She scoffed. Friends? That was ridiculous. He didn’t know the first thing about her, didn’t even seem interested in her beyond the physical. “We’re not friends.”
“We could be friends.” He rubbed his leg against her lower calf, sending tingles up her spine.
Besides, his version of friends didn’t seem the same as hers. She pulled her leg out of his reach. “No, we can’t. You can’t even keep your hands to yourself.”
“I can, and my hands aren’t even touching you.” He waved his fingers in the air to further his point.
“Whatever.” He was flustering her. As always. “Your feet, your hands, your things.”
Micah grinned. “Are you sure you want that? My things are awfully fun.”
She flushed. “We are totally not friends.” She didn’t even want to be friends with him—spend more time with him so she could crush on him even harder? No way.
Micah sat forward, suddenly serious. “Look, we have to spend the rest of the shoot together. Work together every day. And that means you might drop your tape measure in front of me and I might get all turned on and we have to be able to laugh about it like friends.”
He was getting cute. She needed another drink.
“Or Beaumont might want you to run lines. I still have a sex scene coming up. What if you get sent in to help with that?”
“I won’t.” Fuck no. She’d be na**d within half a page. She signaled the waitress for another round.
“You won’t be sent or you won’t help?” He propped his elbow on the table and set his chin in his hand.
She glared at him then melted at his boyish expression. God help her. She kept up her protest, hoping he hadn’t realized her crumbling resolve. “Well, I might be sent, but I’m not helping.”
“What? That isn’t any kind of friend to be.”
She covered her eyes with her hands, hiding her amusement. “Because we’re not friends.”
When she removed her hands she found him grinning at her. He gave a half-wink. Oh, for the love of God. He knew he’d won her over.
His ocean-blue eyes sparkled. “You say that, but you don’t mean it. I’m fun. Even when I keep my things to myself.”
“All right, all right.” She sighed. “Friends.”
He sat back, basking in his win. “Awesome.”
Maybe they could be friends. She liked talking with him and hadn’t felt so relaxed in…she couldn’t even remember how long. She enjoyed his banter, almost as much as she enjoyed his hands on her.
No, she couldn’t think about that. They were friends.
The waitress delivered their beers, lingering to stare at the Hollywood star. Micah appeared not to notice. He raised his own beer and clinked Maddie’s bottle. “To newfound friendship.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She took a swallow.
“Now that we’re buds,” Micah said, setting his glass down. “I have to tell you: do not go on a date with that P.A. scum.”
Here it was. She’d known friendship wouldn’t work. “It’s not a date.”
Micah nodded toward the pool tables where Sam and Chloe appeared to be nearing the end of their game. “He thinks it is.”
“It’s not.” Though she wasn’t exactly sure that was true. “And it’s none of your business.”
He cocked his head. “We’re friends. Friends don’t let friends date douchebags.”
Again with the cute. He had charm down to a science. “He is not a douchebag. And I want to go to Breckenridge.”
“Let me take you.”
Maddie paused momentarily thrown by his abrupt sincerity. “First of all, no. That would not be a good idea.” Not a good idea at all. “Secondly, Sam’s from here. He’s a perfect guide.”
Micah scowled. “He’s a douchebag.”
“At least he’s not a playboy.” Low blow and she knew it.
He flinched slightly. “You don’t know that. He doesn’t want to show you Breckenridge. He wants to show you what’s in his pants. And I guarantee it’s not much.”
“Whatever, Micah.” She was not going back to a conversation about pants. That only led to thoughts of what was inside Micah’s pants. And she had already thought about and touched—God, did she really do that?—his love muscle way too much for one night. Correction, too much for one day.
And now she was thinking about his dick again, hard and inside her. Did she really have to give this up?
It was as if he sensed her resolve breaking. “Come on, I’d make it fun.” He gave his most devilish grin—the one that made Maddie weak in the knees and slippery in her panties. He lowered his voice as Sam and a few of the spectators returned to the table. “I think I’ve demonstrated that in the past, haven’t I?”
Maddie’s belly tightened at the soft, seductive quality of his voice. Dammit. She had planned for the evening to go one way: handjob then blow off. Instead he had complicated things with “just friends”, wandering hands, and an invitation to spend their day off together. She no longer had a hold on what was up or down with Micah Preston. What she did know was that a daytrip spent with Sam would pale in comparison to one spent with the hot piece of meat next to her, though Sam would certainly be safer. Well, somewhat safer—he would likely make advances of his own, but Maddie could handle him. Not necessarily true with Micah. She was befuddled.
“I totally thought she had you,” Fudge said. “Excellent final play.”
“Thanks, man.” Sam slid in next to Maddie.
Maddie turned toward Sam, distancing herself from Micah. “So you won?”
“I kicked her four-foot-eight ass.”
“Four foot eight and a half, thank you very much,” Chloe corrected, sitting along with Fudge on the other side of Micah.
“Next time, I’d love to have you there to cheer me on.” Sam put his hand over Maddie’s on the table.
Ah, crap. He was totally into her. And going alone with him to the film festival would likely give him ideas about them as a couple which would totally be misleading because she was not jumping baby-face Sam. No, she couldn’t do that to him.
But it was Micah that made her decide to compromise. She glanced at him when Sam took her hand, expecting to see an I-told-you-so look on his face. Instead, he’d let his mask slip for the slightest of moments, and underneath the hot actor exterior she saw a lonely, yearning man.