Page 65 of Anyone But the Superstar

And while I’m well versed in improv and could probably romance a soliloquy that would make men and women weep like they do at my movie’s happy endings, a good actor knows when to talk, and when to take action.

Leaning towards her, I grab her chin in my hand and do what I did this afternoon by the pool, what I’ve been dying to do since she first laughed at my beard in the bar.

I kiss her.

17

LIZ

He tastes like tomato.

And while that taste made me gag a second ago, I find it damn delicious on Felix’s lips. ‘Hmmm.’

Yet, just as I lean into the kiss, he pulls back, his eyes moving back and forth between mine. ‘“Hmmm” as in keep going, or “Hmmm” as in stop?’

Thus far, I’ve managed to use drawing slightly pornographic pictures of him as an outlet for my built-up attraction. But after today’s scripted poolside kiss and now his impromptu one, I’m not about to hold back. Not after he was willing to poison himself rather than hurt my feelings.

I slide off my stool, then fist my hands in his shirt to yank him off his. ‘“Hmmm” as in let’s do this, Hollywood.’

Eye wide, he laughs. ‘Hollywood?’

Smoothing out his t-shirt, I run my palms over his chest. ‘You prefer Johnny Douchebag?’

His expression flattens. ‘Definitely not.’

‘Well then.’ With only my fingers curling over his shouldersas a warning, I jump, straddling him, unsurprised when Felix’s hands instinctively cup my ass to hold me. ‘Let’s do this.’

He manages to sidestep out between the stools and walk down the hall with me attacking his neck, ears and face like a starved octopus.

And I am.

Not an octopus. But starved.

I never denied I was attracted to him. I just denied myself action. Which I only managed to do because I held onto the numbing cream grudge for far too long.

It took Mike Hunt and eggshells in rice to finally break down the barriers I’d built around my libido.

In a few strong strides, we’re in my room, and I’m dropped on the bed. With the floodgates now open, my hands have his belt unbuckled before my ass stops bouncing.

Felix chuckles. ‘You in a rush?’

I answer by nearly whipping myself in the face with the leather strap as I move it aside to get to his button. ‘Well—’ I nod at the bulge below my hands ‘—you’re hard.’ I pop the button and lower the zipper.

Shoving his jeans to the floor, I reach for his boxer briefs. They’re red.

‘Um, yeah.’ Felix huffs a laugh. ‘Why wouldn’t I be hard?’

I stare, transfixed, as his ab muscles clench and retract in tandem as my index fingers slide back and forth under the waistband.

It’s well known that women have a thing for grey, but honestly, that’s only because they haven’t seen Felix Jones in red. I make a mental note to write to the Calvin Klein marketing people about this so they can rectify his billboard.

Felix reaches out a hand, trailing one finger down the side of my jaw, breaking my concentration.

Narrowing my eyes on his rather smug face, I pull the waistband out and let it snap back, smirking when he winces. ‘Well, with yoursituation, it’s best to take action as soon as possible before…’

Belying the erectile issues I was about to mention, his dick – long and hard – does what the belt did not.

Smacks me in the face.