Method(13)

I laugh again and am hesitant to pull away from our exchange. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Lucas, and shame on you for not noticing me.”

“Yes, I admit that was really stupid,” he says in a tone that has chills racing up my spine.

“Forgiven,” I say with a wink, “but be nice to the wine, okay?”

“Sure thing, Mila,” he whispers, with a lopsided grin.

He’s still got his hands in his pockets, and I’m utterly lost as I stand there ogling him with a bottle full of wine, empty glasses calling, and a job to do. I want to freeze time and just be able to look at him, but the moment has long passed, so I turn and walk back toward the crowd perched in front of the screen. Adrenaline peaks as I spend the night recounting the way it felt to be in his presence, to be admired by him. As the night goes on, I slowly deflate when I spot him talking to others amongst the party, particularly a handsy woman who can’t seem to stop touching his chest. I decide that inkling I felt was probably a product of my starry-eyed imagination. Actors are well-known for having consuming presences, it’s what makes them stars.

It’s only when I’m grabbing my things to leave that I see him again. I’m halfway to the front door when he emerges from one of the parlor rooms next to it. A slew of voices still carries from the courtyard, but my job is done, and I’m too exhausted to cater to any lingerers.

“Mila.”

I grin at the sound of his voice behind me. “Did you finally discover wine is your friend?” Turning his way, I’m struck with the same overpowering inkling.

“No, actually, I was hoping for a private tasting,” he whispers seductively.

“Ew,” I say, scrunching my nose as I slide my purse over my shoulder.

“Ew?” he repeats with a frown.

“Yeah, ew. Really, Lucas?”

“Shit,” he says, palming his forehead. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out.” I can’t help but laugh. I can tell he’s buzzed. He looks over at me helplessly, and I give into the pull, folding my jacket over my arm and taking a step back toward him. “Want to try again?”

“I was hoping you would teach me about wine privately.”

“Better, but it lacks romance. Is this a date you’re asking me on?”

“Wow.” He stalks forward, pinning me in the short space between him and the door. “First,” he says roughly, “you shouldn’t cut a man’s balls off and dangle them in front of him when he’s doing his best to ask you out. It’s not nice.”

“Sorry, French mother, we’ve been oppressing men since…forever. Then again, it may not have anything to do with being French, it may just be my mother.”

He grins, inching closer and everything inside draws tight. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this type of pull. I can’t decipher if it’s because he’s Lucas Walker or due to how incredibly handsome he is, but I assume it’s probably a mix of both.

“Did you get your manners from your mother as well?”

“Absolutely,” I answer unapologetically.

His eyes narrow a fraction. “I want to take you out, yes, but I would like an education about wine.”

“It would never work, Lucas.” I sigh dramatically. “You clearly hate wine.”

“I could learn to love it,” he says with a lift to his voice.

I snort sarcastically. “And will this be your very first date?”

He scowls. “Just the tasting then, no date. Something tells me you are trouble.”

“That’s fine because I’m not allowed to date actors anyway. Mom’s rules.”

He quirks a perfect dark brow. “Aren’t you old enough to avoid obeying Mom?”

“You haven’t met my mother.” Renewed energy races through me when he takes the hand wrapped around my purse. It’s as if he couldn’t wait to know what it might be like to touch me. His warm hand encases mine. We both feel it, the jolt, I can see it in his eyes. His satisfied smirk lets me know I’m unable to hide my own reaction and he weighs it, scrutinizing the part of my lips. We stand there, simply staring until he finally speaks, his voice full of surety when it cuts through the silence.

“I’ll get your info from the host.”

I nod. “That’s fine. It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date,” he says assuredly, before brushing his thumb across my wrist and then letting go.

“Right.” We linger, both reluctant to leave but unsure of what to say. The connection makes me ache in the best imaginable way. I’m in a daydream, standing in front of one of the rising kings of Hollywood. It’s a memory I’ll relive over and over even if he doesn’t call. Without thinking it through, I push up on my toes and kiss his cheek, inhaling his scent, enjoying the sensation of my lips against the light stubble on his jaw. “It was nice meeting you. Goodnight, Lucas.”

He leans in to reciprocate, pressing his full lips to my cheek, and my senses explode. My entire body shudders in awareness when he pulls away, his long lashes flit over his cheeks as his hooded eyes rise to meet mine. “I’ll bring the Yoohoo.”

“Ew.”

We share a laugh before he opens the door for me. Descending the grand steps, I resist the urge to look back, but I can sense his eyes on me.