Free How to Sleep with a Movie Star by Kristin Harmel Page A

think I have no morals and would just hook up with someone who’s married,” he continued, sounding pained. “Is she a beautiful woman? Yes. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to sleep with her. Or that she wants to sleep with me, for that matter. I just don’t get how people make this stuff up in the tabloids. And you can quote me on that. All of it. In fact, please do. I hate all this tabloid crap.”
    He shook his head and made a face that reminded me so much of a lost little boy that I instantly wanted to cup his face in my hands and tell him everything would be okay. Fortunately, I managed to refrain.
    “I mean, she’s married to a guy I’ve worked with, you know?” Cole continued, looking slightly pained as I scribbled. “Where do these rumors come from?”
    He pulled away from my ear, and before he straightened up to his full six-feet-four, he looked into my eyes. Our noses were a mere few inches apart, and I gulped as I was overcome by a strange tingling sensation. Those lips . . . that I had seen . . . on the big screen . . . were . . . inches . . . from . . . my . . . lips. (I had to catch my breath.)
    Then I suddenly remembered Tom and felt guilty that I was having this much . . . fun . . . with a stranger on a Saturday morning when I should have been at home with him instead. I cleared my throat and looked quickly away.
    *
     
    We wound up on Second Avenue and Seventh Street, just five blocks from my apartment, at a twenty-four-hour diner called Over the Moon. I’d been there more than once on my own. The walls had all been painted in bright blues and vibrant whites, and the local artist had added leaping cows in all the colors of the rainbow. In their honor, I had always refrained from ordering a hamburger.
    “I love it here,” Cole said as he held the door open. “I think they triple-fry everything in vats of grease.”
    “Ew!” I said, not really meaning it. I loved fried, greasy food too, although I knew that Merri Derekson, the editor of
Mod’
s health section, would probably kick me for saying so. I was sure I was about to consume three days’ worth of fat grams. So I kept quiet and insisted my jiggly thighs do the same.
    Cole laughed. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Shorty,” he said. He paused for a moment while I made a face at him, amazing myself with how friendly I was suddenly feeling with the incognito major star. “Hey now, you’re not allowed to stick your tongue out at me! We agreed I could use those nicknames at my discretion.”
    “I thought I was already back in your good graces,” I egged him on.
    “Simply a technicality, my dear,” he said seriously.
    As a server led us to a corner table by the window, I realized that I kind of liked it when he used the nickname, silly as it was. God, I was ignoring my own cardinal rule of reporting and actually beginning to
like
Cole Brannon. I was giggling at his jokes and feeling slightly woozy in his presence. And I had a boyfriend! What was I thinking?
    “Um, excuse me for a moment,” I said as soon as we were seated. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
    “That cappuccino from Atelier got you, huh?” Cole teased.
    “Smallest bladder in Manhattan, right here,” I admitted, trying not to blush. He laughed and stood up as I pushed my chair out. I looked at him in surprise.
    “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “My mom’s manners lessons are too ingrained to ignore. I always have to stand when a lady leaves the table, or I’m afraid Mom will jump out and send me to my room.”
    I laughed at the image of a matronly, more feminine version of Cole emerging from the shadows to discipline her son.
    “No, it’s actually kinda nice,” I admitted. “I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before.”
    “What?” Cole feigned horror with perfection only a professional actor could achieve. “For a lady like you? You’re kidding. Men must trip all over themselves to charm you.”
    I suddenly had a