Page 96 of A Summer of Stars

“Oh, no no,” he responded with a crooked smile. It was filled with that playful argumentative tone I loved. You could tell from the way his eyes narrowed and how he tilted his head that he was trying to provoke me.

Joke’s on him, he always provoked me.

“You were watching me drown in women for at least fifteen minutes before you intercepted the strip-tease Caroline over there was trying to get out of me,” he argued.

His comment pulled my laughter right out. My head fell forward. “Don’t lie, you were having a good time in the beginning.” I poked his chest.

“Says who?”

“Says the look on your face!”

“Who says that look wasn’t because I was trying to get your attention?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Did you want me to be having a good time?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Would you want me to have a good time with other women?” His voice had lost any humor now.

No, God no.

It was painful enough to see every actress from the premiere run their hands up his arms and brush their lips against the shell of his ear. It was like they were passing around a goddamn glass of champagne.

But I couldn’t tell him that. That was foolish.

“Why does it matter? It’s against the rules to mingle with the enemy anyway,” I answered.

“Ah, of course. But haven’t you technically broken those rules?”

“What? By dancing with you?”

“I was more so thinking of the kiss from the other night.”

“Oh, that.” My tone came out more like a withered question than a statement.

“Hm,” he hummed deeply. It echoed against my chest.

“Have you been thinking about that a lot?” I asked, looking up. My words teetered on a tightrope.

“You don’t want my answer to that.” He laughed, but it was coated in anything but humor. Restraint, perhaps.

“I know this is just an act,” I said, defending my curiosity. “I wasn’t asking for you to reveal some confession.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Well, if this wasn’t an act, I’d tell you that I enjoyed it, probably more than I should have. To the point that it haunts me the way a good book stands at the edge of your mind until you pick it back up to read for a second time. I fear the haunting won’t stop unless I’m reminded of it again.”

I needed to hear it. “Reminded of…”

“That kiss.”

A drought seemed to overtake my mouth. I was incapable of collecting words from the English language and stringing them together.

“If this wasn’t an act, of course,” he repeated.

“Yes, of course,” I agreed. “I’m too much of a romantic for feigned intimacy anyway. I’m not sure how you do it.”

“Some instances are easier than others.”