One More Time

by Laurelin Paige

  And if the kiss was for me, not for my character, what does that mean?

  Did the fight turn him on, or is he also feeling this weird mix-up of past and present? I need answers, but I am not about to go get them from the source. The thought of even being near Tanner right now is making my body buzz all over, in more ways than one.

  In the meantime, a big glass of wine and a long chat with Walter will get me through until tomorrow. We’ll come up with a plan. If nothing else, I’ll feel better for talking it out instead of looping it in my head the same way I’ve been looping around these streets. A quick glance at the map on my phone reveals that I’ve wandered back toward the set, so I decide to stop by my trailer and grab tomorrow’s script before heading back to the hotel.

  I peer around cautiously before crossing the parking lot to my trailer. I am not in the mood to see anyone from production, but hopefully they’re long gone by now. In particular, I can’t stomach the idea of Angela lying in wait for me like a vulture, ready to snatch the news of our unscripted kiss like a delicious tidbit.

  Once I see that the coast is clear, I bolt across the asphalt and throw upon the door.

  Then I scream bloody murder.

  “Shit! Sorry! Hi...” Tanner says, frantically trying to calm me down. “Just shush a second, will you?”

  I take a long inhale in, not entirely certain I’m done screaming.

  “Thank you,” he says, and his sincerity halts me from making any further noise for the time being. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I was just afraid you wouldn’t talk to me any other way.”

  “Correct assumption,” I say, placing my hand over my still-pounding heart and trying to catch my breath. “Because I don’t want to talk to you off camera. I want to maintain professional distance. I explained this on the first day.” I’m terse, but how can I not be? He’s in my freaking trailer! After the set has closed down. After we kissed!

  For some reason, the realization that we’re alone only makes my heart beat faster.

  “You’re right,” he says, earnestly. “I’m only here to apologize. Jenna, I’m sorry about what happened back there.”

  I’m too stunned to speak, which turns out to be a good thing because Tanner continues with even more apologies.

  “I shouldn’t have done that back there. Kissed you. It was unprofessional and inappropriate. Please forgive me.”

  “Hiding in my trailer absolutely falls into the unprofessional and inappropriate category, Tanner,” I snip, lashing out against the feeling in my chest that’s squeezing my heart. The feeling that despite all my big talk about professionalism, what I really want is be lost in his arms, just one more time.

  “I know. But your PA couldn’t get ahold of you. And I got worried.”

  I force myself to look Tanner in the face. He looks like a guilty puppy dog – big eyes, head hung low. I did ignore a lot of texts. And regardless of how messed up the situation is between us, it was sort of nice that he wanted to make sure I got here okay.

  And I want to be reasonable. Even if my insides are all wrecked from the past, we still have a present to work through together. Maybe if I raise the white flag we’ll actually get through this thing in one piece.

  I sit down next to Tanner, just to let him know I’m not planning on shoving him straight out of my trailer anymore. And then I dig deep and play nice. “Obviously our bodies have some sort of muscle memory. We’re just reacting to that. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  He laughs. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

  “Also that was totally in the heat of a big scene moment. Good actors let themselves get carried away. That’s what happened. We can still be adults about this, moving forward. We can still be professional.”

  “Right, right. We’re professionals.”

  He’s looking at me now. I can’t quite make out the expression on his face.

  Part of me hopes that he’s as confused as I am.

  “Today meant nothing,” I say. “Our past is in the past.”

  “Totally in the past. But when I’m working with you…”

  I feel myself inch closer to him. “...what?”

  “Sometimes I can’t tell where we leave off and our characters begin.” Is he sitting nearer than he was a few seconds ago?

  “I know. I feel the same way,” I confess, and then I’m definitely moving closer to him. Definitely staring at his lips. We’re like two magnets. Simply telling them to stay apart never stops the pull.

  “But that’s the job, right?” he says, and his eyes are on my mouth now.

  I nod. “We have to put everything aside and just focus on the work.”

  “Right. Yes. I can do that.” He’s so close we’re almost touching. Then he reaches his hand out and places it on my thigh. I feel a chill run up my body, and I close my eyes. The warm, heavy feeling of his hand is so familiar and so exciting at once. “Can you do that?”

  The honest answer is that I don’t know. I open my eyes and find him staring at me. I get lost in his stare. For a moment, we hesitate.

  Then the next thing I know, my lips are pressed against his and his tongue is finding its way inside my mouth. I don’t know who started it, but neither of us can deny this is what we both want in this moment. Have wanted since this afternoon. Maybe since we first saw each other outside craft services two weeks ago.

  He cradles my face between his hands and shifts me closer, as though afraid I’ll break our connection.

  But I’m not going anywhere. I want more. I swing my leg over to straddle him, so I can press my hips into his pelvis. I groan when I feel how hard he is, groan with the need that’s already built up unbearably between my thighs. I rock back and forth, desperate. Only a few scraps of cloth stand between us, but they’re enough to frustrate me.

  He stands up, me still astride him, then he tosses me onto my back in front of him. He kneels on the ground, and I’m lying on the couch of my trailer looking up at the ceiling, and a part of me is wondering how the hell this happened again. But a much louder part of me doesn’t want it to end before we’re both naked and screaming out all our unresolved anger in orgasm.

  Before I have time to register what’s happening, I feel Tanner’s fingers creep up my thighs and under my panties. He plays with me, teasing before he plunges two fingers inside my body.

  I gasp in surprise and delight.

  This. This is what I need.

  I let my thighs fall farther apart, giving him all the access he wants. Tanner dances and swirls his fingers around, first deep inside me and then up to brush my clit. I grip the couch, nearly paralyzed in anticipation. My legs begin to shake, and I can’t remember my own name anymore. All I can think about is how incredible this feels, and how, improbably, he’s become even more talented at touching a woman over the years. Holy shit.

  I’ve never been fingered like this before.

  He leaves one hand to work every centimeter of my clit then takes the other and dances it up and down the inside of my thighs until I’m crying out. His free hand covers my mouth, but that doesn’t help. It isn’t until he stills that I quiet, although my hips are still rocking greedily, trying to get what I want from his fingers.

  “Sshh,” he says, “Someone might still be around.”

  “I don’t care,” I moan, and, in the moment, I swear I don’t. Let everyone hear how glorious this is. Tanner grins as he presses his fingers back inside me, bending them and twisting them, showing off more moves that get my body pulsing and my pussy soaking wet.

  I’m going to come. I’m so close. “Fuck, Tanner, yes…”

  “Yes,” he growls, and that’s all it takes to send me flying over the edge into ecstasy.

  ...just as someone knocks on the trailer door.

  Tanner’s hand goes back over my mouth, and I bite down on my cheek to contain my moan as the last few aftershocks rack my body. He stares at me, helping me come down, our bodies rocking together as I slowly stop convulsing.

  �
��Hello? Jenna?” a voice calls from outside. It’s one of the production assistants. “If you’re there, Polly was hoping to re-shoot a few lines before we wrap for the day,” she says. “Can you be on set in five? And do you have any idea where Tanner is?”

  But the more important question at the moment is, what the hell just happened?

  Tanner

  For the first time in my life I don’t want to hear my director call it a wrap for the day.

  Normally I’m just going through the motions at this point, my mind more focused on the ESPN and cold beer awaiting me than on turning in an Oscar-worthy performance. Now, though, as we’re winding down on those last shots that Polly needed, I’m actually considering flubbing my lines to eat up more time.

  Although it could happen even without me doing it on purpose, considering the kind of shape I’m in.

  It took me fifteen minutes to get through this one scene – that we already shot once earlier today – because my mind was so all over the place. And my body. I’m pretty sure I walked onto the set fully hard.

  I can’t stop thinking about what happened in Jenna’s trailer. About what we did. About what I did. Can’t stop thinking about her pussy pulsing around my fingers and her beautiful face when she came--she’s as gorgeous as I remembered when she’s lost in orgasm, and the ache in my balls has me wanting to see that look again real soon.

  But the ache in my stomach that says I really screwed things up is much worse than any pain below the waist.

  We were just starting to talk to each other again. Starting to work things out. Somehow I have a feeling this is not what Jenna meant when she said she wanted to keep things professional.

  And, fuck! What if we’d been caught?

  That’s just what Jenna needs—a story about us fooling around to get spread around by one underpaid crew member and suddenly TMI is blasting too much information once again.

  It was a mistake. I know it was. I need to apologize to Jenna. Only, without a single minute to process what happened back there, I don’t know what to say.

  We run through our shots, my mind spinning the whole time.

  Jenna’s barely looked at me except when she’s had to for the scene. I assume she’s angry, and she has every right to be. It must seem like I came to her trailer under false pretenses. And I didn’t. I didn’t plan that I would end up all but fucking her.

  That has to be part of my apology. I have to make sure I explain that I really did go to her trailer to set things right between us. The rest just…happened.

  And unless I’m reading things totally wrong, she wanted it, too. She moved toward me. She let me touch her.

  God she felt good.

  “Cut!” Polly yells. “That’s it for today. You can get back to whatever you were doing before I rudely interrupted you.”

  Shit. Did Polly just look our way? Did someone actually see us? Or, more likely, hear us?

  Am I just being paranoid?

  I look over at Jenna, wondering if she picked up on the same comment from Polly. Somehow she’s already over with her wardrobe person getting out of costume. She looks rattled and uncomfortable. My stomach sinks. She regrets what we did, she’ll never speak to me as anyone but Grace again. I can practically see it all.

  Then it hits me exactly why she’s probably so upset: Walter. Jenna has a fucking boyfriend.

  Now I have regrets. Big regrets.

  Shit.

  My need to apologize gets even more urgent, in the light of this. If I were her, I’d be feeling overwhelmed and angry too. If I were him, I’d kill me. The irony doesn’t escape me, by the way, that the most famous victim of infidelity since Jennifer Aniston just cheated. With me.

  I need to clear the air. This time nowhere near a confined space with a couch.

  I snag Jenna before she’s anywhere near her trailer. This time, we’re in a well-lit section of the lot where lots of people are passing by. No one is close enough to listen to our conversation. It’s perfect, except for my nerves. I’m damn near shaking as I touch her arm to ask if we can talk. It doesn’t help that she jumps almost a mile high the minute my arm grazes her skin.

  “Hey, I want to apologize, for real this time. That was totally unprofessional, and I’m really sorry,” I say, quietly. “That wasn’t my intention when I came to your trailer. I honestly just wanted to clear the air.”

  Jenna nods. She’s agreeing, but she doesn’t seem pissed. She actually looks relieved.

  “Good. I was hoping you’d feel that way. That can never happen again. It’s too risky.” I notice her nervously fidget with her fingers.

  “Yes. Exactly. Completely agreed. Never again.”

  “Okay. Cool. Well… Great.” Now Jenna shifts on her feet and touches her hair.

  “So are you going to tell your boyfriend about it?”

  “What boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh,” I say, confused. “I guess I got that mixed up.”

  “Yeah, you did. I definitely don’t have a boyfriend.”

  She sneaks a quick look up and directly at me before jutting her eyes down and away. I used to call it her French eyes. The move made me feel like I was in some black and white French romance flick…or vintage French porn. When we first met that look could get me hard in a hot second.

  Turns out, it still can.

  We’re quiet for a moment. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I’m turning this new information over in my head. Maybe he was just a friend with benefits. Or an uncle I don’t remember.

  So where does that leave me?

  I look at her and she’s looking at me, and this time we both cut our eyes away.

  “Even though I’m sorry,” I venture, “I don’t regret it.” More silence, but only for a moment.

  “It was pretty hot,” she agrees, and even without glancing over, I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “We’re shooting Seven next,” she says conversationally. Seven is the first time that Bobby and Grace go home together. Despite a no-nudity clause in Jenna’s contract, the scene looks to be pretty steamy. There will be tons of shots of our bare skin, sliding against each other, shots of neck kissing and hair pulling and all the other things I’ve been fantasizing about doing to her off-camera.

  “So, do you maybe want to get together tonight to rehearse it before we shoot Monday?” I ask.

  I didn’t really mean to say that out loud. I feel like some weird demon took control of my mouth. The words just came flying out like some kind of physical reaction. And now I can’t take them back.

  But then Jenna says, “Yes, definitely,” without a single bit of hesitation.

  Play it cool, Tanner. Roll with it.

  “Okay good. Yeah. Cool. My room?” Not sure that was “cool” but it was certainly bold. She’s smiling, and either I’m crazy or it’s a flirty grin.

  “I don’t know. Do you have a suite?”

  Yep, definitely flirty. Game on, Jenna Stahl. “I do. Room 1019. King suite. Come see if it’s up to your lead actress standards.” I wink at her, and am gratified to see her blush. I can’t wait to see the flush on her cheeks when I make her come again, this time with my mouth.

  Wait. That’s not what I’m supposed to be thinking about. Are we still talking about rehearsing?

  “Deal. Your room. Nine o’clock?” She pivots to leave, hardly waiting for my answer. Like it would be anything other than acquiescence.

  And it is. “Yeah. Perfect. See you then.”

  I watch her ass as she walks away, this time without a measure of guilt.

  And with that I can’t decide if this late night rehearsal is the best or worst idea I’ve ever had.

  By ten after nine, when Jenna is nowhere to be found, I’ve decided it’s definitely the worst. I pick up the remote and head for the minibar, ready to drown my feelings in a combination of tequila and basketball.

  Then there’s a knock on the door.

  “Hi, I’m sorry I’m late,” Jenna says breezi
ly as she walks in, oblivious to my gaping.

  At least, that’s what I think she said. I can’t focus on anything but the thin white t-shirt she’s wearing over a black lace bra. It shows off every curve of her perfect breasts. I force myself to think of something cold and boring – miserable icy showers at Aunt Pat’s beach house! – and I’m saved, for now.

  “No worries,” I say, recovering quickly. “Something to drink?”

  “No thanks,” Jenna says. Then she takes the script out of her bag and starts leafing through the pages. “Do you wanna get your script?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Of course.” I escape into my bedroom to grab it, and mentally slap myself across the face. She’s here to work, idiot.

  “I think we should use your kitchen counter as the bar,” Jenna calls from the other room.

  “Fine,” I say as I walk back in, script in hand.

  “It’s a little bright in here. Mind if I dim the lights?”

  I want to say No, Jenna, if you dim the lights then this is going to feel too much like a real bar, and in a real bar I wouldn’t make it through a single line. I’d just throw you up on the counter and fuck your brains out.

  But instead I nod a yes. I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread, and desperately hoping she doesn’t notice.

  “K, you lean on the counter opposite me,” Jenna directs. “Let’s take it from the top of page twenty-five.”

  I move in like she suggested, then scan the page. The dialogue seems harmless enough. Grace and Bobby are chatting after they’ve met up at Happy Hour after a long day of work. It’s friendly and simple.

  “You start,” I say.

  “Right...”

  There is a little tone of hesitation in Jenna’s response – like she isn’t sure about something. But what? I look up from my script and find her staring at me. Why? Is she nervous or uncomfortable? Does she not know how to approach this scene? Or is she doing something to get into character?