My eyes come away from the inner machinations of my mind and back to the real world. Stellar is removing her shirt, lowering her chest right into Brice’s face. But she struggles with the last button, curses, and calls out, “Sorry. I’m going to need to do that again. This goddamned sweater is too tight on me.”
While the cameras are setting up again and Stellar is readjusting her clothes and moving off the stage so that she can knock on Brice’s fake office door and enter to seduce him again, something inside of me shifts. The best I can describe the feeling is opening a closet door and having its contents spill out on you without any warning. Except the closet is my heart and the stuff inside is my realization that Brice is right. We can’t just be friends with benefits.
I want more.
Chapter 8
“Stop! Cut!” I scream out just as the cameras begin rolling again. Greg sighs with exasperation while Stellar levels a knowing gaze my way. I swear that she smirks before shifting her weight to one leg and rolling her eyes towards Brice.
Brice.
He’s the only one that doesn’t look put out by my interruption. He’s watching me, trying to decipher what I’m up to. When he bites his lips, I can see a shred of hope that I’m coming to my senses. That I’m coming back to him.
Which is exactly what I do next.
“What is it this time?” Greg asks, throwing a clipboard on his director’s chair. “I thought you were taking a break?”
“I don’t need one. I’m ready to go.”
“So is Stellar,” Greg replies. “So why don’t we give her another go before—”
Stellar walks between us on the way to the door. “Actually, I’m not feeling well. Must have been the curry I ate last night.” While Greg looks over to the stage, Stellar winks at me and mouths what I interpret to be the words, ‘Go get him’.
Knowing Greg is a man of money and time, I take my place outside the false door Stellar was just standing at. “I’m ready when you are.”
Greg shakes his head and looks to the ceiling. “It’s always drama with you people, isn’t it? Fine. Whatever. From the top.”
A few knocks and Brice invites me into his office.
“What can I do for you?” he asks. He doesn’t look up from the fake papers he’s grading. But even without our eyes meeting, the atmosphere between us has changed. We both know why I got between him and Stellar. Why I’m back here insisting he do this scene with me. It’s because I don’t want him to do a scene with anyone else.
Ever.
Within thirty seconds, it’s me sitting on the corner of his desk, spreading my legs in a suggestive manner. Then I’m lifting my shirt, revealing breasts unhindered by the constraints of a bra. Within a minute, I’m straddling him, any pretense of this being an act gone. The cameras have faded away. The roles we’re supposed to play have dissolved. If Greg were to call for us to cut and hold our current positions, I wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. All my being is focused on Brice and the pleasure burning between us. Without the need for words, he has to know that we’re now on the same page. That I am exclusively his and vice versa. That I want to explore the idea of us being more than just friends with benefits. That the idea may still scare the shit out of me, and that I’m terrified of losing him if this all strikes an iceberg and sinks, but that for the moment, I’m all in.
Everything I’m feeling I convey in my actions. Our kisses are not simple put-ons for the camera or the eventual viewers. My heart is speaking to his through the medium of our lips. My grinding against his rock-hard cock is another language of love that I want only us to speak.
By the way Brice reciprocates underneath me, he gets the message loud and clear. It only takes two minutes into the scene before he has a chance to nibble at my earlobe, hissing three words into my ear so low that no microphone could possibly pick them up:
“I love you.”
The moment the words are between us, I feel this wild passion sear through me. It’s like all this time I’ve been fueled by the tame crackling of a wood fire. But these words have tossed gasoline onto the flames. I’m tearing the clothes off of him as he does the same to me. Then Brice is bending me over the desk, entering me, rocking our bodies in a throbbing rhythm that scoots the desk slowly across the floor of the studio.
When Brice leans down to kiss at the nape of my neck, I wrap an arm around the back of his head, puling his ear to my mouth.
“I love you too,” I moan, unable to keep the volume between the two of us.
As soon at the words leave my mouth, his thrusts accelerate in speed and power. I’m groaning against his girth rushing in and out of me, his hands cradling my breasts, his grunts declaring that he’s about to cum.
Then we orgasm together, my legs quivering and threatening to give away. Brice collapses against my back, pressing into my pussy one last time. I can feel his cock pulsating within me.
Amidst the sweat and heat between us, I forget there’s an outside world until Greg calls, “That’s a scene!”
Brice and I lock eyes, not moving. He’s still inside of me even as the cameramen pull away from around us, retreating to the shadows behind the stage lighting.
“Hey there,” he says in a low voice. “I guess you reconsidered my offer from last night?”
My only answer is a kiss on the lips. It says more than words could. His deep breath tells me that we’re finally on the same page again.
Once we get up, I pull on a robe that an assistant hands me. All Brice has to do is pull up the khaki slacks resting at his ankles.
“That was something else,” Greg says, looking between us. His face is flush, and when I glance down I notice a definite bulge in his pants. “Just like that first night I found you two.”
Although it was only two nights ago that Brice and I slept together for the first time, it feels like so much time has passed since then. While it’s only been 48 hours, every minute has been quite the rollercoaster.
“So no need for a second take?” Brice is still catching his breath, but he’s clearly hoping for another round.
“No, no,” Greg says. “I don’t think we’ll be able to get anything better than that.” He glances at his watch. “Take a long lunch. Don’t come back until two. Then just one more scene for the day. If it’s anything like this one, I think we may just be able to wrap up early.”
When Greg turns to leave, Brice raises his eyebrows at me, asking me clearly, ‘Can we do that again?’ My sly smile is his answer. It’s definitely going to be an early day. Which means we may actually be able to do more tonight than simply eating and falling into bed, completely drained. Before that, though, we have two hours for lunch.
After changing back into our own clothes, we head outside the building. Although we walk together so closely that our hands bump into each other, we don’t reach out and take hold of the others’ fingers. There’s an unspoken agreement that we won’t show physical displays of affection around the job. Which would definitely sound silly to anyone on the outside, but holding hands feels too intimate, even after spending my morning having sex with Brice in front of half a dozen men.
“I could eat a whole cow,” Brice says.
“Why don’t we?”
“What?”
“I’ve always wanted to try that Brazilian place. You know, the one with unlimited meat?”
He nods in appreciation at this idea.
An hour later, we’re sitting in from of greasy plates, groaning for an entirely different reason than earlier.
“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I say, rubbing my belly. “Look. I have a food baby. How are we ever going to perform like this?”
“How did you eat more than me? I feel like I’m going to die.” Brice sips at his water. Looks down at his watch. “We’ve still got an hour before we need to be back. You know,” he says, pulling out his phone and looking up a map. “I think we could walk back in that time. Yeah, according to this, it’s only two kilometers.”
“
Might be a good way to work off these calories,” I reply. “I don’t know how sexy our next scene is going to be if we’re both bloated and looking ready to blow chunks any second.”
With that imagery in our heads, the decision is made. The weather may be dreary, but our fantastic moods could never allow us to simply take a taxi back to the studio. No, we’ve reached a new level of our relationship. A level beyond the physical. So why not act out a sappy scene of walking hand-in-hand, laughing at each other’s little jokes along the way, knowing that we would be falling asleep in each other’s arms that night?
“You really told him that?” I ask after Brice’s—quite frankly—unbelievable anecdote.
“Of course,” he replies, swinging our arms between us. “He was being an asshole. So I told him to go to hell. I couldn’t get him kicked out of the hospital. I mean, I’m only a custodian. But I would have if I could.”
“But he’s a movie star.”
Brice shrugs. “He’s been in a lot of movies, but does that make him a star?” When I shake my head at this, he reiterates, “I’m telling you. The guy was being a real asshole. I mean, the nasty kind, like from someone who never really learned to wipe properly.”
I wrinkle my nose and slap him on the shoulder. This only earns me an additional burst of laughter.
“Anyway, what was that talk last night about you painting? Why didn’t you ever tell me about it before?”
I shrug. “I never felt like I was good enough to show anyone. So I kept all my supplies in a closet when you were coming around.”
“I’m just surprised I never figured it out. I mean, you must have gotten some paint on you at some point or another. You kept that a better secret that your camming.”
“That’s a good point. You know what?” I say and squeeze his hand. “I’ll show you my paintings tonight. It would be good to have someone tell me what they really think. I know this sounds stupid, but I’ve always dreamed of being good enough that I could see them hanging on the walls at a movie theater.
“I’m sure you can make that happen. In fact, I’m going to make sure—”
As he’s talking, I see the car out of the corner of my eye. But like every cliché movie, time seems to freeze every other thing except for the grill of the Range Rover getting closer and closer. Bigger and bigger. And I can’t say anything. Can’t move. I’m utterly powerless as, mid-sentence, Brice is pulled away from me in an instant, replaced with the black blur of the SUV that spins out of control. Somehow the chaos has left me unscathed, saved by a matter of inches. But I’m suddenly alone and looking back at the broken body of my best-friend-turned-lover.
And he’s not moving.
Part III
Broken
Chapter 9
I never understood what people meant when they said that everything was a blur. I wish I could still say I didn’t understand. But looking back at the past twelve hours, only flashes of memory rise up through the bubbling ooze of horror and tears.
I remember leaning over him. Feeling for breath. Wondering how to give CPR to a person lying on their belly. I knew I shouldn’t move him. That much I was sure of. But I had to do something.
Then came the taste and smell of vomit. My brain was whispering that I’d lost him while my heart screamed out that it couldn’t be true. The Range Rover that caused this was wrapped around a streetlight. I couldn’t see the driver from my position on the ground beside Brice. Nor did I care to check on him. All that mattered—all that existed—was the broken boy in front of me.
When the ambulance arrived, I forced myself on board with him, heaving and sobbing as they injected his limp body with half a dozen needles, inserted a tube down his throat, and screamed words at each other that I’d only heard in hospital dramas. Words that held no meaning to me except a foreboding connotation.
Then we were at the hospital and they wouldn’t allow me to follow. I was told to wait. To sit. To call his family. I obeyed only this last request, though I still have no idea what words I actually said to Brice’s mother. All I remember were sobs that were echoed back at me from the other side of the phone. Then the line was dead, and I was alone, pacing the waiting room, feeling nothing except this hollowness and the burning of bile in the back of my throat.
The hours ticked by at a glacial pace. Never before had I felt time move so slowly. At some point, I was hugging Brice’s mother. Explaining in sobs what happened. I left out the parts about blood oozing out of his mouth as he lay on the asphalt. Nor did I describe the odd angles of his legs. I didn’t share my horrible suspicion that even if he lived through this, he would never be the same.
Greg called me four times. I ignored each call and pushed his existence out of my brain. Nothing else mattered except for Brice. Not money. Not a contract. Nothing.
Maggie left at some point. I don’t remember why, but I promised to keep watch. But at some point, I failed my duties. I don’t remember falling asleep in the waiting room, but a doctor was shaking me awake.
The disorienting feeling of waking in a place you don't remember, by a man you have never met, is enough to send my brain into fight or flight mode. But it’s been an exhausting day, and my body burns through the last dregs of adrenaline in seconds. Then I’m in tears again as everything comes back.
“How is—?” That’s all I can get out. Brice’s name is stuck in my throat.
“Still in critical condition, but we’ve managed to stabilize him. For now.”
“Can I see him?”
The doctor shakes his head. This is the first time that I take in his appearance. I determine to memorize it, plus his nametag, in case I need to speak to the person clearly in charge of Brice. The doctor is in his late forties, I would guess, with a head of dirty blond hair that hides his gray strands well. He reminds me of a softball player on my stepdad’s old team. His name is Dr. Heyman, which I might have found comical under different circumstances.
“I’m afraid not. We’ve got him in the ICU. But I’ll make sure you can get in tomorrow. You’re not family, right?”
I shake my head.
“The nurses told me as much. It’s fine. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who refuses to leave this depressing waiting room all day is as good as family.”
Scanning the walls for a clock, I confirm that it’s past midnight. No wonder I dozed off. After all that stress, my brain must have needed a power nap to recover. “It didn’t feel that long.”
“Have you eaten? Or had anything to drink?” After another shake of my head, he nods towards the elevators. “The lobby has the best vending machines. Come on. My treat.”
My feet don’t move. “I’d rather stay here,” I hear my voice say even as my stomach growls. “What if something happens to Brice while I’m gone?”
“In that case, I’ll get a beep. Besides, I hate eating alone and you remind me of my daughter. But I bet you won’t ask me to buy you a new car.”
“Will you tell me more about what’s going on with Brice?”
He nods and presses the elevator button. The doors open and he beckons me in. “The first thing I’ll tell you is that Brice is going to need you more than ever. And you’re not going to be very helpful if you end up in the hospital for malnutrition.”
Once downstairs, Dr. Heyman inserts about a million quarters into the machine and comes back to the bench I’m sitting at with an armful of sodas, honey buns, sandwiches, and at least five different types of chips. He holds up two sandwiches. “Choose your poison. A ham and cheese sandwich that expired yesterday or a chicken salad sandwich whose expiration date has been dubiously smudged?”
“I’m not hungry,” I say again.
“Then the ham and cheese for you,” he says, handing it over. When I don’t make any motion to unwrap it, he says, “If you want me to talk, you’d better start eating. I mean it.”
After a heavy sigh, I peel the plastic away and nibble at the corner of the sandwich. My taste buds light up, transmitting signals to my brain,
and before I know it, I’ve eaten the whole thing without even stopping to breathe.
“Not hungry, huh?” He hands me a bag of chips and a soda. “So here’s the deal. When that car hit Brice, it was like dropping him from five stories up. Maybe higher. The car moved through him, so something had to give. And that something was his bones.”
I had just brought the first chip up to my mouth when he says this. I stop, dropping it back into the bag. “How bad is it?”
“Look, you seem nice,” he says. “Like I said, you remind me of my daughter. She’s about your age. A freshman in university, so maybe a few years younger I’m guessing from the patient’s—Brice’s—age. Her name is Rachel, by the way. She’s a real in-your-face, get-it-done, Type A personality. She always does what needs to be done and hates dealing with bullshit. If she were in your position, I know she would want to know exactly what I know, with not an ounce of fluff to soften the blow. But I don’t know you. So I have to ask. Do you want the optimistic answer or the real one?”
Brice’s face pops up in my mind. I can almost feel his hand still in mine. Then the car rips it—and him—away. I know what I want to hear, but I also know what I need to hear. “Tell me the truth.”
“You probably didn’t notice this, but he wasn’t wearing shoes when he was brought in. This is something I’ve actually seen before in car collisions involving pedestrians. This happens when they get hit so hard that they’re literally knocked out of their shoes.
“That said, he’s suffered so many breaks and fractures that I can’t even remember the exact number off the top of my head. That’s all thanks directly to the car. But after the car came the pavement, and it wasn’t any less forgiving, I’m afraid. On top of a concussion, he’s lost four teeth, cracked his left clavicle, and sustained a number of scrapes across 25% of his body.”
I don’t speak, because what can I say? Besides, my heart is aching as though it were the sole victim of this accident. Up until now, my brain has been protecting me from the sheer horror of the event, but as Dr. Heyman describes the specific injuries, especially those to Brice’s face, I begin to remember more. Like the way that Brice seemed to regain degrees of consciousness as I kneeled on the ground beside him. The gurgles through the blood leaking from his lips. Gurgles that might be words I’ll never know if he can’t hang on.
Cammers With Benefits (FWB Series Book 1) Page 7
