Page 66 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

I shake my head with a smile. “Nope, I’m surely not.”

“Right,” Otis adds, bobbing his head. “So it shouldn’t get us in trouble to catch a drink.” He steps toward me, leaning in close enough for me to know that he is chewing wintergreen gum.

I smile while feeling the burning glares of Aug and Lance singeing up my spine. It’s a burn I like, actually. “Sure, I’ll get a drink with you.”

Otis’s already large grin spreads wider as he sticks out a fist for me to bump. I knock knuckles with him as he beams, “Alright then. Seven? The place around the corner from Rise & Grind, so we can walk?”

I nod. “Sure.”

Otis turns around, and disappears into the group of actors huddled together on set. We’re filming one of the biggest scenes we’ve ever filmed—in terms of headcount at least, and of course, according to Aug since I’ve only been here a few months. And that means lots of actors. Only a fewaren’there.

I head back to my chair between Aug and Lance, settling in as I focus all of my attention on the set. Aug clears his throat and, feeling a little snarky, I reach for my water and pass it to him blindly, saying, “Here.”

Lance grabs my hand perched atop the armrest so I turn my head. “What’s up?”

His eyes are filled with roiling rage. I look down at where his hand clutches my wrist and narrow my eyes. “We’re at work,” I say quietly before turning my focus back to the set.

“You’re going out with Otis after work, that’s what’s up,” he snarks through gritted teeth. I also notice the strain eating up his throat, the stiff set of his shoulders and seriousness that holds his brows together.

Maybe a conversation should have taken place to avoid this, huh?

“Why shouldn’t I?” I ask, studying my nail beds then cuticles as Cohen makes the final on-set arrangements, and Alexa collects bathrobes from actors. “It’s not like I’m in a relationship, right? I mean, no one has sat me down recently and said,wow, Brielle Parker, you are amazing and special and we’re so glad to be with you.”

I spread my gaze between the two of them, then face the set. “So yeah, I’m getting drinks with Otis. Why, did you guys want to hang out tonight?”

Aug’s voice is so deep and dark that the back of my neck actually heats. My pussy too because something tells me angry, territorial Aug is a man I want to meet.

Maybe tonight, if I play my cards right.

“Hang out?” He repeats, saying those two words like they’re not just foreign but full of thorns sticking painfully to his tongue. “We aren’thanging out. I’m not a goddamn fifteen year old, Brielle.We’re together.”

I raise my brows, making the most puzzled expression I can muster through my irritation. “Are we? Because the last time I checked, we do everything together except talk about what we are. So until that happens, why shouldn’t I go with Otis?”

“Hey Aug, we should roll here in a minute. We’re losing daylight if we’re still going to get to the outdoor park group scene,” Cohen smiles awkwardly, poor man.

Aug rises, his slates in his hands, orders people around and talks to Cohen. I don’t hear much of it because I’m vibrating in my chair, so proud of myself for finally coming out with it.We need to fucking talk!I mean, I guess I could’ve opened with that instead of torturing them with the idea that I’m dating another guy but… too bad. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and still, nothing.

I’ve been patient.

Now I'm having some fun with them.

The remainder of the day goes by quickly, but unfortunately for the actors, Aug and Lance are in a foul mood. A foul mood that could have been avoided but a foul mood nonetheless. And around seven, when everyone is done for the day and Lance and Aug are pulling their coats on, they stop me.

“You’re not really gonna get drinks with Otis?” Aug asks, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket as Lance tugs on black leather gloves.

I pull my coat on and grab my purse. “Yeah, I am. But don’t worry, I can swing by after.”

“Swing by?” Lance chokes on a dry laugh as he repeats my words.

And before I can give them an opportunity to chastise me for my choice or gaslight me into believing I’m wrong, I loop my arm through a waiting Otis’s arm and head out.

We walk into the cool evening air, and Otis rattles on and on about this… video game tournament he’s going to be in this weekend. And as we enter the crappy bar around the corner, I realize something: proving a point does not feel as good as you think it will.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

An hour and a half later—one that feels likefour hours—I’m uncomfortably sober as I drive to Aug’s house.

They texted me once, or Aug did, and saidcome over when you’re done with your fun. It doesn’t matter how late.

---