gives your complexion a bit of a warm glow under those harsh lights. It’s got some warm undertones and a little bit of fleshy pink. It goes on your cheeks and lips.”
Exhaling, I settle back into my chair as her fingertips dab some into the apples of my cheeks. She returns her fingers to the pot, picking up some more product before moving toward my lips. With slow, feather-light strokes, she applies the natural hue, her fingers grazing and sending a rush of cheesy teenage tingles down my spine.
I know it’s been a long time since anyone has touched my lips, and the soft, gentle stroking didn’t help, but my body didn’t have to get all butterflies and rainbows just then.
Pathetic, honestly.
“Wait,” I say, like I’m late to the party. “How’d you know what the crazy chick was wearing yesterday?”
“Lucky guess?”
I don’t believe her, but I don’t know how to say that without sounding paranoid. There’s no fucking way this is the same lunatic hanging outside my door yesterday.
Pulling a small comb from her apron, she rakes it through my eyebrows and then stands back.
“Looks good,” she says. I assume she’s referring to her work and not me. Aidy reaches around my neck, unfastening the smock before folding it away.
I climb out of the chair, hunching over to check out my hair and makeup in the mirror. Upon closer inspection, I look airbrushed and flawless. Like a bona fide pretty boy.
Aidy moves to the side to clean her tools, putting everything back into its own organized compartment in her carrying case, and I’m two seconds from making one final offer to sign something for her nephew.
Turning to face me, she points to a spot on the vanity behind me, brows lifted.
“You mind?” She reaches around me, nearly pressing her body against mine, and retrieves a spray bottle with some hand-written label on the front.
Her scent invades my lungs for a moment, and it makes me think of sunscreen and lavender and some kind of exotic fruit. It’s a mix of a bunch of things that don’t really belong together, but somehow they’re perfect on her.
“Thanks,” I say, checking out my makeup one last time.
“For what?”
“For not telling me to fuck off today.”
She smirks, shaking her head. “I figured twice was enough.”
“Twice?”
Scratching my temple, I blow a hard breath between my lips and study her face. The girl outside my place yesterday looks nothing like the girl standing before me, but then again, I was more concerned with chasing her off than memorizing the color of her eyes or the delicate curve of her jaw.
“Mr. Amato, it’s time.” Blake peeks his head in the door to my dressing room, followed by his watch. “I’ll take you to the set, and we’ll go over everything there.”
Aidy rubs her lips together, fighting a smile, and turns away.
“I’ll be out in a sec,” I say to him.
Aidy’s back is to me, and Blake is tapping his pointed black loafers on the tile floor, and the sound of Michelle yelling at someone about craft services wafts from down the hall.
Questions linger on my tongue as I stare at Aidy from across the room.
“Mr. Amato, I’m sorry, but we need to go.” Blake says, words rushed and urgent. He steps inside the dressing room, and I half-wonder if he thinks he’s going to have to physically peel me out of here. “We’re live in ten.”
Aidy finally turns to face me, her sapphire blue gaze holding mine. I refuse to believe this is the same girl trying to leave her notebook on my steps yesterday like some crazy person. This woman, the one standing before me with short shorts and bare shoulders and red lips and hair that says she’s too cool to care, seems completely normal.
“What’s the hold up?” Michelle appears from behind Blake, her face twisted and jaw hanging. “We just standing around chit-chatting or what? Come on, people. Head to the set. Now. We’ve got a show to shoot.”
Blake gives me a pleading look, and I’m not in the mood to be responsible for getting an intern canned, so I gather myself and peel my gaze from Aidy. Following Blake out to the hall, he leads me to the set and points me toward a chair marked “guest.”
Michelle comes up to me, handing me what looks like a script. Upon closer examination, it appears to be the schedule for the show. The host, Michael Bradbury, will lead in, introduce me, and then dive right