It was then that I realized no one was coming to take my seat. This had Shelby’s fingerprints all over it. “You guys lured me here under false pretenses.”
“You weren’t lured,” he said. “Nobody set up a wooden box and a stick with a string on it.”
“But there is a Snickers bar!”
“True. Only you didn’t know about it until after you were already here, so not a lure.”
“You did set me up, though,” I protested.
“Which you’ll either find charming or it’s what you’ll use as the basis for your restraining order,” he said with a wink, and it sucked all of the fight out of me.
The orchestra started to play, and as the music swelled, the lights went up. The show was starting. I should have been upset. I should have texted Shelby right then and there to tell her what she had done was wrong on so many different levels.
But I didn’t.
He’d brought me my favorite candy bar.
He wanted to spend one of the biggest nights of his life sitting next to me. How could I be mad about that?
Shelby was right. Noah Douglas didn’t give up easily.
And I didn’t know what to do next.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Because I was confused by the two competing desires inside me, one that wanted to run away screaming with my arms flailing and the other wanting to climb into his lap, I fell quiet. I watched the opening musical number and then the first two presenters walked out onstage, but I couldn’t focus. Instead I was keenly aware of him.
As we all politely applauded, Noah leaned in next to me, that clean/expensive scent surrounding me. He whispered, his words hot and breathy against my ear, sending tingles to unmentionable places, “He’s wearing a toupee.”
The actor in question was in his sixties and known for his thick head of hair. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Saw it myself.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Shelby. “What about Melissa Wilton?” She was the copresenter.
“She is pregnant, but her husband is not the father.”
I couldn’t help myself. I gasped. “Who is?”
“The director of her latest miniseries. They’re going to get married after she publicly announces her ‘amicable’ divorce.”
There were a lot of things to like about Noah Douglas, but who knew that gossip would end up being one of them?
When they announced the winner, one of the most prestigious and beloved actors in Hollywood, now it was my turn to lean in and ask, “What about him?”
“He’s dating his granddaughter’s best friend.”
“Ew, gross,” I said.
He kept up a steady stream of commentary through each of the presenters and winners, delighting me in a way I didn’t know was possible. I was having the best time as I found out who was having affairs (it was like ninety percent of them), the people battling addictions, the massive amount of plastic surgery for both men and women, and the ridiculous things they were willing to do for fame.
Like how the Best Supporting Actor winner pretended to have Lyme disease because he had a book coming out and knew he’d get a lot of publicity. Or how last year’s Best Supporting Actress was in the habit of fostering dogs, getting a lot of press about it, and then having her assistant return them to shelters.
That one infuriated me. I was never going to watch a movie she starred in ever again.
“Are you having a good time?” Noah asked during a commercial break.
“Surprisingly enough, I am.”
“Surprisingly? I feel personally attacked. I can be entertaining,” he informed me.
“Duh, we’re sitting here because of your ability to entertain.”
Noah shook his head. “That’s my ability to act, and to connect. Not entertain.”
“They don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
He smiled at me and I had to look away, lest I be totally overwhelmed by him. Someone came over to say hello to Chase Covington, and it reminded me that he was sitting so close to me and I inadvertently whispered Chase’s full name under my breath when he stood up.
Of course, because this was my life, Noah heard me. “You had no idea who I was, but you’ve heard of Covington?”
I went absolutely still, my heart beating loudly but slowly. While I hadn’t forgotten that I’d told Noah I didn’t know who he was, it was something I’d shoved into the very back of my brain, never to be seen again. Like the old, broken Christmas decorations in my mom’s hall closet.
I knew I should tell him. Confess that I could probably quote several of his