by T Gephart
“Oh God, this is so fucking hot,” I whispered, not sure if I was talking to him or myself, lost in the sensation.
He stopped, his talented mouth freezing mid kiss as he pulled away and grinned. “This was supposed to be a date, and as tempting as it is, I’m not going to screw you up against this wall. We should probably stop.”
“Yes, probably,” I panted, not sure I wanted to but knowing I should.
He nodded, his hands settling on my hips as he blew out a breath. “Okay, let’s go back to the couch. I’ll order us some dinner.”
“Sounds good.” My feet didn’t move, wanting him to touch me a little bit longer as our eyes locked.
Reading my thoughts, he dipped his head back down, his smile widening. “Or we can keep making out for a little while longer?”
“Yeah, let’s go with that.”
Dinner could wait.
I DIDN’T SLEEP WITH HIM.
We made out a lot, but that’s as far as it went.
Hands stayed on top of clothes, lots of touching, and by the end of the night I felt like I was going insane, but there had been no sex.
I wasn’t even disappointed by it, loving the sensation of my body humming from the way he held and kissed me.
The kiss he gave me at the door when he said goodbye was one of the best goodnight kisses ever.
E-ver.
I was still smiling from it when I woke up the next morning, floating through my kitchen like I’d recently won the lottery.
“Someone got laid.” Luke straightened his jacket, putting his coffee cup in the sink. “He measure up to the fantasy? And when I say measure, I’m not talking in abstract.”
My hand smacked him playfully across his chest. “Oh, stop it. We didn’t have sex. We just kissed.”
Luke looked horrified, shaking his head as he reared back. “You kissed Nick Larsson and didn’t close the deal? What was wrong with him?”
“Nothing. He was perfect,” I said so dreamily I’d become a caricature of myself. “But I don’t want to rush it. Can you believe he remembered me from before our show got cancelled and was going to ask me out?”
I had had trouble letting it sink in, that when he’d met me, he hadn’t thought I was an awkward dork.
“Of course he wanted to ask you out. You’re stunning, and you have the brains to back it up. Why do you think I keep you around? You make me look better.” Luke smirked, shooting me a wink before checking his watch. “And on that note, I have a morning meeting with a buyer.” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and was out the door, ready to slay in a gray three-piece suit that was worth more than my car.
The next interrogation wouldn’t be so easy.
“So tell me everything.” Scully yanked on my arm after I hadn’t noticed her ninja-like entrance. “And lead with the part where you’ve decided to call your first-born after me because we both know I was instrumental to your relationship.”
I laughed, shaking off her grip as I turned to face her. “We’re not in a relationship. We’re barely even dating. And you haven’t even named your child yet, so don’t be naming mine.” I playfully poked her in the belly.
“Psshh, stop trying to change the subject. Tell me things.” She planted her hands on her hips.
I rolled my eyes, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as I guided her toward my bedroom. “Fine, but let me get dressed. I need to go meet with a producer today and turn in notes on a script I didn’t finish. I’ll probably be unemployed again before the day is out.” And for the first time, I wasn’t terrified about the prospect.
Scully sat on the edge of my bed, her hands clasped dramatically against her chest as I spilled details about our “date.” While the initial intention of what it was had been ambiguous, the end was clear—nothing about last night being platonic.
Not that it meant he was suddenly my boyfriend, who knew if after a few more dates he didn’t give me the thanks-but-no-thanks I’d been expecting from the start. Only time would tell.
“Awww Claire, I’m so happy for you.” Scully pulled me into a hug, mentally probably choosing our wedding china.
“Let’s not get too excited, I mean, nothing has really happened yet.”
When it came to best friends, I was lucky in that I had two. Two equally wonderful, warm, loyal people who loved me unconditionally. And sometimes it made me feel greedy. But one of them had a tendency to jump the gun.
No prizes for guessing which.
“Ummmm, pretty sure making out with him all night counts as something. You have permission to get excited.” Scully couldn’t be reasoned with, and I didn’t have time to argue.
I gave her a warm smile, gathering my things as I leaned against my doorjamb. “Thanks, now do you want a ride onto set or are we going to continue to talk about my evening?”
“We can talk in the car, I’m not done pumping you for details.”
Scully usually drove herself, but I thought it might be nice to have company. It also meant I could continue the upbeat feeling until the last minute, dropping her off at her job before I went and lost mine.
Okay, so maybe I was being dramatic, occupational hazard when you worked in Hollywood.
Thankfully the drive wasn’t all about me and Nick. Scully decided it would be a good time to inform me that she’d signed us up for birthing classes. In the absence of the douche canoe, I was going to be her birthing partner and took my role very seriously.
“You sure you want to take these classes, I haven’t heard great things.” I turned into Sun Studios, pulling into the employee parking lot.
Scully reached into the back seat and grabbed her bag. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Have some woman who doesn’t shave her armpits and smells of patchouli guide me through breathing exercises so I can squeeze a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lemon.”
“You should write their advertising material.” I winced, knowing the chance of us being thrown out before finishing the series of classes was going to be high.
She shrugged popping open the door as she thanked me for the ride. “I know there are going to be some natal-Nazis there, telling me that if I don’t breastfeed this goober until he’s going to college I’m going to burn in Mommy Hell.” Scratch that, we were getting tossed out before the end of the first class. “But I want to try and do this right, Claire. I want to be a good parent. And if that means I need to sit through some woman named Moonbeam telling me I can get through the apocalypse of my vagina by listening to Chopin, then that’s what I’ll do. But make no mistake, if I need drugs, I’m asking for them.”
I shook my head. “I want to know where the friend who once almost burnt the house down making grilled cheese went, and what you’ve done with her.”
“She’s still here, she just learned how to make grilled cheese without calling 9–1-1.” She gave me a tight smile. “But I swear if you make me cry before I go into work, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Go,” I groaned, looking at the time display on my dashboard. “I guess I need to go be a grown up too.”
With Scully safely delivered to work, I headed to the producer’s office, pulling into the parking lot shortly before nine. There was no point worrying about the outcome, which was why I affixed a smile to my face, grabbed the script and my notes and made my way to the reception.
“Ms. Becker, you can go ahead and take a seat, we’ll be with you shortly.” The receptionist directed me to a bank of couches where I was sure many a freak-out had transpired. Freak-outs usually happened when you had to sit around and wait because what else was there to do but think. And thinking wasn’t always a good thing.
Like now, when I was “thinking.”
The morning had been busy so there’d been no time for sending messages to Nick. I also didn’t want him to think I was a needy parasite who wasn’t able to function without constant messages, so I refrained from the good morning text I’d actually wanted to send.
It was too soon.
&nbs
p; Conversely, Nick didn’t message either, which made sense since it was less than twenty-four hours since he was sucking my neck. I mean, what could he possibly have to say in such a short amount of time? And unlike me, he’d recently come off a grueling filming schedule from the last six months, so was probably enjoying his summer break.
See what I mean about thinking.
Not always good.
Determined to spend the rest of my time constructively, I picked up a DIY magazine from the side table and flicked through the pages trying to teach myself how to refinish drywall. It might turn out to be a useful skill and my parents had always warned me that I should have something to fall back on.
“Ms. Becker, he’s ready for you now,” the receptionist announced right when I was learning about the correct consistency for the mud. Guess my future as a home renovator would have to wait a little while longer, the magazine tossed back on the side table.
Rising from my seat, I grabbed my things and followed her down the hall, the door opened as she paused just outside. My journey into the lion’s den would have to be solo it seemed.
“Thanks.” I nodded, stepping inside and closed the door behind me.
Carl Marconi was sitting at his desk like always, ignoring me as he scribbled on a yellow legal pad. “Take a seat.” He didn’t look up, his task clearly more important than the script reader in his office.
I folded myself into the worn fabric chair opposite him, waiting for him to finish his incessant note-taking before opening my mouth.
And I waited.
Marconi looked up, dropped his pen suddenly and then barked, “Talk.”
“Mr. Marconi, I’ve prepared some notes we can go through. I did have some problems getting through the material,” I started, wondering at what point I should mention I didn’t actually finish.
He leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. “You didn’t like it?”
“Well . . .” I tilted my head to the side. “The pacing was slow and the level of engagement was low. It would need some work, possibly with some new plot points and some additional character development.”
“So what you’re trying to tell me is it’s boring and you’d give it a pass?” He didn’t bother for an elaboration, drumming his fingers on top of the desk.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, wondering if he even cared that I never got to the end.
He shook his head in frustration. “I haven’t got time for a book report, Ms. Becker. Just give me the bottom line, that’s why we get other people to read these things before I do.”
“In that case, that’s a no from me.”
I needed a buzzer, something to push so a big X lit up like a judge on a reality show. The power surge was incredible as he took back the script, tossed it onto a pile, and handed me another one. “Good, the script was garbage.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked for the second time in only a few minutes.
He looked up, barely a smile across his mouth. “It was a bullshit script, a test to see if you would lie to me because you think that’s what I want to hear. Ten people have read that exact script, nine of them told me that it was blockbuster gold. You’re number ten. Congratulations. I’ll expect another report on the new one soon.” He went back to his scribbling, effectively closing our meeting and dismissing me at the same time.
It was a miracle.
Not only had I not been fired, but I had a new assignment. It was the best week ever, and it had only started.
The grin was almost bursting off my face as I strode out of his office, the new script clutched to my chest as I walked out the main building. I tossed my things onto the passenger seat of my car, gently placing my new assignment on top and actually fist pumping like an idiotic before starting the ignition.
Instead of being thankful for my good fortune, going home and getting started on my next read or working on my screenplay, I decided to message Luke and see if he could meet up with me for a mid-morning margarita. Scully was out for obvious reasons, and drinking alone, especially before noon, was never a good look.
My good luck continued, Luke agreeing to meet me in an hour at a bar called Heart and Vine. That gave me plenty of time to get there, my hand tapping on the steering wheel as I sang along with my stereo. Even the traffic didn’t bother me, expecting at any moment motorists to leap out of their cars and sing between the gridlock like a musical.
It didn’t happen.
Disappointing.
What wasn’t disappointing was finding a parking spot right out front and being seated like a rock star the minute I walked in. I swear I needed to buy a lottery ticket or something, because stuff like that almost never happened to me.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Luke gave me a hug, kissing me on the cheek before sitting down.
“Did you know Scully signed up for birthing classes?” I asked, placing our order for margaritas and lunch—see, not totally irresponsible—with our waitress.
Luke’s eyebrow rose. “Really? Well better you than me.” He grimaced. “I’ll be the support crew outside of the room, a safe distance away from ejecting humans and vaginas.”
“You are so full of shit.” I shoved his shoulder. “You would be the first person in there if she needed you.”
“Okay, fine, but I’d stay away from the business end.” He smirked, adjusting his tie.
The waitress returned with our drinks, allowing me the opportunity to tell Luke about my continued status in the workforce while we drank. He cheered and then told me about a guy he was thinking of asking out, ordering us another round as our lunch arrived.
“Sooooooo.” I twirled the margarita glass between my fingers. “How long should I wait to call him so I don’t look desperate?”
Luke took a sip from his glass. “Why don’t you take a picture of us and upload it your Instagram account, see if he calls you?”
I laughed, tossing a napkin at him. “Yeah, because playing mind games this early on is a good plan.”
“You’re right.” Luke grinned. “One look at me and he’d know he would never be able to compete.”
Besides, the aim wasn’t to try to make him jealous. I only wanted to be able to call him when I wanted to and not feel like a loser. “Why do there have to be so many rules,” I groaned.
“Since when do you follow the rules? You want to call him, call him.” Luke rolled his eyes. “Invite him to lunch.”
“What, no,” I gaped, horrified.
If I’d thought sending a text message might seem needy, calling him and inviting him to lunch would be advertising myself as a five-stage clinger.
Not cool.
“Then finish your lunch and ignore him like you have been for the last five years,” Luke deadpanned.
He had a point there.
Cursing myself, and not entirely convinced I was doing the right thing, I picked up my phone and scrolled to his number. If shit went bad, I’d just blame Luke or the margaritas.
“Hello,” he yawned, his sleep-laden voice making him sound sexy.
I checked the time, making sure that lunch was happening at lunchtime and my cocktail drinking wasn’t inappropriately early. Nope, it was twelve thirty, late enough to feel completely fine with our alcoholic additions.
“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, I can call back,” I offered, thinking I should have just obsessed about it longer like a normal person and not have actually called. That was the last time I was listening to Luke.
“Claire.” My name vibrated off his lips. “What a nice surprise.”
He could’ve totally been lying.
About the surprise being nice.
But that reality wasn’t compatible with my good mood, which was why I chose to ignore it.
“Late night?” As ironic as it sounded, the question was in fact not rhetorical.
I left sometime after midnight but definitely before one. And while that wasn’t super late by most people’s standards, it didn’t give him a lot of time to go ahead and make other plan
s that would facilitate the extra “late.”
Unless he called someone else.
Another woman.
Who kept him UP.
I should have been a detective.
“Yeah something like that.” He yawned again, giving me less than fucking zero to work with.
I could have just asked him to clarify, consequently sounding jealous, possessive and freaking crazy considering we’d been on one date. But as much as I liked to get my crazy out of the box—her legs having gotten a work out more than I’d like in recent times—I decided to act like a normal, rational adult.
“Well, if you aren’t too busy, maybe you could join us for lunch.”
Whatever reason I had for not inviting him previously was no longer valid, Luke raising an eyebrow as soon as the words came out of my mouth.
There was a rustling of sheets, his throat cleared as he responded. “I have a meeting later, so I don’t have a lot of time. You out with Scully?”
He’d assumed that when I said “lunch with us” that I meant me and the only other friend I had mentioned. Made sense, he didn’t have any other evidence to go on.
“Actually, no Scully had to work. I’m here with my other roommate, Luke.”
Oh yeah, I went there. Not that I was intentionally trying to make him jealous, but I was in fact there with a man, and if I could use it to my advantage, when why the hell not.
Luke shook his head with a grin. “Nice, well played,” he whispered as he took a drink from his glass.
“Luke, huh? Don’t seem to remember you mentioning him.”
“Well to be fair, we didn’t mention much of anything last night.”
Luke chuckled enjoying the show no doubt while I floundered around in Awkwardlandia.
Nick paused, rustling more sheets before he suggested, “Why don’t you enjoy the rest of your lunch with Luke and then meet me tonight?”
“Sure, dinner sounds great.” I glanced over at Luke like a deer in headlights.
I wasn’t sure dinner sounded great because I didn’t really know what I was doing. But, I wanted to see him—the curiosity of his late night tapping its foot in my periphery—so, good idea or not, we were going to be attempting our second date.
