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“Not with Gage Barrett!”
“Why not? He’s gorgeous, rich…”
“Unpredictable, a playboy…,” I counter.
“But what if you fall in love?” she asks dramatically.
I refuse to dignify this with a response, and my best friend of more than twenty years sighs. “Fine. At least tell me what it was like to meet him in person. Exaggerate if you must.”
I run a finger along a mop handle as I consider this. I’m not even going to pretend that I didn’t come into this thinking Gage Barrett was hot. I mean, he’s Gage Barrett. I’ve seen his movies. Hell, I like his movies. They’re fun, he’s talented. And with his dark hair, friendly eyes, and easy smile, he’s like the next generation’s George Clooney.
Was there a little breathlessness the first time our eyes met? Sure. I’m not immune to the fact that I was meeting Hollywood’s hottest actor in person.
But then he’d just been sort of…
“Hot and hollow,” I say, finally answering her question. “I’m not sure the guy’s ever had a thought that wasn’t scripted for him.”
“Damn,” Marjorie mutters. “Well, I just hope he doesn’t fall for that Eden woman. Did you hear what she said about you? She thinks you’re fake and that you’re merely trying to seem different from the rest of them.”
“Oh, well, gosh, I’m going to lose all sorts of sleep tonight,” I say, straightening the mop and turning toward the door. “But speaking of Eden, she’s actually one of my roommates, and she saw me on the phone, so I really need to go before I get caught.”
“She’s your roommate? Oh, damn. That’s bad. You need to keep your head down, don’t engage…”
I don’t hear the rest of what she’s saying. My heart’s stopped completely, because I’m not alone in the closet.
I’ve been caught all right, but not by bitchy Eden.
By Gage Barrett himself.
Ellie
I hang up on Marjorie. She’ll unde
rstand when I explain later.
Shit. Crap, shit, and the f-word too.
“So,” I say, forcing a smile at the unsmiling man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Awkward, right?”
Gage says nothing.
The light coming from the cracked door is enough to let me know it’s him, but not enough to let me read his expression.
I start to slip my phone into my back pocket, but he wordlessly holds out a hand.
I give him an incredulous look. “Um, no. I’m not going to just hand over my phone because Hollywood commands it.”
“No phones allowed,” he says. Gage pushes away from the wall and plucks the phone out of my hand. He glances down at it, his thumb moving across the screen, as he unabashedly snoops through it. “Who were you talking to?”
“Give it back.” I try to grab for it, but he holds it higher, still snooping. “I’ll turn it in, I swear.”
He gives me a skeptical look but finally hands the phone over, and I shove it into my back pocket and glare up at him.
I’m a little surprised by how tall he is.
I always heard that actors were shorter in person, but Gage has to be at least six-two, and he towers easily over my five feet four inches.
He’s wearing shorts and a button-down linen shirt, but the casual attire does nothing to diminish his masculinity. A fact I’m pretty sure he knows, because he steps closer, then grins when I back up and stumble over a bucket.
