Anyone But the Superstar (Anyone But You #3)

Chapter 10

10

LIZ

I am not expecting the condo to smell so delicious when I open my bedroom door at five in the morning.

But it does.

I also didn’t expect my new roommate to be awake, but as the guest bedroom/office door is open beside mine, I’m guessing the Hollywood interloper is taking his chef duties more seriously than I’d intended.

Either that or his bed, aka the guest room futon, wasn’t very conducive to a Hollywood A-lister’s sleep.

But just in case I’m wrong and Felix is sleeping, I hook my messenger bag on my shoulder and tiptoe past his door like a ninja.

Unlike a ninja, I’m thrown off balance by a cantankerous pussy sprinting past me. My bag, heavy with my work tablet and cat treats, swings forward, casting me into the wall with a thud that causes the framed picture of a baby cow to tilt on its hook.

As Mikey bounds out of sight, I brace for a scream. Or a whimper. Or whatever it is that a person suffering from tabby-cat PTSD does when greeted by Mike Hunt first thing in the morning.

Strangely, I hear nothing but the soft hiss of cooking as I straighten the odd choice of wall decor.

Re-hefting my bag, I quick-step the rest of the way down the hall, only to come to a stop at the sight that greets me.

My roommate is naked.

Nearly naked.

Ignoring the thread of disappointment at the sight of Felix’s low-slung shorts, I let my bag slide off my shoulder as I stare at his exposed back, shoulders and biceps. I point at Mike, who’s sitting on his haunches next to me at the mouth of the hallway, and whose expression I’m worried mirrors my own. ‘Behave.’

The cat gives me side-eye.

We both know I wasn’t talking to him.

Hearing me, Felix turns, spatula in hand. ‘Morning.’

‘Morning.’ I fake a yawn, surreptitiously checking for drool. ‘You didn’t have to get up this morning. I can make myself breakfast or grab something from the catering table later.’

He shrugs, the movement doing things to his abs. Tantalizing things. Things I want to feel with my hands.

Things I have felt with my hands.

Unaware of my pervy thoughts, Felix continues to move fluidly in the kitchen. ‘I’m used to waking up early. I work out in the mornings.’

His bicep muscles flex as he opens the refrigerator door. Yeah you do .

The bastard’s lips twitch.

‘Ah, yes. I see.’ In an attempt to reset my brain, I pick up Mikey, using him as a human shield before walking over to my new designated spot – the island stool positioned across from the cooktop where Felix earns his keep. ‘I usually work out in the morning too.’ When I’m not having to go to NASA before the sun rises, that is.

My next yawn isn’t faked.

Felix grabs two plates from the cabinet behind him and sets them on the counter in front and beside me before plating the food.

Sautéed bell peppers and scrambled eggs on toast, topped with a side of fruit.

It’s all stuff from my grocery order, but cooked.

Which may seem insignificant to most, but considering all I was going to do was eat shabbily cut raw veggies and pray to the chicken gods that my eggs didn’t burn when I tried to hard-boil them, I’m feeling better about the absurd deal I made with the Portuguese Don Juan last night.

He hands me a fork before circling the island to sit next to me.

I lower Mike on the floor between us, as if that will somehow diminish my awareness of the lack of space between his bare torso and my current overheated one.

As I hoped, he keeps his eyes on the cat who, for once, is sitting politely on the floor. When Mikey remains still, Felix takes his first bite.

I follow suit, the taste of breakfast enough of a distraction to help me block out all the visible skin beside me. Felix’s and Mike’s. ‘Where’d you learn how to cook, anyway?’

‘My mother.’ He lifts the open-faced toast, taking a large bite.

‘Yeah?’ A stab of jealousy hits me. I’ve never cooked with my mom. Not because she wouldn’t if I asked, but I never did, knowing full well that my father was of the opinion that cooking wasn’t something New York City society queens and princesses did. We had staff for that .

I swallow another bite as I watch his lips roll as he chews his. ‘What else did she teach you?’

‘Most everything.’ He licks the crumbs from his lips. ‘My dad died in a car accident when I was young, so she raised me on her own.’

My fork pauses on the plate. ‘I’m sorry.’

Felix’s shoulders lift in a smooth, well-practiced response. ‘I don’t really remember him.’ His brows knit together for a fleeting moment. ‘I’ve never been sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing considering how torn up my mom always seemed whenever I asked about him.’ He forks a strawberry then pauses, as if considering what he just shared.

I stab my own strawberry, angry at myself for asking. ‘You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pry or anything.’ I chew hard, knowing full well what it’s like to have daddy-issues, then pick up my toast.

‘No.’ Felix straightens in his seat. ‘It’s not that.’ Lowering his fork to the plate, he gives me a small smile. ‘I was just thinking how long it’s been since I had to tell anyone about myself like this.’ He huffs a laugh. ‘Usually people already know all these things before they even meet me.’

‘Sorry.’ I pause my next bite, the eggs on my toast wobbling as I shrug. ‘Not a big movie buff.’

‘Don’t apologize.’ His small smile transforms into a full-blow grin. ‘It’s great, actually.’

His happy expression is more genuine than all the professional smiles he flashed at the press junket. It reminds me of Johnny from the bar, except the effect is ten times as powerful without an atrocious beard in the way. Strong enough to have me shifting in my seat.

Shoveling the rest of the food in my face, I jump off the stool and bring the plate to the sink. I have it loaded in the dishwasher before I’ve even finished chewing. ‘I better get going.’

He glances out the still dark window. ‘Already?’

‘Yep.’ Internally cringing at how disturbingly perky I sound, I hustle back to my room to brush my teeth so I can get the hell out of here.

It’s just for a little while. I only need to put up with the Hollywood sex symbol long enough to meet my sister. After which I’ll be able to figure out who I am. To become anchored after a year of feeling adrift.

Even with my little pep talk running through my head while I move the brush fast and furiously around my mouth, it still takes me reminding myself that while the upper part of Felix Jones is hot, heavy and hard, the bottom half is only two of those things.

So don’t start acting dumb now.

Felix

Why am I so dumb?

I continue to berate my intelligence as I watch Anne’s jean-clad backside retreat to her room.

I’m cold, tired and my back hurts, and yet, thanks to the reflective microwave door, my large, goofy grin is proof positive that I’ve lost a few thousand brain cells between here and the guest room.

I’m equally disgusted with myself and dumbfounded by my situation as I get up to wipe down the counters.

Ripping off a paper towel and grabbing the cleaner from under the sink, I scrub harder than necessary while I contemplate all the ways in which I’m dumb.

I didn’t lie when I said I’m an early riser. I am. But I also never set my alarm when I don’t have to be on set until the afternoon. Something I did last night after Anne informed me what time she’d be leaving for work today.

I reasoned that if Anne only granted me permission to stay because she couldn’t cook – and her weird thing for astronauts – then I had better get up and cook.

And just ignore how easily I was able to convince myself that staying with Anne was my only option.

Finished with the counters, I rinse and load the cutting board and other utensils I used into the dishwasher. Saving the still-hot pan for later, I make a wide berth around Mike Hunt, who’s watching me from a spot on the floor near the corner of the island, and pad over to the living area.

My t-shirt from yesterday lays on the top of the couch from where I threw it this morning. I grabbed it from on top of my bag when I woke up this morning, knowing from cooking dinner last night that the air-conditioning vent blows directly over the kitchen. And yet, instead of tugging it over my head as I walked down the hall, I tossed it here instead before making breakfast.

I told myself it was so I didn’t get anything on it while I cooked, but I’m pretty sure me and my ego know better.

Goosebumps on prominent display, I grab the shirt and shrug it on before plopping down on the couch. Even sprawled back on the cushions, my muscles refuse to unknot after a poor night’s sleep.

I haven’t slept on a futon since my auditioning days when Jack and I shared a tiny studio apartment. But instead of rejecting Anne’s roommate offer last night and burdening Jack with setting me up with new security and a comfortable bed at a nearby hotel, I dumbly agreed.

Because… well, reasons.

Reasons that, if I allowed myself to think about, probably have more to do with a pretty girl’s perverted sense of humor and attractive, loud laugh than keeping a low profile from the press and Camilla. But I’m not thinking about that.

I prove my dumbness by smiling at the way Anne pretended not to look at my chest, arms and abs as we ate breakfast.

A smile that dips as the couch does when Mike jumps up beside me, making the knots in my back coil tighter.

I have no idea why this cat is so enamored with me, but at least he seems intelligent enough to know that the feeling is not mutual. He leaves a two-inch gap between us as he lays down beside the length of my thigh.

That gap and the fact that I covered most of my exposed skin enables me to remain still and silent while Mike gets comfortable. A feat I most likely appear visibly proud of when Anne re-enters the room, grabbing her bag off the floor. She looks the same as she did a few minutes ago – fresh-faced and charming in her jeans, t-shirt and Birkenstocks. Like the quintessential young twenty-something off to class or work.

Her features are pretty, no doubt. Beautiful, even. But it’s her expressions that get me. Her humor. Her blatant dismissal of my fame and my dick.

Damn, I’m dumb.

I see the moment she notices my shirt and fight a smile over the look of relief that passes over her face before her eyebrows jump at seeing Mike beside me.

Knowing last night’s tabby-cat confession has left me in a less than manly light, I try and play off this sudden turn of events with a shrug. ‘He’s all right, I guess.’ Which would’ve been more believable if I didn’t suddenly jerk my arm back when Mike’s tail touches it.

‘Uh huh.’ Walking over to the chair across from me, Anne lowers her bag and grabs a pile of straps and fabric off its seat. ‘You’re a regular cat-lover now.’ She begins inserting herself into the contraption, first one arm, then her head then the other arm.

A baby carrier.

‘What do you need that for?’

She snaps a buckle then points to Mike.

‘Wait.’ I glance back and forth between her and the feline. ‘You’re taking Mike to NASA?’

‘I can’t leave him.’ Her chin drops as she gives a light roll of her baby blues. ‘Not when my Hollywood, high-maintenance house guest suffers from ailurophobia.’

‘Ailuro-what now?’

‘Ailurophobia.’ She smirks. ‘Fear of pussies.’

My lips twitch, warring between amusement and embarrassment. ‘Can’t you just keep him in your room?’

Anne answers with a defeated sigh, her ponytail swinging forward. ‘Unfortunately, no.’ She points to Mike, who has managed to close the gap between us to one inch while I wasn’t looking. ‘Sphinxes are social creatures. It’s why they’re usually adopted in pairs.’ She wraps a strap around her and clicks it to the front. ‘I’m not sure if it’s because he’s a lone sphinx or he’s just a cunt?—’

I sputter over her choice of vernacular.

‘—but Mikey gets up to some serious mischief if he’s left somewhere strange and without a person in sight.’ She gives the carrier a final tug.

Then I watch, horrified, as she gets the cat ready to leave.

The first thing she pulls from her bag is sunscreen. For the cat .

‘I mean, I know that people are supposed to wear sunscreen everyday no matter what, but is it really necessary for a cat?’

Anne sits on the coffee table, facing Mike. ‘Sphinxes have sensitive skin.’ She sprays the SPF onto her hands then reaches out and rubs down Mike’s head and ears. ‘And the sun may not be out too much now, but it will be this afternoon when I walk back.’

‘Wait.’ I shift on the couch, too disturbed to be worried when Mike’s body sinks against mine. ‘You’re walking ?’ I glance at the cat, the carrier and the heavy work bag.

Anne shrugs, continuing to grease up the cat. ‘It’s just down the road.’

A busy, two-way, triple-lane road.

Finished protecting Mike from the hole in the ozone layer, Anne drops the sunscreen back in the bag. ‘Snacks, harness, leash, sweater?—’

‘Sweater?’

She nods, closing the bag. ‘For the polar-like air conditioning NASA pumps into the buildings.’ She lifts Mike, then slides his greased-up body in the baby carrier. ‘He might get a chill.’

‘Meow.’

‘Oh. Sorry Mike.’ She reaches in and turns him so that he’s facing out. ‘I forgot you like to see where we’re going.’

It’s like the cat is a baby.

‘All right then.’ She stands with a grunt and hikes her the bag’s strap on her shoulder. ‘Enjoy your workout.’

She waddles two steps before I’m off the couch. ‘Hold up.’ I jog back to my room, snag a pair of socks and return in seconds. ‘I’ll walk you.’

I’m too busy pulling on socks and jamming my feet into sneakers to look, but I can hear the frown in her voice. ‘You don’t have to. I’m fine. ’

‘Yeah, well, I was going that way anyway.’ I slam my foot down to push my heel into it, then stomp over to her and grab her bag from off her shoulder. ‘Part of my cardio.’

The looks she gives me is far from grateful and mirrors my exact thoughts.

I’m so dumb.