Go get her that pizza!

You still can’t quite believe you’ve managed to go on an almost, sort-of, not-quite date with Emma Watson.

But as she lounges back against the seat and tugs off her heels, making adorable little sounds of relief as she does so, you’re reminded suddenly and vividly that she’s almost certainly just broken up with someone, and you are here to comfort her and feed her pizza. Not start something.

(As if you could; you’d just embarrass yourself, and quite possibly get a face full of mace.)

But right now –

‘This is so good,’ Emma announces through an enormous mouthful, sending a few crumbs flying. ‘Oh, shit – sorry –’

You laugh, biting into your own slice. ‘I told you, one more apology –’

‘That doesn’t count!’ Emma draws her arms protectively over the pizza box. ‘Seriously, though.’ She chews, smiles, and lets out a happy little sigh. ‘I really, really needed this. Thank you.’

You grin as you reach for the chicken strips. ‘No worries. I was getting hungry anyway.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind possibly ending up on TMZ?’ Emma raises an eyebrow at you. ‘Although that would be a weird headline. “Emma Watson and Uber driver get pizza together! At three o’clock in the morning!” They’ll think we’ve been up to something.’

‘Yeah, and that would be so terrible for my reputation.’ Emma giggles again, sending you a bashful sidelong look. ‘But don’t worry…’ You raise a hand and tap on the glass. ‘Tinted windows. They come in handy sometimes.’

‘Oh, nice.’ Emma swallows the rest of her slice and reaches for another one in the same movement. ‘When I finally learn to drive, I’m so getting a car like this. And driving it everywhere.’

‘You can’t drive?’

‘Well, I – I haven’t needed to!’ Emma pouts, somewhat defensively. ‘Studios just send cars for you all the time. It’s one of the nicer perks of being in films.’

‘Well, I think you should learn.’ When she looks up, you just shrug and smile. ‘Freedom. Independence. That’s what a car is.’ And you’re stealing that line from Pirates of the Caribbean, but whatever.

‘True, that…’ Emma looks wistful. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. And I could get a really nice one!’

‘Get a tank.’ You munch on your chicken. ‘Then you can drive it all over the paparazzi and squish their cameras.’

‘Oh, God…’ Emma’s eyes are dancing with delight. ‘That would be so good…’

‘What’s the worst experience you’ve ever had with a pap?’ Right after the words leave your mouth, you realise they might not be such a good idea. But Emma doesn’t seem to mind.

‘That’s easy. My eighteenth birthday.’ She scrunches up her face like she can smell something unpleasant. ‘Did you know there were actually men lying in the gutter, waiting for me to step out of the car? Sort of wished I hadn’t worn see-through undies that night.’

You **** on your chicken, and Emma laughs, looking up at you playfully. ‘Sorry. Bad timing. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ Your head’s still spinning with images of Emma Watson’s transparent underwear, but fortunately she seems more interested in the pizza. ‘Wow. I guess when you turn eighteen…’

‘Yeah, it’s open season on girls.’ Emma sucks tomato sauce off her finger, not seeming to realise how innocently erotic that looks. ‘It’s shitty, but there’s so much money in it. I just try to ignore them.’

‘And hire more bodyguards?’

‘And hire more bodyguards,’ Emma agrees, yawning and stretching. Her breasts aren’t huge, but it’s hard not to look at them when they’re thrust out like that. ‘Shit. Speaking of which… I really should call mine.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ You look over at her. ‘Where are they?’

‘Uh…’ Emma grimaces. ‘Back at the hotel. The other hotel. The one you picked me up from.’

‘Oh.’ You lick your lips and start hunting around for napkins, feeling unusually self-conscious with Emma right beside you. (Not that her cheeks aren’t smeared with tomato sauce – but on her, it looks cute. On you, not so much.) ‘Yeah, come to think of it, I thought it was a bit weird that you were on your own.’

‘Yeah…’ Emma hesitates. ‘Well. Yeah.’

Her **** to say any more is palpable, and you put your hands up. ‘Hey. You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just some guy.’

‘Yeah…’ Emma looks conflicted. ‘But you’re just some guy who bought me pizza, and gave me a hug, and has been so incredibly sweet this whole time that I still can’t quite believe you’re real.’

That makes you laugh out loud. ‘Oh, okay. You can’t believe I’m real. I’m the one sitting in my car with Emma Watson.’

At that, she flinches slightly, and you tense up. ‘Um – sorry?’

‘No, I’m sorry – it’s just…’ Emma wrinkles up her nose. ‘Emma Watson. You say that like it’s a big deal.’

‘It is a big deal!’ Emma looks still more uncomfortable. ‘Okay, not for you, maybe. But you’re this giant movie star!’

‘I’ve been in, like, three films.’

‘Since Harry Potter.’

‘Since Harry Potter,’ she agrees, ‘but still. I’m not Jennifer bloody Lawrence.’

You scoff at that. ‘Yeah, because that’s really how you should measure someone’s worth. Whether or not they’re as famous as Jennifer Lawrence.’

When you look up, Emma’s looking at you strangely, almost tenderly. ‘You really are sweet.’

‘Come on, though,’ you urge, eager to big her up a bit. ‘You are a big deal! You’re a really famous actress!’ When she looks doubtfully back at you, you press the point. ‘TMZ, for example! If these windows weren’t blacked out, I could be on TV tomorrow as Emma Watson’s boy toy. All because people are obsessed with you!’

‘I suppose that must be how it looks from the outside.’ Emma sighs. ‘Sorry. Poor little rich girl, complaining about her life. I must sound like such an overprivileged idiot.’

‘Nah, you don’t,’ you tell her, genuinely curious now. ‘But seriously, you don’t think you’re famous?’

‘No – it’s not that, exactly.’ Now Emma really does look conflicted. ‘Gosh, I’ve never really talked about this with anyone.’ She takes a deep breath.

‘It’s more that…’ Her voice trails off. ‘Well, when you’re in Hollywood, all the people you meet… most of them are these superstars, you know? They’re all billionaires, and it doesn't matter how famous you are, because they’re famous too. In there, I’m just Emma – or not even that! I’m the Harry Potter girl, and so many people look down on me because of that.’

She twists her hands together in her lap. ‘And you get all these people at parties asking you what you’re doing next, because they know you don’t have a plan, and they just stand there smirking at you – and then they go off again, and they don’t even bother turning the corner before you can hear them laughing at you.’

‘That really sucks.’ You take her by the hand, gently. ‘Is that what happened tonight?’

At that, Emma lets out a snort. ‘Ha! No. Well, yes. But I don’t really care about people like that. It was more…’

She takes a deep breath, and seems to stiffen herself, back straightening. ‘Well. It was more that my boyfriend vanished, again, so I went looking for him, again – only this time, I found him balls-deep in this complete and total bitch in our hotel room.’

The words hang in the air for a moment – and it’s a good thing you’re too stunned to respond, because Emma isn’t finished. ‘The door wasn’t even locked!’ She laughs hollowly. ‘Classy, right? I suppose it’s one way to find out you weren’t worth waiting for.’

‘Anyway…’ She breathes in through her nose. ‘I just ran out. Didn’t want to tell my assistant. Didn’t want to tell anybody. So I hid in a closet and downloaded this app and then I met you.’ Her head drops. ‘And… that’s been my night so far. God, I sound pathetic.’

You swallow, trying to find something comforting to say to all that. ‘Jesus. In your room? What a complete and utter cunt.’

‘Yeah.’ Emma’s eyes are shining slightly again. ‘He is. He really, really is.’

For a moment, things are awkward again – then Emma looks up miserably. And even like this, she’s still jaw-droppingly beautiful. ‘Can I have another hug, please?’