30
“Luna Aldridge Joined Boyfriend Kieran Alexander Inside at Cannes”
—Confessions!
I COULD GET high on the look that painted Kieran’s face.
There was this mysterious expression of flirtation mixed with anguish.
His eyes were inviting me in, but his jaw was locked with tension as if he was holding back words.
I’d try prying them open if it weren’t for my skin’s relentless need to vibrate with anticipation.
It had been buzzing since the moment he told me to kiss him two days ago.
That… that had done a number on the muscles in my legs.
I couldn’t shake the image of his face from my mind: strands of dark hair spilling over his forehead like streams of black fountain pen ink, and hypnotizing ocean eyes pulling me in as his chest pumped air in and out with unease.
Kiss me.
I needed to remember my objectives, not fall apart the moment he offered me his hand and touched my hair.
He twisted in front of me. God, he was so beautiful. The sun carved out the crevices in his cheekbones and the muscles in his abdomen, sinking between them.
You okay? he mouthed.
I’m okay. Please tell me he didn’t see me ogling his abs.
Then he stopped and leaned into my neck. I jolted.
“You should be photographed, so I’m going to back off. I’ll wait up there for you.” He stepped back so I could see his face. It was overwhelmingly close. How did things like this not affect him?
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He squeezed my hand before walking off. I stood by myself, surrounded by others posing in a similar fashion. But I didn’t absorb anything the photographers were shouting. My mind was clouded with the idea of Kieran watching me. All I could do was stare back at him from afar.
Flustered, I headed for the grand staircase. This should be over soon, seeing as he didn’t like to stay for the film.
“Are you ready to go?” I asked, approaching his tall figure leaning against the entrance.
He offered his elbow. I accepted, resting my hand on the inside of his arm, watching the thin material ruffle under my fingers.
“Oh, we’re not leaving,” he replied. He walked us toward one of the lines.
“We’re watching the movie?”
“Unfortunately.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Well, this is pretty much the one place I have no choice. It’d be in bad taste to attend the festival and not watch with everyone who’s attended.”
We entered the dark theater and I let go of his elbow, following him as he took the steps down to the first few rows. Excitement bubbled under my skin with each step we took. This wasn’t Saving September, but it was better than nothing at all. We took our seats, and the screen flickered on.
Twenty minutes in, and Kieran had finally entered the film. His hair was a chestnut brown rather than the almost black color beside me. When he spoke, a French accent spilled out. My muscles were muddying, becoming a putty in the seat that was responsible for holding me up.
I used every muscle in my neck to avoid looking at him. Staring at him on the billboard-sized screen in front of us was mind-boggling. How were these two people the same human?
An hour later, he was kissing Jonathan Russell’s character, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Jonathan was gripping Kieran’s waist and Kieran was clutching his jaw. Their lips moved in a chaotic rhythm. Want, desire, need. It was in Kieran’s tightly closed eyes and Jonathan’s curled fists.
Was that how he kissed me? Was that how he kissed all of the people he pretended to date? And was I the only one who had succumbed to it?
Engaging in acts that made us appear as a couple, like holding hands and leaning into each other’s personal space, was one thing. But to be intimate was… entirely different. To be kissed by him and not feel that thick, rolling desire radiating through every muscle in my body was impossible.
On-screen Kieran moaned into Jonathan’s mouth.
My grip on the armrest tightened. Suddenly, the air in the theater was draped over my chest, slowing my breathing.
The sounds of their mixed groans filled the room, but all I could hear were Kieran’s.
It was a singled-out noise flooding my ears like a siren’s call.
Heat curled in my chest and dropped to the bottom of my stomach, building more and more. He rolled his hips, and it reminded me of the dream I had when I slept next to him in England. The dream I was trying to drag by the ankles out of my mind. Now I was watching a version of it in HD.
The Kieran beside me was trying to look anywhere but forward. It was evident how uncomfortable he was having to watch himself. And now his face was filling half the screen. With this view, I could count his dark eyelashes and admire the freckles that ran down his neck.
I pried my eyes away and found him staring at the corner of the theater. Opening my purse, I pulled out a card and pen and began writing. Immediately, I could feel his attention.
“Is that a mini deck of Uno?” he whispered.
“It’s called Uno Go actually,” I said without looking over, continuing to write There are approximately 100 women behind us drooling over you. As I finished, I slid the card across the armrest. “Take it.”
He raised his eyebrows and read the card. Then he turned—
“No, Jesus, don’t look!” I whispered, grabbing his shoulder.
He ducked his head. “I wanted to see!”
“Why would I lie?”
“Why would anyone be staring?”
“I didn’t write ‘staring,’ I wrote ‘drooling.’”
“Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Look at what you’re doing.” I gestured to the screen and immediately regretted it. Kieran was on top of Jonathan, peeling his shirt off. The number of muscles in Kieran’s torso was sinful.
His eyes were still wide with confusion beside me.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s hot.”
“How so?”
I stared at the screen. “You’re both just so enthralled with each other. From the placement of your hands to the way you’re looking at him and you’re both shirtless and—” I pulled my eyes from the screen and found him holding back a smile.
“No please, keep going.”
I smacked his arm. “I’m sure you have enough women filling your head with compliments.”
“I don’t find myself thinking about other women very often,” he whispered.
The cloak of darkness swallowing the room couldn’t have felt lighter then. I felt naked. His eyes traced my face for a response, but I was empty of one. Or at least one that was clever, so I pivoted.
“Just Jonathan?” I gestured to the screen.
He instantly pressed his lips together to suppress laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, as much as I love Jonathan, I’m not sure his husband would be happy about that.”
“Must be hard being so handsome.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m that handsome, but—”
“I was still talking about Jonathan.”
“Aren’t you just hilarious. Do you get off on making fun of me?”
“You have no idea.”
He nodded. “Good to know the feeling’s mutual.”
Oh. Yup, there was that image of him rolling his hips in my mind again.
“Can I see that pen?” he asked. I handed it over without question. Before I could realize what he was doing, the credits were rolling.
We had talked through the end of the film.
The theater stood with applause. I clapped with them, watching Kieran try to maintain a content expression. Then his hand was against mine. I accepted the Uno card.
Flipping it over, he had written: Hotel Lobby, 8 PM Tonight.