Mia's POV
This is probably not the least embarrassing situation I've ever been in.
Oh, who am I kidding!
I've never been more humiliated in my life! In fact, the only thing that saved me from completely spazzing out and sobbing like a baby was that Michael—although we had sat up—still hadn't taken his arms from around me, even though Jacques was glaring at him rather intensely.
"Princess, you had better get on home," he said through gritted teeth. "Michael has some work to do."
Michael started to protest, but from Jacques' expression I guess he realized it was futile. "Bye," he mumbled, kissing me—right in front of Jacques! ON PURPOSE!
"Bye," I whispered back, not quite ready to let go. Thankfully, he kissed me again to the increasing anger of Jacques.
"Bye," he said sternly, holding the door open for me.
I grabbed my bag and waved to Michael. "I'll call you," he mouthed behind Jacques' back.
He's soooooo sweet and funny and nice and…much goofier than I ever thought possible. You wouldn't think that the same guy who can kiss a girl and ride a motorcycle at the same time would be so nervous about French kissing that we had to try three times.
Michael's POV
I might be in a tad bit of trouble. At least judging from Jacques' rather indigo hue.
He's screaming and roaring and spitting all over the place, but I haven't really taken in much of what he's saying.
Mia…
"Blah blah blah can't blah blah Mia blah blah—" Jacques was shouting.
"Wait, wait, what? What about Mia?" I asked, suddenly captivated.
He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to hang around her any more."
"B-but…you TOLD me to. That's part of my job description!"
"Michael," Jacques sighed. "I told you to smile at her, not rape her!"
I sputtered incoherently for a good minute before I could get a decent word out. "I was not forcing myself on her. She—we were…just kissing."
Hell, if I can kiss all sorts of girls on the big screen all the time, can't I kiss one measly princess? I didn't see how professing my love for her would help anything, so I kept that part to myself.
"She's the freaking princess of Genovia," said Jacques, back to his ear-splitting volume again. "Her grandmother wouldn't exactly be thrilled if she found out about this, so it's over. Now."
It's all right. I took a deep breath. He's just the director of a stupid movie. He can't stop me from seeing Mia outside the set.
But now we've got paparazzi to contend with…
I popped in an old tape of Roadrunner cartoons, hoping for some hints.
Mia's POV
I shared a whispered exchange with Michael on his cell phone. I couldn't reallyunderstand him, butI did hear himsay he'd be over later tonight. "Can I come in through the window?" he asked.
"Um, all right," I replied, not too sure what he had against doors.
After I hung up, I went on a frantic cleaning spree, of course.
"What are you doing, Mia?" asked my mom slowly, watching me carry the vacuum cleaner, Clorox, and air freshener to my room.
"Spring cleaning, Mom! Duh."
"It's December."
"This…" I said slowly. "is true. But it's never too early to start!"
She mumbled something like "Wanna bet?" but returned her focus to I Love the '80s, leaving me to my gleeful preparation.
-
Michael came, as promised—but not until around eleven-thirty. I was wide awake anyway, so it didn't matter.
He beckoned me out onto the fire escape, holding a blanket and a cup of Ramen noodles. "Plug this in," he said, tossing me the electrical cord from the blanket.
I did so and crawled out there to join him, shivering until he wrapped his arms around me tightly, his mouth moving over mine till I forgot what weather even was.
"Want some noodles?" he said with chattering teeth. Since his lips were—er, out of sight before then, I only then noticed that they were blue from the cold.
"You're coming inside," I said firmly, grabbing his hand.
He didn't put up much of a fuss.
I shut the window behind him and wrapped the blanket around him. I can't have my boyfriend getting hypothermia. "Nice poster," laughed Michael, still shaking a bit.
AH! How did I not remember to take down my stupid Michael Wilson poster?
It's not really that stupid. In fact—it's quite nice, with his sculpted body and smoky eyelashes—
I looked down at real Michael, all bundled up and sniffling, and sat down in his lap.
Just as cute.
His arms encircled my waist. "Jacques was kind of pissed about earlier."
"Sorry," I said sheepishly.
"Not your fault," he said, his mouth on my neck. "But he doesn't want me seeing you…in that capacity."
I pulled away from him, wringing my hands together nervously. "Oh…well, then."
I can't believe it's already over! I mean, I just found out that he's crazy about me—and now we're being tragically separated!
This has the makings of a great movie. But who would play Michael? Josh Richter?
But right before I burst into tears, I found myself laying flat on my mattress, Michael's body positioned on top of me. "That's not gonna happen," he assured me. He paused for a minute, nibbling at my earlobe. "There's no way he can stop us from hanging out off-set."
"Plus, you're almost done filming, right?"
Michael shrugged. "We're taking a break for Christmas, and then I think there's been a rewrite so I've gotta re-shoot half my scenes. It's ridiculous."
Break for making out.
"But…" said Michael, a tad out of breath now. "I am taking you out this weekend. Remember?"
"Of course," I giggled.
"You're too cute," murmured Michael, rolling off of me. "Do me a favor, though."
"Uh huh?" Oh, God. A favor! He wants me to go down on him, doesn't he? I may love him—but I don't think I love his…manhood.
"Take down the poster, would ya? I turn me off."
"Done." Besides, having the real Michael is soooo much more satisfying.
