Page 120 of The Bodyguard

“I don’t want to have a staring contest.”

“Too late.”

I gave him a short sigh of capitulation.

“Come on, come on,” Jack said, waving me closer.

Fine. I leaned forward a little.

Jack leaned forward, too.

And then we were staring at each other, noses a few inches apart—not blinking. The air between us felt strangely silky.

And when it got too intense, I said, “I’ve heard there’s a scientific thing that if you look into someone’s eyes for too long, you’ll fall in love.”

Jack looked away.

Noted.

Then he looked back. “Don’t mess me up. Starting over.”

After a little longer, I said, “My eyes are starting to sting.”

“That’s good. Lean into that. In sixty seconds, you’ll be a professional actress.”

“It’s not… comfortable.”

“Excellence never is.”

I should appreciate this moment, I thought. I was here, in person, with Jack Stapleton—the Jack Stapleton—in the midmorning light, drinking in the contours of his in-real-life face. The crinkles at his eyes. The stubble of his not-yet-shaven jaw. By tomorrow, I’d only ever see him again on screens. Remember this, I told myself. Pay attention.

“No cheating,” Jack said then.

“How would I even cheat?”

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

“You’re trying to win this, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I thought you were just teaching me.”

“Have to keep it interesting.”

It was already interesting, but okay.

“And don’t make me laugh,” Jack said, all stern.

“You never laugh,” I said.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop doing that with your face.”

“I’m not doing anything with my face.”