Page 56 of Director's Cut

So she wasn’t looking at my crotch. She’s also the first partner I’ve ever had who even noticed the scar. (Not that Luna or the others really had the chance; I kept all the focus on them.)

But looking into her eyes, as much as I don’t want the pain to flow back in, there’s a different kind of pressure building inside me to the one I had moments ago. Sex is great. Sex with Maeve is already like a dream. But the tugging in my heart can’t be solved by coming.

It might make the coming better, though.

“It’s not a fun story.” I laugh.

She takes my hand. It electrifies me more than if her hand was between my legs. “That’s okay. I’m here to learn about more than just what your body can do.”

I sigh. “It was…maybe five years ago? Charlie and I went cliff diving, and I hit a rock. The real twist, though, was that my old manager, Steven, came to visit me in the hospital. He said I needed to have a scar revision. Couldn’t let it risk my appeal for future roles.”

Maeve runs her finger along the scar. “What the fuck? Why would anyone—?”

“That’s Hollywood.”

“That’s bullshit. It’s just a scar.” She sighs, long and hard. She plants a soft kiss on my lips. “I just…I need you to know how much I want you to feel okay.” She kisses the spot between my throat and collarbone. “To feel respected.” Between my breasts. “Seen.” Right on my leg scar. “Loved.”

My stomach’s back to fluttering under her touch.

“Thank you,” I whisper back.

She kisses between my hip bones. “Is this okay?”

I take a deep breath and nod. If Maeve wants to see me, I owe it to myself to let her see me. I let the tears fall. Wipe them away as Maeve continues to work her way down.

And when her mouth touches me, lord above, this woman was made to be gay.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Maybe it’s arrogance because I’m finally having sex again, but I’m feeling amazing. Cloud nine, holy shit is this real life incredible. Maeve and I are in full synch the rest of November, gliding through our Rocketman, Sing Street, and Les Misérables lectures, sneaking makeout sessions behind her locked office door before she had to move to her next class. I’d squeeze in any opportunity to see her, sleepy hookups at her place after attending her QuASA and film club events. We kept the promise of anonymity, avoiding anywhere I could be photographed again. Honestly, I didn’t mind—all the best spaces to be with her were private. As soon as we both said goodbye to the students for Thanksgiving break, what had started out as a date to see a double feature at Alamo Drafthouse ended in sex at my place that had Maeve coyly texting me all Thanksgiving break about how sore she was.

Now it’s the day of our last class of the semester before the take-home finals are distributed, and it starts out after Maeve’s first sleepover. She’s looking amazing in one of my Zara suits. I don’t remember the last time I was this happy. So much so that I’ve slipped on a 2008-era studded belt and cat ears, and I only feel slightly like a dumbass.

“Do you know what day it is?” I ask, biting back a smile as I peer into the kitchen. It’s past 8:00 a.m. and Maeve Arko is sitting at my kitchen table holding out a mug so Charlie can pour her a cup of coffee as he looks over a script.

Charlie doesn’t look at me as he squints at one of my walls. “Tuesday?”

“Nope!”

I turn on Alexa to the Original Broadway Cast Recording of “The Rum Tum Tugger.” Maybe it’s because I come from an upper-middle class white family, but I fuck with Cats. And I spent too many hours in college learning how to pelvis-first masc stripper dance to Rocky Horror and later Magic Mike, so I know I fucking own this song. I sing to Maeve and Charlie the first couple of verses, my hands sliding to the center of my belt, my tongue out, my hips gyrating perfectly. And even though Maeve is bright red watching me, probably from secondhand embarrassment, I see a flicker in her eyes that tells me that she’s into it.

“Why are you like this?” Charlie asks, covering his face to laugh.

“Hope you’re ready, Dr. Arko,” I say as I slide behind her chair and grab her shoulders.

“Is this why you wanted to do Cats so badly?”

I slip into my chair next to her and pull off my cat ears. “No.”

“You never did theater in high school, yet you’re still the worst kind of theater kid imaginable,” Charlie comments as he takes my cat ears from me and puts them on.

Maeve crosses her arms and studies me. I could get used to the sight of Maeve in my clothing. I don’t think I’ve dated anyone my size before.

“No,” I repeat, throwing Maeve a small smile. “Gotta provide balance. I make a clown of myself, then Maeve delivers some stellar T. S. Eliot knowledge and a perfect history of camp. That’s why together we make the ideal team.”

That gets Maeve to beam. Her cheeks flush a light pink, and her big ole smile makes my heart melt. “Can you believe today is our last lecture?” she asks.

Nope. Yes, this week marks the start of December, but with next semester looming it doesn’t really feel like much is going to end. In fact, I’m looking forward to making this scene in my kitchen a more frequent occurrence, and to our next class together in January. “End of one thing, beginning of another.”

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