me what I assume she thinks is a sympathetic smile.

Understanding dawns and I swallow back my frustration. ‘I’m only thirty-two.’

When her smile turns pained, I decide to show her just how threatening I and my dick can be. But before I can move one steparound the counter, the cat meows and stretches a chicken-wing-looking arm toward me.

Pride makes way for safety, and I decide it’s probably best for everyone if I and my dick stay where we are, well out of claw-swiping range.

I scoop another ball of dough and get back to forming mybiscoitos. ‘What deal?’

Liz

‘So.’ Ignoring the forearm flexing that happens when you roll Portuguese shortbread, I concentrate on sounding friendly to the man who attempted to bribe me out of a condo. ‘I was thinking that you could stay here, in the guest room, if you wanted.’ I flutter my eyelashes a few times, hoping they’ll mask my tone and the stiffness of my smile that basically screams the truth behind the lie.

Because I don’t want him to stay. I don’t want his sexy, tousled hair, his hilarious aversion to Mike Hunt or his seductive smiles anywhere near me or the guest bedroom.

However.

Idowant to go to that dinner. It is becoming readily apparent over the course of the last few days that, as a storyboarder who works early in the day to sketch out potential film sets before handing them off, I’m not in a position to coincidentally run into my sister at NASA.

‘I’m confused.’ Felix looks torn between laughing and complaining about my mentioning his erectile dysfunction.

And when his eyes fall to my chest where Mike is probably drooling over him, I sit on the bar stool and hunker down, tryingto hide the triggering cat from view while I attempt to list all the reasons why my offer is so generous. ‘This place is close to work, safe, has a fully equipped kitchen,and, as Jack said, the astronauts specifically called in this favor for you.’

‘But I thought you were all about “finders keepers”.’

I’ve never seen air quotes made with dough-laden hands. Or in such a derogatory manner.

He shakes his head in disbelief as he pinches another cookie together. ‘You threatened to call the NASA’s PR manager who gave you the keyandthe police if I didn’t “get the hell out”.’

‘Well, I, uh…’ My mind stalls on how to convince him to stay when I was so hard-pressed to get him to leave. I find inspiration when the oven dings, having reached the right temperature. I slam my hand down on the counter. ‘I need a chef.’ Ignoring the jolt of pain in my palm, I dodge Mike’s paw swipe to my face.

Felix’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘A chef?’

‘Yes.’ I nod vigorously and straighten in my seat lest Mike retaliate later in ways I might not survive. ‘I’m no use in the kitchen and having you around will be helpful.’ I gesture to the cookie sheet and dough bowl, so Felix doesn’t home in on the cat again.

Following my hands, Felix scans the island and then the rest of the condo. When he meets my eyes again, instead of looking convinced, he seems wary of my sanity.

Giving up the façade, I duck my head while giving an apology scratch to Mike, too embarrassed to meet Felix eyes. ‘And it would be cool if you wanted to maybe take me to the astronaut dinner.’

There’s a pregnant pause after I admitted just how the tables have turned.

‘Big fan of astronauts, are we?’ As expected, his expression is both amused and smug.

‘Maybe.’ Not a lie. I could be. At least of one astronaut in particular. But he doesn’t need to know that. The more information one has, the more they can use against you. Stanley Moore taught me that.

‘So let me get this straight.’ He braces his hands on either side of the cookie sheet, his contracting upper torso muscles contradicting his self-proclaimed sweet tooth. ‘You’ll let me stay as long as I cook for you and take you out on dates?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I rush on, worried I’ve just shot myself in the foot. ‘I’m saying I wantonedate.’ I hold up my finger. ‘One specific date to the astronaut dinner.’ I drop my finger and scratch Mike’s head. ‘An invite, really. Not a date.’ I nod at the cookies. ‘And the chef thing.’

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