Page 49 of A Summer of Stars

“Acting,” he said, taking a gulp of his drink.

“That doesn’t explain your choice of words, though,” I commented.

His eyes widened. They almost glowed when they did that. “It’sthe first thing I could think of,” he answered casually, like we were talking about the correct temperature to bake sugar cookies at, rather than seductive compliments.

“I’m pretty sure you would’ve ruined this whole thing for us if I mentioned your preference for hiring assassins.” He laughed lightly. It was a genuine laugh. Not one of his usual conniving smirks that I wanted to rip off.

“Don’t say that so loud,” I squealed, throwing my hand against his mouth.

A blush crept out from under my palm.

Kieran Alexander,blushing.

“Sorry.” I withdrew my hand, forgetting about personal space.

His lips parted and closed. “No, you’re fine—it’s fine—you can.”You can.He swallowed. “I’m happy to hear you’re keeping this side business quiet. Even if I’ll suffer.”

Nari approached him before I could respond. She spoke briefly in his ear and then walked off, her lanyard swinging.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes, but—are we sitting together? That seems like a bit much.” I scrunched my nose. Shouldn’t he be surrounded by his costars?

Sitting in the middle of them as they accepted a standing ovation seemed as uncomfortable as people singing “Happy Birthday” to you as a teenager.

He fidgeted with his watch. “No, we’re leaving.”

“What do you mean we’re leaving? We’re not going into the theater?” I put my glass down.

He shook his head, a quaint response for my full questions.

“But you’re supposed to sit with everyone and watch the movie together?” I may not work in film, but I’ve been to enough movie premieres to know how they worked.

He twisted the ring on his pinky finger. It was gold with anApressed into it. “I know, but I don’t, so I’m going to leave. You’re more than welcome to stay and enjoy the show, though.” His words were chopped. Clean-cut and final. No longer that round edge of his laughter. The one that made me lean forward and listen.

“Of course.” I shook my head.

“What?” he asked. The switch in his tone and body language was palpable. Two words, and he was suddenly annoyed. An Oscar-winning actor, ladies and gentlemen!

“No, it’s just funny.” I laughed, pressing a hand against my chest. “That you,of all people, one of the most egotistical people on the planet—” A string of giggles left my mouth uncontrollably, cutting me off.

People were starting to stare, but it was difficult to care. This had to be one of the funniest discoveries of the twenty-first century. Funnier than when Walt learned what a tampon was for from his first girlfriend—which also turned out to be his shortest relationship. Or the time Cecilia wanted to try hitting a tennis ball and sent it behind her into Coach’s windshield.

Learning that Kieran didn’t watch his own movies but boasted about them was the equivalent to tennis commentators picking apart a player’s strategy when they had never won a Grand Slam themselves.

Kieran took my hand—more laughter exploded because,God, what a weird feeling to have his hand grasping mine and still not be familiar with it—and pulled me down a quiet hallway.

“—doesn’t want to watch himself on a screen the size of a billboard?” I finished my thought, cracking up. My head fell back, bumping against an ornate frame. Kieran clutched the back of my head, forcing me away from the frame. Then, he stared at me with his arms crossed, waiting.

“Done yet?”he asked, an unimpressed look on his face. I recognized it because Coach wore the same stare when I cracked jokes over his defeat in practice. He accepted my lack of laughter as an answer. “Phenomenal,” he said, and then turned and took a step in the opposite direction.

As the humor diminished, panic set in.

How would this look if neither of us showed up to the actual film? They’d assume it was me who convinced him to leave. That I begged him not to go to get my way.

And anytime he wasn’t present at an event, they’d point their fingers at me. The press would print headlines about him, but they’d really be aboutme. My lack of support, my poor influence, my hold on him. They’d assume I was the reason his ranking in tennis—

My heart trembled. Its shutters slamming open against the stormy wind, smacking against my rib cage.