Chapter Twenty-Six
In the next instant, doubt creeps in. Could he just be saying that? Also, even if he’s telling the truth, why did he watch the show? Was it because he lusted after one of the leads, or did he want to understand women better?
He touches my forearm. “Are you okay?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re looking at me funny.”
I blink a few times. “I mean, ‘why did you watch the show?’”
He smiles. “Let’s go to the living room and get comfy. Then we’ll talk.”
What a tease. I follow him to the couch and plop down next to him, my skin tingling as our knees touch.
“Spill,” I growl.
“I think it should be obvious,” he says.
I stare at him blankly.
“Mikhail Baryshnikov,” he says with exasperation.
Oh. How did I not think of that?
“He was the guy who played ‘the Russian’ in the last se
