Page 38 of Anyone But the Superstar

And just ignore how easily I was able to convince myself that staying with Anne was my only option.

Finished with the counters, I rinse and load the cutting board and other utensils I used into the dishwasher. Saving the still-hot pan for later, I make a wide berth around Mike Hunt, who’s watching me from a spot on the floor near the corner of the island, and pad over to the living area.

My t-shirt from yesterday lays on the top of the couch from where I threw it this morning. I grabbed it from on top of my bag when I woke up this morning, knowing from cooking dinner last night that the air-conditioning vent blows directly over the kitchen. And yet, instead of tugging it over my head as I walked down the hall, I tossed it here instead before making breakfast.

I told myself it was so I didn’t get anything on it while I cooked, but I’m pretty sure me and my ego know better.

Goosebumps on prominent display, I grab the shirt and shrug it on before plopping down on the couch. Even sprawled back on the cushions, my muscles refuse to unknot after a poor night’s sleep.

I haven’t slept on a futon since my auditioning days when Jack and I shared a tiny studio apartment. But instead of rejecting Anne’s roommate offer last night and burdening Jackwith setting me up with new security and a comfortable bed at a nearby hotel, I dumbly agreed.

Because… well, reasons.

Reasons that, if I allowed myself to think about, probably have more to do with a pretty girl’s perverted sense of humor and attractive, loud laugh than keeping a low profile from the press and Camilla. But I’m not thinking about that.

I prove my dumbness by smiling at the way Anne pretended not to look at my chest, arms and abs as we ate breakfast.

A smile that dips as the couch does when Mike jumps up beside me, making the knots in my back coil tighter.

I have no idea why this cat is so enamored with me, but at least he seems intelligent enough to know that the feeling is not mutual. He leaves a two-inch gap between us as he lays down beside the length of my thigh.

That gap and the fact that I covered most of my exposed skin enables me to remain still and silent while Mike gets comfortable. A feat I most likely appear visibly proud of when Anne re-enters the room, grabbing her bag off the floor. She looks the same as she did a few minutes ago – fresh-faced and charming in her jeans, t-shirt and Birkenstocks. Like the quintessential young twenty-something off to class or work.

Her features are pretty, no doubt. Beautiful, even. But it’s her expressions that get me. Her humor. Her blatant dismissal of my fame and my dick.

Damn, I’m dumb.

I see the moment she notices my shirt and fight a smile over the look of relief that passes over her face before her eyebrows jump at seeing Mike beside me.

Knowing last night’s tabby-cat confession has left me in a less than manly light, I try and play off this sudden turn of events with a shrug. ‘He’s all right, I guess.’ Which would’ve been morebelievable if I didn’t suddenly jerk my arm back when Mike’s tail touches it.

‘Uh huh.’ Walking over to the chair across from me, Anne lowers her bag and grabs a pile of straps and fabric off its seat. ‘You’re a regular cat-lover now.’ She begins inserting herself into the contraption, first one arm, then her head then the other arm.

A baby carrier.

‘What do you need that for?’

She snaps a buckle then points to Mike.

‘Wait.’ I glance back and forth between her and the feline. ‘You’re takingMiketo NASA?’

‘I can’t leave him.’ Her chin drops as she gives a light roll of her baby blues. ‘Not when my Hollywood, high-maintenance house guest suffers from ailurophobia.’

‘Ailuro-what now?’

‘Ailurophobia.’ She smirks. ‘Fear of pussies.’

My lips twitch, warring between amusement and embarrassment. ‘Can’t you just keep him in your room?’

Anne answers with a defeated sigh, her ponytail swinging forward. ‘Unfortunately, no.’ She points to Mike, who has managed to close the gap between us to one inch while I wasn’t looking. ‘Sphinxes are social creatures. It’s why they’re usually adopted in pairs.’ She wraps a strap around her and clicks it to the front. ‘I’m not sure if it’s because he’s a lone sphinx or he’s just a cunt?—’

I sputter over her choice of vernacular.

‘—but Mikey gets up to some serious mischief if he’s left somewhere strange and without a person in sight.’ She gives the carrier a final tug.

Then I watch, horrified, as she gets the cat ready to leave.

The first thing she pulls from her bag is sunscreen. For the cat.

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