a black suit next to me was still muttering under his breath.
A winner was announced and a tiny actress I recognized from a TV show I used to watch went up to the stage to accept. The last thing I could remember reading about her was that she was bearding for a director in order to advance her career.
Huh. Looks like that worked out for her.
She started tearily thanking a long list of people for helping her win the award. That was some industrial-strength waterproof mascara she had on. I was kind of fascinated by how tears could stream down her face without marring any of her makeup. I would have looked like an oversize, drunk raccoon if it had been me up onstage.
“Are you seriously going to sit there and ignore me?” the man asked me.
“I’m trying real hard to,” I finally responded, mostly because this actress was going on and on, despite the fact that they were playing music to get her offstage and she was in the midst of thanking every person she’d ever known, including her eighth-grade PE teacher, I kid you not. “So please be quiet.”
“Did you . . .” His voice trailed off in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just told me to be quiet. You stole my date’s chair and I’m the one who should be quiet?”
I’d reached the end of my douchebag rope. The cameras were still pointed at the stage, where the hosts were now tugging on the actress’s arm to get her to leave. I figured I could risk it. I turned to glare at him.
And my mouth dropped open.
It was him. The man who had played Felix Morrison.
And Malec Shadowfire.
He was the actor Noah Douglas, star of my favorite TV show growing up, and he had recently starred as the villain in a billion-dollar fantasy franchise about fairies. He was at this awards show for his most recent role as a young husband and father whose wife was dying of cancer in a film that aired exclusively on InstaFlicks. The movie was really good, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember his character’s name. Toby? Charlie? Phillip?
I was staring at him. In a very stalkery way, so maybe he’d had a point earlier. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid it might break free from all the veins and arteries that were (I think?) currently trying to tether it in place.
“You’re . . . you’re . . .” My mind had turned completely off. Of course, when I was twelve years old I had daydreamed more than once about what I would say to Noah Douglas when we met. Of how I’d win him over with my wit and natural charm.
That was not happening. I was floundering badly and couldn’t even figure out a way to finish the sentence I’d started.
This was in large part because he was ridiculously, almost . . . animalistically attractive. He wasn’t conventionally handsome; his nose was a little too big, his lips a tad too full. It shouldn’t have worked, but for some reason on him his features came together in a way that made it hard to look away. He had dark-brown hair like mine, nearly black, and these intense, hooded light-brown eyes that made my stomach flip over and over.
What was I supposed to say to the man who had played Felix? And Malec? And that other guy whose name I still couldn’t remember?
“Whatever you do,” he said, his deep voice now so recognizable that I felt stupid for not having realized that it was him sooner, “do not call me Felix. Or Malec Shadowfire.”
OMG, Noah Douglas was a freaking mind reader, too. This was bad. Very bad. I tried to banish every impure thought I was currently having about him.
Then, that flare of annoyance was back. Just because I was female and of a certain age, did that automatically mean I should recognize him? That I totally did was beside the point. He shouldn’t have been egotistical enough to assume it. For all he knew, I could have been like . . . my mom. Who loved the theater and didn’t watch television or movies because they were “less than.” She wouldn’t have known who Noah Douglas was.
So why was he so certain that I did?
“Why do you think I’d call you by those names?” I asked.
He gave me a look of weariness bordering on contempt. “Because that’s what people always call me. But I do