Page 121 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

Miles chuckles and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him and placing a kiss on the top of my head that seriously fucks with my brain chemistry. It’s not a forehead kiss, but it’s a close second. Good thing I’m already his. That doesn’t keep me from melting just a little bit.

“Hella spice,” he repeats and I can hear the smile in his voice before looking up at him. He’s grinning like he has some ideas. I’ll admit that I’m dying to know what they are. “Anything specific?”

“Might tell ya later.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

I sure hope you do.

The heat is one thing here in Miami, but the humidity is suffocating. It’s like New York all over again, but with ten percent more ‘kill me’. Give me LA heat any day. I feel damp instantly when we leave the airport to wait in the pickup spot for the shuttle to the convention center hotel.

The ride is a bit bumpy in the conversion van that serves as a shuttle, but it’s not the worst I’ve been through. I’m just thankful we’re the only two in the van. With our luggage filling up much of the back end, there’s barely any room for someone else’s.

The driver helps us get everything inside and Miles waits by the group of luggage while I check myself into room 321. The woman behind the counter is polite, but I get the distinct feeling that the event this weekend makes her uncomfortable

I head back to Miles, waving the little paper holder with my key cards with a grin.

“Your turn.”

I absently play with the zipper on my laptop bag while I watch Miles speak with the same woman. She seems much warmer toward him–no surprise there, of course. He could probably turn any frown upside down with his praise. I bite my lip, thinking about what that praise sounds like in a bedroom setting. Yep, no frowns when Miles Corning is between your legs.

When he rejoins me, waving his key cards like I did mine, I catch a glimpse of his room number and my smile drops.

“What?” He follows my gaze to his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Room 323?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

I hold up my hand for him to see the room number scrawled hastily in the given space.

“We’re neighbors.”

“Thereisa god.”

30

Sophie

Present-Sophie is a little frustrated with Past-Sophie for scheduling a collab just hours after flying across the country. But Present-Sophie isn’t a little bitch, so once Miles helps me get my luggage into my room, he kisses me on the cheek and tells me to let him know when I’m done–like we’re some sort of normal couple and I’m going into a big meeting. It’s sickeningly cute.

I take a quick selfie and send it to Brody, then unpack my things. It’s my process when traveling. As soon as I arrive in a new hotel room, I hang up costumes or dresses as needed, place other clothing and my toys in drawers, unpack my toiletries, and set the nighttime supplies on a towel on one side of the sink and the morning supplies on a towel on the other side of the sink. The towels are a new development in my process. After my experience with a less-than-clean collab and his sink crusted with soap scum and beard trimmings, I’ve become a little paranoid about cleanliness.

When I’m happy with the layout, I hop in the shower.

A text comes through while I’m finishingmy makeup.

I type out a quick response and set the phone next to my makeup bag. The nerves are back. Miles was the last new person I worked with and I highly doubt this experience with Steven is going to end up the same way. I don’t needthreeboyfriends. That’s just too much.

I pass the rest of the wait setting up my tripod and ring light, making sure I have the right angle, though I know we’ll move things around when he arrives. I pull out the maid costume for the scene we planned out. I didn’t realize the room I booked would have a gigantic showeranda huge tub with jets, so we may end up changing the blocking we talked about.

The knock on my door makes me jump, but I right myself, pulling my robe sash a little tighter around my waist. I take a deep breath and then let it out quickly. Plastering a smile on my face, I swing the door open.

“I certainly hope you’re Steven,” I tease, knowing full well that he is. I recognize the tattoos on his tan skin. What is it with me and tattoos lately?

“Only if you’re Honey,” he replies with a sheepish grin. His brown eyes are warm and beneath the thick, dark beard, I can see a smile on his full lips. He’s hesitant to move when I step back to let him in, but I know this little awkward dance well.

“Come on in.” I wave my hand and he slips past me.

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