Page 57 of Sweatpants & Sweet Tea

When I felt her thighs begin to tremble as she gasped in pleasure, my fingers dug into her hip, and I drove into her in one final, powerful thrust. Pleasure lashed through me as she rode out her shuddering orgasm.

Once my final surge of climax subsided, I wrapped my arms around Daphne as she melted against me. Her head rested on my shoulder, as I cradled her in my arms as we both recovered.

Part of me wanted to ask her if she was still going to go on the dates with Jerry Clemons and Dawson, but I didn’t because I knew her answer. She was. It was her job, and she’d told me it wasn’t real. My question was, was this?

27

DAPHNE

“Are you okay, doll?”Davina asked, her concern appearing in the form of a deep line between her brows as she blended contour on my jawline. “You seem…distracted.”

I gave her a thumbs-up and smiled widely. “Yep. All good!”

My enthusiasm was meant to mask my anxiety, but as soon as I put my opposing digits up, I knew that I had overshot my goal by a mile. She tilted her head to the side, which meant she was clearly not convinced that I was, in fact, all good.

“This is it. You’re last date.”

“Yep.”

“Are younervous?” She emphasized the word nervous, most likely because it was something I’d never been before. At least not when it came to dates or being on camera.

Even when the lens was focused on me, I was too busy trying to produce the episode in my head to worry about the fact that I was on-air talent. I was always thinking about coverage—where I would make cuts if there was an airplane overhead, a garbage truck beeping while it was backing up, or an air conditioner running. Anything that would affect the sound and make us have to dub portions of the date so that the dialogue was clear. If wehad to do audio pickups, that meant renting a studio, booking talent for another day, and having an engineer, which meant more money. A lot of my job as a producer involved making sure that we came in on time and on budget. All of those practical factors were what I was concerned about, not what was actually happening on the date.

Today was different. Today I was worried. Today I was freaking out.

“No. I’m not nervous.” I had to look down to make sure my pants weren’t on fire because I was definitely a liar, liar. My jeans were not in flames.

She took a step back and stared at me. “Wow.”

“What?” I asked, and immediately regretted opening the door for her opinion.

“You are shit-your-pants nervous.”

Was I? I definitely had butterflies, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was at the defecate-my-jeans level of anxiety.

“Girl, if you want to bail, I got your back. You know I am your ride-or-die. I will cosign to witnessing any unexplained ailment you might be feeling.”

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “It’s just weird going on a ‘blind date’ when I…” I stopped myself from saying,when I’ve had sex with the person I’m dating. “When I know the person. Sort of.”

This was my final ‘date’ for the show, and it just happened to be with…drumroll…Harlan Mitchell.

From what I’d heard, he had given production, which on this shoot consisted of Lydia and Ernie, a run for their money. He’d insisted on planning the evening himself. I wasn’t sure exactly what we were doing; all I knew was that we were doing it in the Historic District. Today, my makeshift ‘green room’ was in the conference room at the Firefly Island Library. Thankfully, there was a huge window facing west, so we had incredible naturallight spilling in even though it was late in the afternoon, which helped Davina work her magic and make me beautiful.

I hadn’t spoken to Harlan since he dropped me off after our illicit rendezvous under the pier two weeks ago. I’d seen him across the field that separated my aunt’s and his farmhouse and around town, but no words had been exchanged.

He’d messaged me the morning after our public hookup, asking how I was. I’d messaged back that I was fine but thought it would be best if we kept our distance for the rest of filming. I blamed it on the show, citing it would be immoral and unethical for me to be seeing someone while I was dating other people.

He messaged back:I thought it was just a show…that it’s not real.

It wasn’t the best feeling to have my own words thrown in my face. I quickly replied that it wasn’t real, but that didn’t change how I felt about us seeing one another.

A few minutes after I sent my response, he replied,Okay.

That was it. No more communication. It had been radio silence.

If I were being honest with myself, I would have to admit that every day, I woke up hoping, wishing, praying, and crossing my fingers, toes, and eyes that he’d ignore our tentative agreement and come over to my aunt’s house. That he’d tell me he couldn’t stay away from me and that he needed to see me. That he’d say being so close to me and not being able to speak to me, touch me, or kiss me was torture.

Was I projecting my feelings onto him? Oh yeah. Big time.

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