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“I’m sorry,” says a redhead with a southern twang, coming to a stop in front of us. “I have to ask. You’re Alex Westbrook, aren’t you?”
A few heads turn in our direction.
“I thought it looked like him,” someone whispers.
Before I can even open my mouth, Summer laughs, turning to me.
“Oh, honey, I told you they’d say that. You really, really should apply for that job again.”
I bring my hand to Summer’s back, pulling her into me. “I applied to be his double, been racking up rejections into two digits by now, but I’m not giving up.”
“Oh.” The redhead’s disappointment is clear.
“But he looks just like him, doesn’t he?” Summer continues. “He can even imitate that smile Westbrook’s famous for. With the dimples. He practices in the mirror every day.”
The redhead steps back, shaking her head, pity in her eyes. The few who had stopped in their tracks to watch us go on their merry way. Summer is a genius. I could kiss her.
“Right,” she whispers, once the redhead is far enough away, “I changed my mind. Going to PIER 39 was a stupid idea. It’s crawling with people. Let’s go to one of the other piers. How about Pier 7? We’ll find a lot of fishermen looking for crabs.”
“Lead the way.”
Twenty minutes later, we reach the pier. I don’t know about fishermen, but couples mill around on the wooden floor, sitting on benches, leaning against the black iron railing or against the lampposts casting a dim glow.
“Is this San Francisco’s official kissing spot?” I ask when we come to a stop on a deserted stretch of the railing. The air is salty and fresh.
“It is quite romantic, don’t you think? With the lampposts and the fog.”
She turns her head to look at me. I don’t even remember leaning in, but I’m so close, our noses are almost touching. I feel the reaction of her body as she becomes aware of how close we are. She straightens a little, brushing against my chest. Her lips part, her gaze dropping to my mouth for a second. This moment here... Jesus. We might have been playing a charade for the others earlier, but this feels so real. The underlying warmth in her glance, the simple fact that she was putting herself out there on my behalf. Her pretty, pink mouth beckons to me. Without thinking, I close the distance between us, capturing her lips.
She sighs, a sweet, perfect little sound, and then parts her lips in invitation. I slip my tongue inside, feverishly coaxing hers into a wild tangle. I feel her melt against me, her little body pressing into me. I slip my hand a few inches under her shirt, needing to feel her skin, to touch her. Kissing her lights a fuse inside me. Her reaction to me is intoxicating. She makes a small sound of pleasure at the back of her throat. I cup the back of her head, pressing her closer to me, fisting her hair in my fingers. I kiss her until we’re both out of breath.
Summer steps back the next instant, her mouth pink and swollen, breathing hard.
“Wow,” she whispers. “You can kiss.”
“Summer—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“Oh no. I know that tone of voice. I have a feeling a variation of the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech is coming my way, and it’s not necessary. It was a spur of the moment thing, I get it. I mean, look at this place. It’s made for kissing.”
She’s still smiling, and there’s no resentment in her voice.
“I want to explain anyway.”
“Really, don’t. I know what’s going on, and I’m not interested in being your rebound.”
“A rebound?” I ask blankly. “I didn’t kiss you because I’m on a rebound.”
Vulnerability flits over her features, and fuck if I don’t want to kiss that away.
She backs away from me, gnawing at her lip. “I hate to break it to you, but you might not know you’re on the rebound. Doesn’t mean you’re weak or anything, but it’s a pretty normal reaction after a relationship implodes.”
I eye this little spitfire closely, weighing the pros and cons of being 100 percent honest with her. The con is the usual—the risk of the media finding out. But with Summer, that never seems like a real risk. I feel more at ease around her than anyone else. And she deserves to know. I’d hate for her to think I took advantage of her. I look around us to make sure no one is within earshot, but everyone else is far enough away.
“I’m going to tell you something few people in Hollywood know. We broke up four months ago, but it only slipped to the press last month. We thought we could keep it quiet until the premiere.”
“Why did you want to keep it quiet?”
“My relationship with Amy started as a fake love story for the media. The studio executives explained that a supposed romance between us would be a golden ticket for the box office. We agreed to it because it seemed harmless, and we were almost done shooting. We’d only have to keep up the charade until the premiere. But the movie was so successful that the studio wanted a sequel. We were asked to keep faking. At some point, we fell for each other. The fake romance became a real one. The engagement was not a PR thing; it was real. But it all fell apart four months ago. She’s with that guy.... Anyway, per our contract, until after the premiere, Amy and I can’t be seen dating other people. But I’m not on a rebound. I want that to be clear.”
