Page 75 of Sizzle Reel

She chuckles. “Oh my god, as if I’d share that information with the world.” She takes my hand, plants a firm kiss on it. “There are some things I only want a special few to know.”

A special few. I’m part of a special few in this woman’s life, a life surrounded by adoring thousands, millions. Our experience truly is a locked-box secret.

And I made a girl come for the first time.

Valeria sighs and turns to me. Pushes a hair out of my face. “Wanna do anything else?” She glances down, smirks at me. “You still wet?”

I take a second to think about it, and yeah, doing that to hermeans I’m still very wet. “Can we come together?”

That cocky smile remains on her lips as she clambers to her knees, pushes me into the plush bedding, straddles me. Her weight on me sinks to my core, heavy, pulsing, and it brings me back to life. And when she kisses and bites my neck, starts grinding against me, for once in my life, my brain shuts off.

I just let the magic happen.

I have a monthly family brunch the next morning, so as much as it kills me, after my hair’s been teased into a nest, my makeup has been kissed and sweated off, my fingers are aching, and I’m barely able to walk, I get an Uber back to my apartment. Romy’s asleep when I return. Valeria texts me when I’m in my bedroom and invites me to see her Monday evening, if I’m down. I text that I am and fall asleep like a rock.

In the morning, Romy brews coffee, reading a paperback at the kitchen table. For all that I expected to be as hungover as she is, this dress feels light against my skin and I’m ready to run around skipping.

“Where are you off to?” Romy asks.

“Brunch with Noam and my parents.”

She nods slowly. “How’d last night go?”

I break into a grin. “Amazing. I came for the first time. We came. Like I figured out fingering and everything.”

Romy smiles. There’s a light in her eyes, but her mouth is wobbly, unsure. It’s the hangover, I figure. “That’s great, Lune! Look at you, having gay sex.”

The lightness drops. A little. “What do you mean? That was just fooling around.”

Because as amazing as that was, that wasn’t sex, right? I’d know if I’d done something as huge as lose my virginity. As much as I want it to happen, that was just really good foreplay. I suddenly wish Wyatt were here to back me up.

Romy shrugs wearily. “Okay, buddy. One day you’ll listen to me.” She says the last line with a smile. Even after her face relaxes, she studies me. “Valeria doing a vampire movie?”

I crease my brow. “No? We saw her in a western.”

Romy raises her brows. “Well, you might wanna look at your neck, lover girl.”

I rush to my bathroom, heart hammering.

And goddamn fucking shit, there is a hickey just chilling there, taunting me, right on the side of my neck. I don’t even remember when that happened. I’m having brunch with my family. I’m about to have brunch with my family, and the evidence that I fucked around with a woman is just displayed on my skin. With a whole lot of grief, I manage to reduce the hickey down to a spot of discoloration that can really only be seen if you’re staring hard enough and know what to look for.

Which, as I drive down to the Beach Cities, is exactly what I’m paranoid that they’ll be doing.

We picked Nick’s in Downtown Manhattan Beach for this brunch. More than likely, Mom will jostle all three of us to walk the couple of blocks down to the ocean, probably snap some pictures. The idea already has my stomach aching as I walk up to the restaurant. Still, as much as I don’t miss the Beach Cities where I grew up, this consistent ocean breeze is heavenly compared with what I left in K-Town. In fact, for about two minutes, I’m happy to be home.

Then Noam and my parents arrive. Mom is in her all-day workout attire; Dad is in one of his many Hawaiian shirts. He collects them on the trips he takes every year or so to the islands. Noam has barely shrugged into sweatpants and a T-shirt. He’s probably already heard an earful from Mom about his sloppy appearance and how that frat is taking up too much of his damn time.

Mom pulls me into a hug, kissing my cheek, and her pink lipstick sticks on my skin. No, I don’t understand the logic in wearing makeup while in workout clothing, but Mom, who met my dad when they attended Claremont McKenna College together, became a Southern California housewife stereotype long ago. New York toughness in California skin.

Still, I picture the smudge of lipstick as I rub it off my skin. Soft pink. Not quite the red stains Valeria and I left on each other’s necks last night.

“You look tired, sweetie,” Mom says. “Out late?”

“Out late with a boy?” Dad suggests.

I know it’s a joke. Usually when they call me at night I’m watching a movie with Romy. During the past few conversations we’ve had since I snapped at Mom, I was, in fact, doing exactly that, as Rom and I work through the sapphic movie list. But the insinuation is so perfectly aligned with what I did that my chest tightens. “If Wyatt and Romy count as ‘out,’ then yeah.”

Mom’s eyes widen a bit as Dad gets a table. Outside. It’s too nice of a day not to. “Oh, excellent! What did you guys do?”

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