Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I’m not sure I deserve a friend like you, BAWN.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: You don’t. You deserve so much more.
14
“I’M NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN THE WORLD NEEDED A COCROFFINUT.” April popped the last bite into her mouth, sugar crystals sparkling on her lips. “However, I can now feel individual electrons orbiting the nucleus of every atom in my body. If that was the creator’s intent, mission accomplished.”
Marcus had to laugh, despite his preoccupation with her mouth. “I love it when you talk science-y to me.”
She smiled at him, freckled cheeks pink in the sun, and God, he’d never been happier to ignore Alex’s advice and his own best judgment. Never.
When she’d written him Monday evening, apparently willing to let him emerge from the hole he’d inadvertently dug for himself, he hadn’t hesitated or thought twice. Not given the misery of their days without contact.
The absence of April in his life had hollowed out each and every day. For an hour or two at a time, maybe, he could distract himself from that emptiness. With writing, with reading the scripts his agent sent, with binge-watching British baking shows alongside Alex. But in the end, there he was, always, alone in his echoing LA home. Lonely. Missing a dear friend and—more. Whatever else they were becoming together before he’d tripped one of her personal land mines.
So, yeah. Good judgment be damned. Despite all the complications of the situation, any chance to be with April, he’d take.
“Funny you should say that. The people at my new job have a group T-shirt, I found out this week.” With a careless sweep, she brushed crumbs off her chest and onto the sidewalk, where curious birds were edging closer. “It says Talk Dirt-y to Me.”
Apparently science people enjoyed puns too. Good to know. “Nice.”
In the sunshine, her hair resembled a flame, and Marcus couldn’t resist huddling closer to the heat. He shifted until they sat hip to hip on the wooden bench. As she watched him, brown eyes intent behind her glasses, he stroked his thumb along her plush lower lip to tease free those clinging crystals.
Her neck arched, just a little.
Without breaking eye contact, he licked the sugar from his thumb, and she took a shuddering breath.
No. He wasn’t going to kiss her actual mouth for the first time on a park bench in public, not where everyone could see and document the occasion. Again.
After a fraught moment, he managed to look away. Clearing his throat, he fumbled with the paper menu he’d grabbed inside the shop and took his time reading aloud the description of the item she’d just finished.
“The coco—” He sighed. “Shit, this one is hard. Okay, let me try it again. The cocroffinut—”
She clapped. “Well done.”
“Save your applause until we find out whether I can do it twice.” One syllable at a time. “The cocroffinut, the world’s first and most delicious coffee/croissant/muffin/doughnut hybrid, contains the caffeine equivalent of four espressos.”
She glanced down at the empty box on her lap. “Damn. Four espressos?”
He reread the description. “Yup. Well, that would explain your newfound sensitivity to orbiting electrons.”
Getting to her feet, she rolled her eyes. “Hipsters, man. Hipsters.”
He grinned up at her. “You said it was delicious.”
“It was,” she agreed, gathering their trash. “I also thought the glazed doughnut we shared at our last place, the one the size of my head, was delicious, and it cost approximately one-tenth as much as the croco—”
“Cocro—” he corrected automatically.
“—muffinut or whatever the hell I just finished eating. It also didn’t leave me in possible need of a defibrillator.” Once she’d thrown their trash in the nearest recycling and waste bins, she laid a palm over her chest. “I think my heart is doing the jitterbug in there, even though I actually have no idea what the jitterbug entails.”
He sat straighter. “If you need to see a doctor, I can take you.”
“Nah. I’m just being overly dramatic, probably because of all the caffeine.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t mind me.”
Whew. He’d really prefer their third date not necessitate medical intervention, if at all possible. Especially since he had hopes for the evening.
High hopes. Turgid hopes, to use one of TopMeAeneas’s favorite adjectives.
“Being a drama queen is my job, lady. Hands off.” Leaning back again, he rested his arms along the top of the bench. “Speaking of my job, I actually learned how to jitterbug for a historical miniseries. I could show you.”
Lindy Hope, the inspirational—if entirely fictional—story of how swing dancing turned the tide of one World War II battle, hadn’t exactly broken viewing-audience records, but at least he’d gotten some decent moves and a decent paycheck out of it.
“Why don’t we walk while you tell me more?” She held out a hand. “I’m too caffeinated to sit still.”
He accepted her hand and got to his feet, interlacing their fingers as they headed toward the water. “Um . . . what do you want to know?”
Normally, he’d steer the topic toward hair care or workouts, or mention only the most superficial things he’d learned over the years. Before showing up at their first doughnut shack a couple of hours ago, though, he’d already disposed of that particular shield.
She was meeting him as he really was today, like it or not.
The possibility that she might not like it had his own heart skittering a bit. As did the possibility that he was tossing his reputation into the garbage alongside their cocroffinut detritus, because if she ever revealed him as a faker to the world before he was ready, before he could explain—
She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. He trusted her that far, and he trusted his own ability to do sufficient damage control if she proved him naive.
His fanfic alter ego, though . . . no amount of PR and damage control could stop the knowledge of that from destroying his career.
Eventually, maybe he could tell her he was Book!AeneasWouldNever.
Not now. Not yet.
“Okay, fun stuff first.” She was swinging their hands in a huge, swift, jerky arc, and yes, he could definitely tell she’d had more than her usual share of caffeine. It was fucking adorable. “What’s the most memorable movie you’ve ever been part of?”
He snorted. “That’s a tougher question than you might think. I’ve been acting for over twenty years now. There are lots of possibilities to consider.”
For some reason, the bad roles were so much easier to remember than the movies whose premieres he’d attended with sincere pride. Probably more entertaining to hear about too.
Her stride was becoming an uncharacteristic sort of half jog, half skip, her hair swinging around her shoulders with each hyperactive, bouncing step. “Then tell me all of them.”
“Since that could take weeks, I’ll choose a representative sampling.” Damn, he needed to hustle faster to keep up with her. “My worst film overall was probably, um . . . Hounded, I guess.”
Her brow crinkled as she thought. “You were a perfumer in that one, right? Wrongly accused of a terrible crime?”