“Superman uses gel, and Clark is all disheveled, but same difference.”
“I’mnotan idiot,” she said, and I sobered immediately.
“I never said you were,” I replied slowly.
“Well, you must have assumed it when you pulled a fast one on me.” Her blue eyes were angry—legitimately furious.
Confusion had me shaking my head. I fought to catch my breath. “Hold on a sec. I think?—”
But she didn’t let me finish. “And you’re different when you’re—you’re?—”
“When I’m what?” I wondered, genuinely curious.
“Performing.” She practically spat the word. “Putting on a big act, making my mother laugh, charming the pants off my siblings. Acting like you’re chummy with the country mice.”
I frowned, feeling suddenly cold, and not from the sweat drying on my skin. “Is that what you think? That I was ... acting?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “One minute I thought you were a cameraman or—or a lighting specialist, or one of the guys with the big sticks with the microphones on the end.”
“Boom operator,” I supplied automatically, wincing as I realized I wasn’t helping.
Joan glared and put her hands on her hips. “I thought you were a normal guy who was bad at cardio and needed a running partner. Then I get ambushed in my own home. And I felt so st—” She cut herself off, but I heard what she hadn’t said, loud and clear.
Stupid. I’d made her feel stupid, and she was angry at herself for trusting me.
Throat dry, I swallowed uncomfortably. A painful combination of guilt and awkwardness tightened my chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was, right off the bat. That was wrong of me. There was honestly no premeditation on my part.”
“Wasn’t there? Were you, maybe, having a little fun with the locals? Playing games to amuse yourself?”
I shook my head. Part of mehadreally liked the fact that Joan didn’t know who I was. I’d wanted to be Ian Wells a little longer. But I’d never meant to deceive or hurt her. And I hated that she’d assumed I’d do something like that.
“No,” I insisted, taking a step closer. “I apologize for making you feel that way. It was not my intent to be malicious or withholding. At first, it was nice to just be Ian—that’s my real name, by the way—just a guy who sucked at running. Then you wouldn’t tell me your name, and it was fun. Like we had an inside joke. I got to be myself without any expectation. I thought, maybe, you didn’t know who I was. Believe it or not, I’m not some egotistical asshole who assumes everyone knows the great Dorian Masters.”
Joan snorted an incredulous laugh, but her eyes had gone from hard blue daggers to something a little softer—possibly butter knives. Still sharp enough to carve out my heart, though, if she put time and energy into it. But something about her expression made me think she was actually hearing me.
“I never meant to make you feel like I was teasing you or enjoying myself at your expense,” I explained. “You’ve been kind.” Her look was disbelieving, so I amended, “Kind of tolerant of me.”
One side of her mouth quirked, like she was fighting a smile.
I didn’t let the sight affect me, though, and continued earnestly, “And your family was very welcoming. I wasn’t pretending anything, with any of you.”
Joan let out a breath—part aggrieved, part resigned. She moved to gather her chin-length hair into a short ponytail, but the black hair band snapped away in the process.
I leaned down to pick it up off the ground.
“Well, don’t expect any special treatment,” she said, already pulling a different elastic from her wrist. She wound it around the brown strands that were shot through with gray.
I knew from my conversation with her family the other morning that Joan was thirty-six—young to be going gray. And knowing what little I did about her, I could easily see her being the sort of person who didn’t give a fuck if her hair was gray or brown or polka dot. Of course, she wouldn’t dye it regularly or care what people thought about her age or her looks. But it suited her. All her features, from her sharp cheekbones to her lithe, strong body to her brilliant blue eyes, were striking. Her hair was just another memorable piece of her. Something that set her apart, made her who she was.
She ignored the hair tie I held out to her and skewered me with a severe frown. “Just because you’re some big movie star, doesn’t mean you’re better than anyone else. Your wants and desires aren’t any more important than mine. And all that fame won’t change the fact that I don’t plan on going easy on you. If you still want to get in shape for your run?—”
“I do,” I rushed out eagerly—embarrassingly so. Truth be told, I was relieved she was still giving me the time of day. Once I realized how truly angry she’d been—how much I’d hurt her with my carelessness—I’d fully expected her to write me off as more trouble than I was worth. I couldn’t pinpoint why that made me feel so awful. Like, if Joan Judd thought I was an insignificant waste of space, then maybe I really was.
“Then you’re going to have to work,” she said finally. She’d missed a piece of hair, and it clung to the side of her long, graceful neck. I told myself not to stare at her smooth skin. “I’m not some fancy personal trainer out in Hollywood.”
I slipped the hair band she wouldn’t take into my pocket. It was all stretched out anyway, with part of the white elastic showing beneath the black fabric. “I would never dream of comparing you to Maurice.”
She shook her head, but reached her arms up to stretch, like maybe she wasn’t done with our workout yet. “See, I knew you had people for that.” She saidpeoplelike they were the worst, most ridiculous thing she couldthink of. Someone who wore berets or didn’t return shopping carts to the corral or was Creed’s biggest fan.
