Page 68 of Beyond the Bright Lights

With that, I go back into the bar, brooding for the rest of the night.

Monday. First day of filming. My stomach knots with worry. I’m scared to see Rebecca. It’s been years since I last spoke to her, and more than a decade since I last saw her. What will she say when I confront her about not telling me the movie was filming here?

On top of stressing about seeing Rebecca, I’m also nervous about watching the actors perform the scenes. Can I handle the emotions that will surface? Will it be like I’m watching my memories?

Mylan knocks at my door, here to pick me up to head to set. He didn’t stay over last night because he had a table read at the hotel. With today’s early call time, we agreed spending the night apart would be best. He needed the rest and anytime we’re alone together, sleep and rest are the last thing we’re concerned about.

I tossed and turned for hours last night without him.

Mylan is due on set at six a.m., too damn early. Even the sun struggles to wake. I need at least five more cups of coffee to be able to stay upright.

“You ready?” he asks, walking in.

“No.”

He laughs, leaning down to give me a quick kiss on the lips. “Too bad.” Mylan smiles and holds out his hand.

I take it, and he starts for the door. “Wait!”

He stops, raising an eyebrow.

“The accent.”

He lowers his head, smiling. “Right. The accent.”

“Let’s hear it buddy.”

Mylan grates his hands over his face then shakes his shoulders and clears his throat.

“This is a line from the script. Is that okay?”

I pause for a second then give him a curt nod.

He takes my hands, his eyes locked with mine, and proceeds to bring my world crashing down.

“Let’s skip classes today and drive to Beverly. Let’s go to our cliff and lie in the sun. Let’s stay there until the sun sets and the stars come to life. I want to forget about the world and get lost in each other. Do you want to get lost with me, Lana?”

The rest of his words fade away.

Those are the words Tyler said to me the day he proposed. The ones I told Rebecca and she wrote them in the book. I was stressed about senior year with the class load for my business management degree, the most I'd ever taken on. Tyler convinced me to escape our worries and we left campus, drove three hours to one of our favorite spots where he got down on one knee, pulled out a small diamond ring—that belonged to his grandmother—and asked me to spend the rest of my life with him.

Mylan must have watched the videos I sent him dozens of times, studying the way Tyler’s country twang softened when he said my name. How it’d thicken the more serious he got. The way his mouth would tilt up on one side every time he was nervous.

Mylan stops talking the moment he notices my face, my shaking lip, my watering eyes.

“It’s . . . it’s perfect,” I whisper through a cry. It was perfect. Not to mention the way Mylan manipulated his voice to mimic Tyler’s . . . it’s haunting.

Beautiful.

Tears fall down my cheeks. Mylan cups my face, soft and assuring. He leans in and cleans up the wet streaks with gentle kisses. Such a loving act that has me craving more. He pulls back once satisfied the tears are gone, and I thank him by claiming his mouth, raw and full of hunger, laced with a need that never seems to be satisfied. This kiss I demanded from him is hard and urgent, unlike the patient and caring ones he trailed along my cheeks.

He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close to his body. His other hand snakes up my back, until his fingers reach my braid. He grabs hold at the nape and tugs it slightly. I hum against his lips.

“I want nothing more than to throw you on your bed and fuck you right now,” he growls, his breath tickling me.

Fingers still gripping my braid tight, he gently pulls my head back to expose my throat. Those magical lips of his trail down, offering nips of his teeth in the process. My nipples tighten and grate against his chest, prompting Mylan to move his mouth down to claim one viciously.

I gasp the moment his teeth bite through the fabric of my shirt. Mylan chuckles, satisfied with his torture.

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