Page 65 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

Eleven.

That’s how many nights back-to-back I’ve slept with Aug and Lance. And I don’t even mean slept like fucked. I mean, actually laid in a bed together and slept all night.

We’ve shared morning showers and grouchy breakfasts. We’ve gone to work together in one car. They’ve watched me shave my legs in the tub as they shaved their faces at the sink, all while we discussed the future for Crave. They’ve also watched my phone ring off the hook morning and evening as my dad tries to contact me again.

It’s been a great eleven days. Wonderful, even. The best, maybe.

Okay, not maybe. These have for sure been the best eleven days of my entire life. Aside from the fact that Winnie is still majorly depressed and going through something which she refuses to share with me, life is good.

However.

The three of us have been doing this thing together now for... months. And while I feel the connection in every grazed touch, every across the studio look, every single word whispered or groaned—I feel our connection, I do—I still can’t help but remind myself that we haven’t had a serious conversation aroundusat all.

They’ve told me what they need and want. I’ve done the same.

We’ve fucked every which way from fucking Sunday. I’ve sucked and swallowed, bounced and bobbed, been slapped and collared. We’vedonea lot.

But talked about the long term of our situation? That’s one thing we haven’t done.

And the more I think about how we haven’t talked about that yet, the angrier I become. After all, I need to talk through things on set. I need to talk through script choices and assert my opinion over lighting changes. And the crux of their demise before me was communication related, more or less.

Still, we’ve not talked about it. And come on. Do I really have to bring it up as a woman? How very 1955. And I’m just not doing it. No. No way am I going to be the one who asks what we are or where this is going. No way.

First of all, while I do recognize and fully believe that the three of us are equals in this dynamic, I also want it to be known that they have a history. A full rich history full of love and sex and arguing and meeting family and— everything. They had everything together.

It stands to reason that because their history is so rich, one of them should be the one to initiate “the talk,” right? I don’t know why that settles logically in my brain, but it does, and each day that we grow closer and no one says a word about our future—all while, I might add, putting things on our calendar months down the road—the crazier and angrier I become.

Standing with Lucy on set, talking to her about the upcoming scene and how the energy of a tired mother can best come through wordlessly, Lance and Aug come in the back, laughing. Lance is holding their coffees as Aug lifts a huge box. They took a midday run to FedEx to grab a mis-delivered box of pocket pussy prototypes, and invited me to go with them. So I’m not glaring at them through Lucy’s hair with jealous beady eyes. My eyes right now are more angry beady.

Lance passes Aug his coffee after he sets the box down, and they both take drinks. Aug nudges Lance and says something behind the cups, and they both laugh, rich and hearty, the noise blooming through the space around us.

And my angry beady eyes narrow on them.

“You okay?” Lucy asks, her voice private.

“Oh I’m fine. Just… you know, living my life without a single care in the fucking world!” I keep my eyes on them, watching them laugh and chat and bump each other playfully. I know, I know—they were miserable when I came here, and now look at them. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. Well—maybe not Aug on that last part but still, they’re happy. And I know that’s to my credit.

Still. I glare. Because how can you just be happy and carefree when you have no idea where you stand in your most important relationship?

“Yeah?” Lucy offers after she sees me continue staring for a silent moment. I refocus on her, smiling as I push my hair off my face, ready for my afternoon ponytail. “You seem like maybe you do have some cares and I just want you to know, I mean, I know you work with Aug and Lance so… if you ever need an ear or a girlfriend, let me know.”

I smile at her, giving her the attention she’s deserved this entire time. Putting the guys in my peripheral, I smooth my hand down her arm before cupping my forehead in my hand. “I’m sorry—just… preoccupied. But thank you, Lucy. That means a lot.”

I do not look up at them again and instead, work with Lucy for the next few minutes to get on the same page. And when it’s time to call the scene, I find that they have taken their places around me, Lance flipping through my notes, Aug looking on as if he’s pleased without even knowing.

The scene is seamless and during, I try to talk myself out of focusing on the fact we haven’t hadthe talk. I try to tell myself that when they’re ready, we will talk. And I’m tugged from my thoughts as Otis approaches, tying his robe at the waist.

“Ready for your scene?” I ask with a half smile as I flip through the remainder of the itinerary for the day.

He smiles, holding the ends of the terry robe belt. “Oh yeah, always.”

I nod. “Great. What can I help you with? Cohen is working on the order in his office so–”

Otis shakes his head, smiling a bioluminescent smile. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to have drinks with me tonight.” He looks to Aug nearby then back to me. “I know relationships between actors are kind of…” he makes air quotes as he says, “frowned upon.”

I smile. Oh Jesus. Otis is asking me out. Right in front of Aug and Lance.

“But you’re not an actor,” he beams proudly.

---