by Witt, L. A.
Oh God. Goose bumps. So many goose bumps.
She inclined her head. “Right? I mean, I think that’s what we’re doing?”
I swallowed. “Is that all we’re doing?”
“Isn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes slightly, watching me intently. “Unless you wanted something more?” It was a very matter-of-fact question, carrying no undercurrent of hopefulness or uneasiness. Just a question with no pretenses either way.
Pulse thumping with nerves and stomach sinking with disappointment, I whispered, “I don’t think I can handle doing anything more right now.”
“Then we won’t.” She sounded so . . . decided. As if it were that simple. We wouldn’t do anything more than fool around, and that was that. End of discussion. Case closed. Back to getting each other wet and undressed and—
I sighed and gently freed myself from her arms. “I’m not sure it’s that easy.”
“Why not?” She watched me like I’d lost my mind. “This, what we’re doing . . . it’s fun, right?”
“Oh God, yes.” I ran a hand through my hair just for something to do with all this nervous energy. “But, I mean, we’re both freshly out of relationships.”
“I’m not looking for another one. Are you?”
“No. But these casual things, they . . .” I shifted my weight. “They sometimes go that way. That’s how Leigh and I ended up together in the first place. We hooked up, and hooked up again, and . . .”
Natalya nodded. “Yes, it happens. But so what if it does?” She shrugged. “If things are good in bed, and we decide to start dating, then . . . why not?”
“Because I . . .” I hesitated, but then looked her in the eye. “For one, we’re coworkers.” I cringed, waiting for the same arguments I’d already had with half the population of Bluewater Bay.
“Yeah, we are.” Her shoulder lifted in a sharp half shrug. “You’re also one of my bosses.”
“Exactly.”
“If I wasn’t okay with that, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Right, but I’m not sure I’m okay with it.” I held her gaze. “We both have to deal with our breakups too, and put that all behind us. And . . . I mean, I’m a lesbian. You’re bisexual.”
She cocked her head. “So?”
“So, that’s . . . It’s not a good combination.”
Her eyebrow arched, and she drew back a bit, her brow pulling down above her eyes. “What?”
I moistened my lips. “I’m only interested in women. You’re . . .” Oh, how I loved those thoughts that made sense in my head but sounded dickish when spoken out loud. Why didn’t I just leave it at breakups and work? Well, too late now. Shifting uncomfortably, I folded my arms. “Look, everyone has their orientation, and that’s fine. But I’ve been burned a few too—”
“I’ve been burned by men with ink,” she said sharply. “Doesn’t mean I won’t see a guy who has a tattoo.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. There are things men can do, and things woman can do, and I—”
“It is like that.” She mirrored me, folding her arms across her chest. “We’ve fooled around twice, and you’re already deciding we can’t possibly date because I’ve also been with men?”
“Because you’re interested in men.” I waved a hand. “I can’t compete with a man.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. It isn’t a competition.”
“Actually, it is. Everyone competes for—”
“You know what I mean,” she growled. “If I’m dating someone, it’s because I’m into them, not because they’re tiding me over until something better comes along. Something with or without a dick, since I assume this is what that’s about.”
“It’s not that simple.”
She held my gaze. “My relationship with my boyfriend went to shit. And so did your relationship with that woman, who I assume is another lesbian, since you were willing to date her.”
“I’m not saying two lesbians together will automatically work. But I don’t want to jump into a relationship—especially a rebound relationship—with the deck already stacked against us.”
“How is the deck stacked against us? Because you don’t have a penis?” She threw up her hands. “Neither did one of my boyfriends. It doesn’t matter. I don’t fucking care.”
I blinked, not sure how to respond.
“Ugh. Forget it.” She shook her head. “If that’s how you feel, then there’s no need to discuss it. I’d rather not even sleep with someone who’s biphobic. If I disgust you that much, then—”
“You don’t disgust me.” That’s the last thing you do to me, Natalya. “I never said you did.”
She laughed dryly. “Whatever. I don’t date lesbians who think they’re better than me.” She turned to go, adding over her shoulder. “I’ll see you at work.”
I stared, dumbstruck, at the empty space she’d occupied. The door slammed in the foyer, and my breath caught. Man, I should have been used to that sound echoing through this house, but it made me flinch just like it always did. Especially since it sounded wrong.
Why am I letting her go? Why am I all but shoving her out the door?
Because I need to.
I closed my eyes and exhaled.
Yes. I need to.
Natalya was hot, and I craved the kind of sex she liked, but it wasn’t worth setting ourselves up for that inevitable heartbreak.
Maybe we were good in bed together, but anything more than that just wasn’t meant to be. And despite giving in to temptation this afternoon, I’d known we couldn’t do this. I’d been mentally reciting all the reasons we couldn’t do this ever since she’d left my place the other morning. I’d been carefully arranging explanations so I could let her down easy if it turned out she wanted more.
In the end, we’d let physical attraction get the best of us, and then I’d managed to piss her off while trying to explain myself out of a relationship.
The truth was out. The fling was over before it began. It would be awkward at work for a while, but we’d get over it. This was for the better.
Hooking up with her had been a mistake, and I’d known that from the start.
So why the hell did I feel like I’d just made an even bigger one?
Chapter 8
So that was that. Natalya was gone, even though she wasn’t. As the days became weeks, we avoided each other as much as we realistically could. We didn’t so much as look at each other at the gym. Meetings were conducted with icy professionalism. At least our colleagues were used to Natalya’s steely demeanor, so hopefully they didn’t notice the extra layer of frostiness between us. I told myself they’d chalk up my bitchiness to Finn, stress, my time of the month—whatever. I didn’t really care what they blamed it on as long as it wasn’t the truth.
There were people who’d see through it, though. Sooner or later, someone was going to ask. Maybe Hunter, who kept eyeing me during meetings as if I had Something really, really sucks in my life right now etched across my forehead. Or Levi, who may as well have had a direct line to everything inside my mind—whenever he asked what was wrong, he always seemed to know already and was just trying to get me to fess up.
Hunter didn’t say a word. Levi didn’t ask. Kevin, Carter, Emily, Simon—nobody said a word. Thank God.
But it was bound to happen, and when it did Jeremy—goddamn the bastard—had the most impeccable timing.
It was late one night, after a marathon shoot bookended by a couple of life-sucking meetings with energy vampires like Finn and some of the studio’s top brass. I’d been lucky to make it out to Jeremy’s car on my own power, drop into the passenger seat, and put on my seat belt.
I was just about to let myself slide into a coma for the drive home, when Jeremy broke the silence.
“You’ve been really quiet the last couple of weeks. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind. Studio’s putting pressure on us about . . . um . . .” Jesus. I couldn’t even fire off one of m
y ready-made excuses, which usually wasn’t a problem because the studio was nearly always putting pressure on me about something or other.
Silence fell again. After a few miles, as that coma was starting to creep in and claim me for the ride, Jeremy gently spoke again. “You mind if I ask something personal?”
“Is it about me and Natalya?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Sure. Why not?”
Another long moment of hesitation. Then, “What happened?”
“What happened is that Natalya is bisexual.”
“And . . .?”
“And, what?”
“What difference does that make?”
“I’m not getting involved with a bisexual woman.”
Jeremy glanced at me. “Why not?”
“Because every lesbian I’ve known who’s gotten involved with a bi woman has eventually been burned?”
“Burned, how?”
“Either the woman left her for a man, or wanted an open relationship which ultimately ended with the straight couple deciding to be monogamous.” I shook my head. “I’ve seen a lot of women get involved with bi women, and it never, ever ends well. It hasn’t ended well for me, either.”
“To be fair, most relationships don’t end well. Think of how many people most people date, and how many of those relationships end badly. The odds aren’t exactly in anyone’s favor.”
“So, what?” I watched him from the passenger seat. “I should compromise on something that really bothers me just because most relationships are doomed to fail?”
He shot me a quick look, then shook his head. “That’s not what I said. I do think you’re making a lot of assumptions about bi women.”
“Assumptions that have been backed up time and again by reality.” I shrugged as much as I could with all this exhaustion seeping into my bones. Between my job and losing sleep over Natalya, I had nothing left. “Maybe it’s fair, maybe it’s not, but I don’t date bi women anymore.”
His lips pulled tight, but he just stared straight ahead.
“If something’s on your mind,” I said, “just say it.”
He tapped his thumbs on the wheel. “Okay. Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few months, it’s that if you make a rule, someone’s going to come along and break it.”
“Except somehow I don’t think you would’ve hooked up with Scott if he’d been a woman, right?”
“That’s not the same.” He shook his head. “I’m not attracted to women any more than you’re attracted to men. You’re attracted to Natalya, though, just like I’m attracted to Scott. The part that’s hanging you up is who else she’s attracted to.”
“Yeah. She’s attracted to men. And for a woman, being with a man is a hell of a lot easier than being with another woman. I’d just as soon not set myself up for the inevitable.”
“Is it inevitable, though?”
“It . . .” How the hell was I supposed to explain it?
He glanced at me, and his lips tightened. Voice gentle, he said, “Look, I don’t know. Just don’t let something good pass you by because you’re still hung up on something bad. Trust me on that one.”
He did have a point—he and Scott had both nearly torpedoed their own relationship because they’d still been carrying years-old baggage—but this was different. Wasn’t it?
Jeremy shifted a bit, resting one hand on top of the wheel and the other in his lap. “By the way, I’ll be in LA next weekend.”
I barely resisted the urge to release a relieved breath at the subject change. “Visiting the kids?”
He nodded.
“How is that going, anyway?”
“It’s . . .” Jeremy exhaled. “It’s a process. Haley’s speaking to me now, but she’s still pretty cold.”
“Still, sounds like an improvement.”
“It is. The therapist has helped all of us a lot.”
“You seem a lot more optimistic than you were when you started.”
At that, he smiled. “Yeah. It’ll take some time, but we’ll get there.”
I managed a tired smile too, though it took work. “Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.” He glanced at me, and for a moment, I thought he might bring up our earlier subject again, but he didn’t. In fact, he stared out the windshield even more intently now, as if he were too caught up in thoughts of his upcoming therapy session with his estranged kids to worry about my hang-ups with bisexual women.
I, on the other hand, obsessed even more than I had over the last couple of weeks. Was he right? Had I fucked up with Natalya rather than dodging a bullet?
But I didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything.
And all the way home, I wished he would.
* * *
My house was empty, and despite my bone-deep exhaustion, I couldn’t sleep.
Jeremy had left an hour ago. Though Leigh had been gone for a while now, her absence was conspicuous tonight. All the boxes had been cleared out of the garage, the kitchen, the hallway.
This place was well and truly empty. Devoid of any human presence besides mine. I’d spent countless nights alone over the last few years—when Leigh needed to stay somewhere else, when I’d kicked her out, when we’d finally called it quits—but it felt different tonight.
I’d always thought it was an eye-roll-worthy cliché when someone described silence as deafening, but sitting there in my living room, I was starting to get it. The silence itself made my skin crawl, but it also made the room—the whole damned house—echo with the sounds that had been here before. Leigh screaming at me. Me screaming at her. Natalya moaning on my couch. The door slamming behind Leigh, behind Natalya, behind me.
I tried turning on some music, but that didn’t help. I tried to watch a movie but didn’t have the brain for it.
And the part that made me itch the most—knowing this silence wasn’t ending anytime soon. No key was going to click in the front door. No one was going to knock. It was just me, with no reason to believe that would change in the foreseeable future.
I didn’t have time for relationships. I didn’t have many prospects either. As Levi had so helpfully pointed out, there weren’t a lot of options for me on the set. Going out and meeting women required spare time, not to mention being able to shake off my bodyguard for a few hours. I wondered if I could get my doctor to write me a prescription for some time alone to find someone who could give me the orgasms I needed to keep from committing homicide at work.
Maybe I needed to get a pet or two. Levi’s cats seemed okay with him coming and going, though I understood Zelda made her displeasure known if he was gone for more than a few days. At this point, I would have welcomed a few cat-related disasters if it meant some company besides bare walls and a security system.
Except I worked obscenely long hours. I was away more than I was home. That wouldn’t be fair to even the most independent critter. A couple of opinionated cats like Levi’s would never stand for it.
Downsizing, though. That was an idea. I’d bought this house thinking Leigh and I were going to stay together, knowing we both needed a hell of a lot of space. Even when we weren’t fighting, we both liked some elbow room. Now that she was gone, did I really need this many square feet? There was so much breathing room now, it was suffocating.
It was time to talk to a realtor. Get rid of this house. Get rid of some of this stuff.
Except my work stress could go from bearable to oh my God in a matter of hours and stay that way for weeks. Months, even. Did I really want that plus the stress of moving?
There was always the option of tossing a match in the place.
That thought made me laugh, which sounded borderline hysterical in this empty room. Of course I’d never actually commit arson on my property or anyone else’s—not even Finn’s—but the thought of throwing a match over my shoulder and walking away in slow motion was satisfying in its own morbid little way.
Being trapped here tonight didn’t help.
As soon as Jeremy was gone for the night, I was on lockdown in my own house, kept safe by studio-approved security systems, corralled by the insurance company’s need to protect their assets.
Going to sleep wasn’t happening. Though I was wiped out, I was restless, and I needed a distraction. I needed to do something other than lie in my bed and stare up at the ceiling and think about what Jeremy and I had discussed.
There were escapes. I could always see if Levi and Carter were busy. Then again, Alfonse was probably gone for the night too, so they’d be stuck at home like I was.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. There had to be someone I could chat with for the evening, so I scrolled through my contacts.
Nope. In New York—too late to call.
Nope. Somewhere else on the East Coast.
Not even sure where she’s living now. Better not risk it.
Who the hell is that?
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
And then my heart stopped.
Natalya Izmaylova.
I couldn’t delete her because she was a professional contact. And I couldn’t scroll past her because . . . because . . .
I couldn’t get her out of my phone, but why the hell couldn’t I get her out of my head?
Because she was amazing. Obviously. She’d caught my eye from day one, and that wasn’t changing. Watching her in the role of stunt coordinator was almost as hot as watching her lift at the gym. She ran that department like a conductor in front of an orchestra—everyone’s roles were on paper, but she kept them in sync with each other, kept the whole system running so smoothly, the rest of the production seemed to be in chaos all around them.
She was totally the wrong woman for me. She was . . .
She was hot. Smart. Took crap from no one. Knew how to please a woman. Made the sexiest sounds imaginable when a woman pleased her.
Blowing out a breath, I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. Okay, so maybe I’d fucked up by calling things off with Natalya. I still wasn’t comfortable dating a bi woman—I wasn’t all that comfortable dating anyone right now—but Natalya seemed like exactly the type of friend I needed right now. Sane and fun and just the right kind of crazy.
