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“And won’t that be weird?”
“It’s my job. I’ve had to kiss a lot of people over the years.”
The comment has me thinking of something I hadn’t actually considered before. Say on the off chance this thing between us actually goes somewhere. It’s doubtful, but for argument’s sake, let’s pretend. How am I going to feel having to sit at home knowing he’s on set kissing other women, or worse, pretending to have sex with them? What if he gets cast in a movie similar toFifty Shades? My stomach turns again.
“What’s it like kissing someone you don’t necessarily want to kiss?” I force myself to take a bite of noodles in hopes that he can’t see the mini meltdown currently turning itself around in my head.
“It’s just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss?” I question, having zero experience with kissing someone I don’t actively want to kiss.
“Yeah, you know, just like saying the lines. It’s just motions. I just do them.”
“And you don’t feel anything?”
“Not usually, no.” He shakes his head.
“What do you mean, not usually?”
“There’ve been a couple of scenes over the years where I’ve… You know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Where I’ve gotten an erection during a sexual scene.”
And boom, there it is.
“Oh.” I feel the familiar heat creep up my neck.
“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs. “Not like I can control it.”
“But it means you were attracted to the woman you were doing the scene with.”
“Yeah, I guess I’d have to at least be mildly attracted to her. Why are you asking me all these questions?” He studies me for a long moment, while I mull over an answer I can give him that doesn’t sound completely asinine. “Are you jealous?” A smile tugs at his mouth as he seems to be piecing it together on his own just fine.
“No,” I say too aggressively.
Lies, of course. I recognized the familiar ache of jealousy the instant it slid through my stomach.
“You are.” His smile widens.
“I am not.” I shake my head adamantly.
“Anyone told you that you’re a horrible liar?”
Heat spills to my cheeks, which I’m sure are bright crimson at this point. And even though I’ve been told several times—especially by my father—that I’m a horrible liar, I don’t tell him that.
“Shut up,” I say instead, shoving more noodles into my mouth to give myself an excuse not to say more.
“You’re cute when you’re unsure,” he tells me, pulling my gaze back up to his.
I chew my noodles slowly, hoping he’ll fill the gap in conversation, but he doesn’t. He waits patiently for me to swallow.
“I’m not unsure. And I’m not jealous,” I say, very unconvincingly I might add. “I’m just trying to understand why you’d agree to work with Brandy after everything you told me happened between you two. Especially if you have to kiss her and stuff.”
I revert back to our original conversation, having no desire to sit here and let him tease me for being a little jealous.
Of course, I’m jealous.
