Easy on the Eyes by Jane Porter

take a quick, surprised breath.
    Why does he do this to me? I don’t like him. I don’t want to like him, but he has so much energy, such vitality, that I can’t
     help but be aware of him.
    “Someone’s laughing somewhere,” I answer flatly, trying to ignore the way his body takes up all the space, trying to ignore
     the way my body responds to him. Not even sexy Scottish Trevor makes my skin feel hot and my nerves scream. I shuffle to my
     left to put more space between us.
    Michael notes my sideways maneuver. “Uncomfortable?”
    “Not at all,” I lie.
    He muffles a laugh and leans toward me, his tuxedo-clad shoulder nearly brushing mine. “You remind me of my favorite Sunday
     school teacher, Miss Littleton,” he says softly, his voice pitched so low that I feel as if he’s telling me something very
     serious. “She was twenty-one and beautiful and very, very virtuous.”
    He pauses, dense lashes lifting, revealing those deep blue eyes that aren’t natural at all. “And then she ran away with the
     priest Father Flaherty.” Michael clucks. “Tragically, Father Flaherty was excommunicated.”
    “And what happened to her?” I ask, curious despite myself.
    “She became Mrs. Flaherty and had five little Flahertys.”
    I don’t know if it’s the hint of an Irish brogue in his voice or the glint in his eyes, but I blush. “That’s not a true story.”
    “It is. Every word of it.”
    Alexis suddenly wants to be part of our conversation, and she laces an arm through Michael’s and leans across him. “What’s
     not a true story, darling?” she asks, her blue gaze fixed on me.
    In her mind I’m competition.
    If only I could tell her I loathe her man.
    “Father Flaherty and his five little Flahertys,” Michael answers with a half-smile.
    She frowns, arched eyebrows flattening. “I don’t understand.”
    Michael introduces us instead of attempting to explain. “Alexis, this is Tiana Tomlinson. Tiana and I were on the Larry King
     show Thursday night. Tiana, this is Alexis Frost, an expert on cosmetic surgery.”
    Obviously, I think.
    Alexis looks at me critically. “Are you considering having work done?”
    I smile, but it feels brittle. “No. I’m not a fan of plastic surgery.”
    “Why not?” she asks.
    Michael gestures to her. “We met on the show— ”
    “His show,” Alexis interrupts. “
Dr. Hollywood.
You’re familiar with it?”
    This is torture. I can’t believe I have to sit here next to these two for dinner. “I’m familiar with it, but I never had the
     chance to watch it. It was on for only a year, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes, but it’s in syndication now.” She glances at Michael. “I had a guest role on an episode. One thing led to another, and
     here I am.”
    And here she is. A work of art.
    Michael’s gaze meets mine. A smile tugs at his mouth. I’d love to ask him what he sees in Alexis. I’d love to ask him why
     he— by all accounts a brilliant surgeon— is with a blonde bimbo, but I know the answer to that. Men love beauty, even if the
     beauty is brainless, which means even brilliant, charismatic surgeons can be shallow.
    I’m feeling very shallow the next morning when Trevor calls me and we struggle to find something to discuss other than his
     movie.
    I’m sitting curled up on the couch with my morning coffee, sunshine streaming through the windows, the phone tucked between
     my chin and shoulder as I leaf through the Sunday papers while we chat.
    “I can’t believe it’s only been a week since you left,” he says. His voice is rough, and he sounds tired.
    “Long week?”
    “Very.” He yawns and then adds with a grumble, “Sometimes I hate the long-distance thing.”
    “Me too.”
    “So when will I see you again?”
    “When is your next break?” I ask.
    “I don’t know. We’re behind schedule. Two of the producers are here this weekend, and they’re tearing into the director as
     we speak.”
    “That’s not going to help things tomorrow,