anything but stupid.
Devon Ray didn’t seem put off by my sudden inability to do anything correctly. He was so gently amused that it was beguiling. Celebrities—they’re just like us. Charming, patient, as beautiful as some fallen angel.
Well, that last part wasn’t ordinary.
“I’m not who you expected to open the door, am I?” he said, smiling and cocking his head at me.
I finally relinquished the pizza box to him, watching as he set it on a side table.
“This isn’t even the nicest hotel in Dallas,” I said, repeating an observation I’d had the moment he’d opened the door. It were as if I’d lost the filter between my brain and my mouth somewhere between knocking on the door and him opening it.
“Well, if you expect me to be staying at the nicest hotel in Dallas, guess who else would?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “The paparazzi. And guess what they’d be writing about if they see me ordering pizza?”
I stood, dumbfounded and still unable to believe I was in Devon’s presence.
“They’d say I was sloppy and single,” he said, laughing at himself. “That I was letting myself go. That my career was plateauing.”
He grabbed a glass on the table that I hadn’t noticed before—really, it was hard to notice anything other than Devon Ray, standing in front of me. But the way he carefully swirled the liquid that remained in it, making the mostly melted ice cubes clink together, made me realize that the actor was drinking—no, he was drunk. Well before five o’clock. Alone. Ordering pizza. In not even the nicest hotel in the city.
Celebrities—they’re just like us. Day drinkers, miserable, insecure.
His apparent imperfections made me a little more comfortable to be in his presence.
“I think they only say that about actresses,” I offered. “If someone got a photo of you with a pizza, they’d say how your workout requires lots of calories to be consumed, or that you were carb loading for your next musclebound role.”
Devon studied me for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing, the sound probably echoing down the entire floor. For someone drinking in the middle of the day, he sure seemed chipper.
“The drinking alone thing, though, you’d have to work hard to spin,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and eyeing him critically. “You’d have to say you’re immersing yourself in an unsavory character for an upcoming project. That you’re method acting. And even then, there’ll probably be backlash. But you probably have a good publicist.”
“Maybe I’ll just hire you,” he suggested. “You seem to know a lot about Hollywood.”
I shrugged. “I read a lot.”
“And you watch my movies.”
I thought I’d been able to move past the embarrassed stage, but there I was, flushing all over again.
“I watched the latest one. The one where you’re an idiot for half the movie, but you get the girl in the end.”
Devon snorted. “You’re going to have to be more specific. That’s about half my lexicon.”
“It sounds like you’re not very excited about being one of the biggest actors in the game right now,” I observed. Celebrities—they’re just like us. Disenfranchised.
“Just tired right now. That’s all.”
He didn’t look tired to me. Devon Ray was probably incapable of looking anything except for hot and hotter. The skin beneath his eyes had probably never bruised into circles after a sleepless night, never bagged after having too much to drink.
“Why are you in Dallas?” I asked him again. “And why are you hiding from the paparazzi?”
“I’m not hiding,” he said, grimacing as he sipped again from the glass, moving across the room to a tray with an ice bucket and bottle of vodka. I took the moment, away from his beauty and fame, to breathe again. Looking around the room for the first time, I noted the piles of clothes, the sheaves of paper spread out across one of the beds. This wasn’t even one of the nicer rooms in
Devon Ray didn’t seem put off by my sudden inability to do anything correctly. He was so gently amused that it was beguiling. Celebrities—they’re just like us. Charming, patient, as beautiful as some fallen angel.
Well, that last part wasn’t ordinary.
“I’m not who you expected to open the door, am I?” he said, smiling and cocking his head at me.
I finally relinquished the pizza box to him, watching as he set it on a side table.
“This isn’t even the nicest hotel in Dallas,” I said, repeating an observation I’d had the moment he’d opened the door. It were as if I’d lost the filter between my brain and my mouth somewhere between knocking on the door and him opening it.
“Well, if you expect me to be staying at the nicest hotel in Dallas, guess who else would?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “The paparazzi. And guess what they’d be writing about if they see me ordering pizza?”
I stood, dumbfounded and still unable to believe I was in Devon’s presence.
“They’d say I was sloppy and single,” he said, laughing at himself. “That I was letting myself go. That my career was plateauing.”
He grabbed a glass on the table that I hadn’t noticed before—really, it was hard to notice anything other than Devon Ray, standing in front of me. But the way he carefully swirled the liquid that remained in it, making the mostly melted ice cubes clink together, made me realize that the actor was drinking—no, he was drunk. Well before five o’clock. Alone. Ordering pizza. In not even the nicest hotel in the city.
Celebrities—they’re just like us. Day drinkers, miserable, insecure.
His apparent imperfections made me a little more comfortable to be in his presence.
“I think they only say that about actresses,” I offered. “If someone got a photo of you with a pizza, they’d say how your workout requires lots of calories to be consumed, or that you were carb loading for your next musclebound role.”
Devon studied me for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing, the sound probably echoing down the entire floor. For someone drinking in the middle of the day, he sure seemed chipper.
“The drinking alone thing, though, you’d have to work hard to spin,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and eyeing him critically. “You’d have to say you’re immersing yourself in an unsavory character for an upcoming project. That you’re method acting. And even then, there’ll probably be backlash. But you probably have a good publicist.”
“Maybe I’ll just hire you,” he suggested. “You seem to know a lot about Hollywood.”
I shrugged. “I read a lot.”
“And you watch my movies.”
I thought I’d been able to move past the embarrassed stage, but there I was, flushing all over again.
“I watched the latest one. The one where you’re an idiot for half the movie, but you get the girl in the end.”
Devon snorted. “You’re going to have to be more specific. That’s about half my lexicon.”
“It sounds like you’re not very excited about being one of the biggest actors in the game right now,” I observed. Celebrities—they’re just like us. Disenfranchised.
“Just tired right now. That’s all.”
He didn’t look tired to me. Devon Ray was probably incapable of looking anything except for hot and hotter. The skin beneath his eyes had probably never bruised into circles after a sleepless night, never bagged after having too much to drink.
“Why are you in Dallas?” I asked him again. “And why are you hiding from the paparazzi?”
“I’m not hiding,” he said, grimacing as he sipped again from the glass, moving across the room to a tray with an ice bucket and bottle of vodka. I took the moment, away from his beauty and fame, to breathe again. Looking around the room for the first time, I noted the piles of clothes, the sheaves of paper spread out across one of the beds. This wasn’t even one of the nicer rooms in
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