I smile and nod and smile again and act like everything is normal. I act like I’m totally cool with just standing here chatting with Finn Dalton. As if he were just any other guy walking down the street. But the thing is that he isn’t. He’s Finn Dalton! The Finn Dalton. He’s the guy who was nominated for an Oscar when he was 18 – a boy actor genius – who played a ninth grade paraplegic who taught us all to live every moment of life to the fullest. He’s also the star of Monday Night Football, the show that made him a star. He played the fast talking, smooth as hell quarterback who loved the ladies a little bit more than he loved football. That’s the role that got him all the magazine covers. That’s the role that got him the starring role in To Live and to Die in the West, the record-breaking action flick about a guy who goes back in time and starts a gang robbing trains.

“So what should I change into?” Finn asks me. Luckily, I organized all the actors’ outfits this morning and labeled them appropriately. I grab the first outfit and hand it to him. It’s a tight-fitting black t-shirt and slim fit jeans.

“There’s a little space back there where you can change,” I say pointing to the back of the trailer.

He nods, flashes me a smile. The space in the trailer is pretty tight and he squeezes me a little as he moves past me.

“Sorry,” he whispers. I inhale a little bit of his breath. Mint and ginger. It sends shivers down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I say awkwardly and move out of the way.

A minute later, he emerges behind the curtain. Shirtless.

Every muscle of his body is toned and bronzed. Even though he isn’t flexing, there’s a definite six pack. It takes all of my strength not to reach out and run my fingers along each indentation.

“Did…um, did I not give you a shirt?” I ask, stumbling over my words. I look down at the ground and then back up to him. He smiles again, clearly enjoying this moment. I bet he’s had experiences with hundreds, if not thousands of girls, each month and from the look on his face it’s not getting old.

“Yes, you did,” he says holding up the shirt. Finn puts his head down a bit, when my eyes meet his, a few loose strands of hair fall into his face. Damn. He’s hot.

“I was just wondering what you thought of the jeans.” He spins around and gives me a good look at his butt. The jeans aren’t designer, but the fit is magnificent. To the T. They squeeze his thighs in just the right way, accentuating the firmness and plumpness of his perfect ass.

“They are…perfect.” I say, licking my lips.

“Did you just lick your lips?” he asks.

“What? No, of course not!” I say a little bit too quickly. He smiles again, his teeth are so white they’re almost blinding.

“Okay,” he says, pulling the shirt over his head. Once again, a perfect fit. It’s a little tight, but he’s pulling it off nicely. The character is a douche bag, but not one incapable of redemption. The shirt, which hugs his pecs and six-pack, doesn’t make him look entirely slimy. Just a little slimy. But in a good way, if that makes any sense. Oh no, this is all too much for me. I’m starting to feel faint.

“Are you okay?” Finn walks over to me. His hand is around my shoulder. Finn Dalton is actually touching me! I’m not really a fangirl, I never swoon over celebrities. It’s Lila who always has her head buried in all the celebrity magazines. But something about him, here, touching my shoulder is making me even fainter.

“I just feel a little sick,” I whisper. “I need some air.”

Finn helps me outside. The set is swarming with activity and, luckily, no one notices me. In case anyone asks, just remember not to tell them that you feel sick. Not the truth. Anything but the truth. I mean, what is this? Middle school? Or the nineteenth century? Am I really about to pass out because some guy touched my shoulder? But then again, he’s not just some guy. He’s our generation’s Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Paul McCartney all rolled into one.

Finn’s hand remains on the small of my back the whole time that I’m doubled over with my head in my thighs. When I finally start to feel a little better, I lift my head up and look up at him. His face is that of concern and uncertainty.

“I’m okay, really,” I assure him.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t really have anything to eat this morning, and it has been a little stressful around here.”

Finn smiles again. Is this his go-to response? A beautiful smile that sweeps me off my feet?

I try to change the topic.

“So, what do you think of your wardrobe? How do you feel in it? Does it feel right?”

He looks down at his stomach and feels his thighs with his fingertips.

“Yes, I think so,” he nods.

“And as for shoes and accessories. I was actually thinking that those Kenneth Cole’s you have on are quite good. They’ll be perfect for this scene, if that’s okay with you.”

“Great.”

“Good.” We exchange a moment of silence as he gazes into my eyes. It feels like he’s looking for something within me. His gaze is disarming. And loving. And heartbreaking.

“And the accessories?” he asks, bringing me back to reality.

“Oh yes, accessories. Well, I was thinking of a bracelet. I mean a leather cuff. Something a little punk rock. Bold.”

He follows me back inside the trailer, and I show him what I mean. He tries it on and loves it.

“Well, great then,” I say when there’s nothing else to say. “I guess that’s everything, then.”

“I’ll go run this by the director then,” he says slowly. As if he were reluctant to leave as much as I am reluctant to let him go. But that couldn’t be, right?

“I’ll see you on set?” he asks.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there,” I nod.