Page 50 of Director's Cut

“You inspire them. I put on a show.”

“You do so much more than putting on a show, and I’ll never forgive myself for not pointing that out to you in the second class.”

I bump my hip against hers. “Hey, I thought you were an asshole too.”

She blushes. “I was an asshole, though!”

“Look, I walked in in designer heels, I get it. Plus I used to comfort myself by thinking you were the type of pretentious dickwad who, like, watches 1800s film for fun and lights scented candles when they masturbate. I was just as unbearable as you.”

As Maeve’s mouth forms a perfect O, I kind of more or less really regret letting that one slip.

“Oh my god, my favorite movie is the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice,” she says.

I smile. “So that’s a yes on the candles…?”

She just gets redder. “You’re horrible.”

“And how dare your favorite movie not be Portrait of a Lady on Fire! I had you pegged.”

Maeve shakes her head, a huge smile on her face. A smile that shows teeth, giving me a peek at a canine that’s a little too sharp. “My favorite sapphic movie is Carol, although Portrait of a Lady on Fire’s close. You?”

“That sequel to The Shining, but only because of that erotic scene where Ewan McGregor gets chased by the hot demon lady with an ax.”

She laughs. “Okay, but for real.”

“Y Tu Mamá También, the ultimate movie in favor of lesbianism—”

Maeve just keeps laughing. “Val, please.”

“Okay.” I pause for dramatic effect. Maeve wipes tears out of her eyes.

“Disobedience, because I can turn on that spit-in-mouth scene and give myself full body shudders on command.”

She grabs my shoulders, laughing into my chest. Laughing so hard she’s starting to wheeze. “Stop.”

With the way my heart’s hammering, no way. “It’s Thelma and Louise. You can stop choking now.”

Maeve finally pulls away from me. She’s still got this utterly beautiful smile on her face. The kind of smile that just radiates pure, unfiltered joy. Like I can feel that I’m making a positive impact on this person’s life. My chest swells, and maybe it’s time to move inside, because the pull to her is getting to be too much and—

And Maeve kisses me first.

She’s kissing me and the metal railing is digging into my back, but I sigh into her mouth like she’s given me oxygen. The kiss—it feels different from the other two we’ve had. It feels…tender, magnetic. Indulgent, even? The hunger’s still there, it gnaws and tugs at my belly as we touch, but time seems to move slower. Like I can finally savor the slightly fruity taste of her lipstick and feel her long fingers gripping my neck. She holds just the slightest amount of her weight against me. Challenging me to keep her afloat, but not overburdening me. Our shared warmth is like holding hot coffee in the snow, just right—

But we’re not alone anymore.

I know what I’m sensing. Someone has lifted a camera, and I’m in the frame.

I know I should be boiling with rage. My privacy has been violated. But the anger just doesn’t come. All I feel is anxiety clawing at my insides, dragging the good feeling I just had into the abyss like those mammoths in the tar. Maeve’s out, it’s not like when I was with Luna and I worried about her being outed. But Maeve’s reputation could be at risk, and this isn’t even an Oscars publicity setup for Trish. This guy isn’t going to do this to us on our first fucking date.

I wrap my arms around her and swoop her into a dip, covering her lips with mine. As she gasps into my mouth, I shove my middle finger into the air right where the photographer would be seeing the top of Maeve’s head. He’ll have to blur her out.

I pull away, just in time to see Hipster Guy lower his camera. He doesn’t even make eye contact when he skitters away like a rat.

“Was that paparazzi?” Maeve asks, fiddling with her earring.

I shrug. “Probably, but I angled us so I’m the only recognizable one in the photo.”

She takes my hand, jolting my heart. “Can we go find a dire wolf?” Her tone is…off.

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