I cup his cheeks in my hands and bring my face rightup to his. “Hey. You are not mediocre. I would not cast a mediocre actor in my sure-as-fuck-not-mediocre movie.”
“You didn’t cast me, remember?” He pairs the remark with a snarky half smile.
“Well, I should have. There is nothing mediocre about you, Grayson West. Come on now, you’ve been voted Sexiest Man Alive! Twice!”
“All that means is I’m not bad-looking.”
“Not bad-looking... I cannot even with you. You have the face of an angel and the body of a Greek god, the smile of a toothpaste commercial and the eyes of a Disney prince.” I squeeze his cheeks between my palms. “Do you know how hard it is for me to give you that many compliments in a row?”
His smile is quick to fade. “It’s still just surface-level bullshit.”
And suddenly a lot of things about Grayson West make a lot more sense. “Is that why you wanted to do a serious movie? Why you jumped on this one when you thought that’s what it would be? You think your dad would be more accepting of your career if you were in the kind of movie that makes people cry?” I thread my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently so he’s forced to meet my gaze.
“Yes?”
“Fuck that, Grayson. Do you like what you do? Do you enjoy being in movies where everything blows up and you’re all sweaty and shirtless and the dialogue sometimes sucks but it’s entertaining and audiences love it?”
“Yes?” A smile tugs on his lips again.
I lean down and press my lips to his. “Then let that beenough. You get to do what you love. And you’re damn good at it.”
“Simple as that?”
“Well, no. I also highly recommend therapy. For real, it’ll change your life.”
He rolls his eyes, his hands slipping around my lower back and pulling me close. “You’re a piece of work, Emmy Harper.”
“I have been told that before.” I take his face in my hands again. “All the bullshit between us aside, Grayson, youarea talented actor. And more importantly than that, you’re a good person. You’ve been a caretaker, and today you were a brilliant teacher. Above everything else, you made me feel safe and comfortable in the moments when I’ve doubted myself most. You should be proud of yourself.” I press my lips to his again before he can argue with me. When I feel I’ve sufficiently stymied his natural inclination to refute everything I say, I put some space between us. “Now, I seem to recall you mentioning you have no interest in fucking me tonight?” I layer the question with just the right amount of humor and seduction.
“Is that okay?” He pulls me in for a hug, cutting off our eye contact.
Thank god for that because I don’t think my eyes can hide my shock. Now that we’ve talked out our feelings, it should be time for the sex. And yet I find myself snuggling deeper into his embrace.
I force myself to pull away before I can sink too deep. “Of course that’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
He doesn’t let me go. “You don’t have to leave. We could just hang out here for a bit.”
“Oh. Sure.” I freeze, halfway between his lap and standing.
Grayson shifts, laying back on the bed and holding out his arm for me to tuck myself into his chest. And fuck if it doesn’t tempt me. It’s a really good chest.
Instead I lay next to him, leaving a couple of inches of space in between us and pretending I don’t see the flash of hurt in his eyes when I don’t cuddle up to him.
But we’ve never done cuddling unless it’s of the naked variety, and seeing as how we are both still fully dressed, there will be no cuddle action happening here.
“Can I ask you something?” He directs the words toward the ceiling, but I assume they’re meant for me.
“Sure,” I say, having no intention of answering his question if it veers in the direction of feelings. There already have been more than enough feelings for one night, and I feel like we’re on the verge of swerving into dangerous territory I don’t know if we can come back from.
“What was it like winning that Oscar? How did it feel to achieve the culmination of everything you’ve been working for your whole career?”
“Oh.” It’s one of the few questions I wasn’t expecting. “Honestly, I don’t quite know how to answer. I never thought I’d even be in the Oscar conversation, so I never really dreamt about it.”
“Really?” He turns his head, and I feel his eyes studying me. “Even with both your parents winning?”
I shrug, turning on my side to face him. “I never had any delusions that I’d be doing what they do. I always set out to write rom-coms, a genre that’s as good as invisible when it comes to awards committees.”
He turns on his side, mirroring my position, and all of the sudden we’re very close together. Not naked close, but close enough that his breath tickles my cheek. “And that never bothered you? That you wouldn’t get critical recognition for your work?”
