Page 45 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

I sit up next to her, allowing her space. The realization of what she’s trying to say is like a bucket of ice water. There’s a rock in my stomach, weighing me down. I force a smile.

“Let me, er, get my stuff.” I roll over to scoot off of the bed and begin searching for my shorts. I think I threw them off toward the door.

“Lance, I’m sorry.” She sounds so vulnerable, embarrassed, even.

Fuck.

I stand, shorts in hand, holding them over my waist as if I need shielding from her gaze. She’s sitting up now, cross-legged on the bed, completely at ease with her nakedness. I want to sink back onto the mattress with her. Crawl up her body, trailing kisses, tasting her, showing her just how much I wanther, not Honey. I suppose addressing her by her legal name would be a first step, but I didn't pay attention to our release forms.

“I overstepped.”Understatement.

I have always made it a point to make sure co-stars feel comfortable. I know how much trust it takes. I’ve heard the horror stories of women in the industry, but like a fool, I pushed her boundaries. I thought I saw something that clearly isn’t there.

Honey bites her lip again and drops her gaze. Her hands are clasped in front of her.

“It’s just- When I work with someone new,” she says, not lifting her eyes, “I have to flip that switch in my brain, you know?” She looks at me again, begging me to understand. “I have to think ‘this person isn’t a viable romantic partner’, you know? Not that that’s what you were wanting or that I- I mean, I don’t evenplayoff-camera with the people I work with. I try to keep things professional.”

I feel one corner of my mouth lifting into a supportive smile. I wish I’d known. I wish I’d met her under different circumstances–in a bar, at a library,anywhere. I wish I could convince her to give me a chance.

I take a deep breath and smile, hoping it reaches my eyes.

“Got it. Professional from here on out.” I salute and then slip my shorts on before grabbing my shirt from where it landed on top of my backpack.

“We could still grab food,” she offers as if trying to placate a child after telling him he can’t play with his friends. “If you want.”

Her voice is so small. Does she think I’m mad at her for turning me down? It would break my heart if that’s the case.

“I want to,” I say as I move to stop my phone and take it off of the tripod. Oh great, I caught all of this awkwardness on film. “But I don’t want to push you. Rain check.” I’m still smiling, even though my eyes are on the tripod as I shorten it.

“Rain check,” Honey confirms. I see her nod out of the corner of my eye when I squat to pack up the tripod.

She turns and scoots to the far edge of the bed, bending over to open a drawer in the bedside table. She pulls out a package of wipes and, realizing what she intends to do, I turn away. I should’ve offered to grab her a towel or something. Moments later I hear the drawer shut and turn to watch as she stands, walking to the dresser and taking a robe from one of the hooks on the wall nearby. It’s a simple black, cotton robe, but it cuts off above her knees and hugs every single curve of her body when she ties it around her waist.

“I’ll walk you out.”

I wonder how Brody’s date went last night. We haven’t seen each other since he left in that fancy new outfit of his. When I pull into the driveway, his car is in its usual spot–not that there’s any reason it shouldn’t be. The man works from home and the only time he goes anywhere without me is… Actually, except for errands or a workout, he almost never goes anywhere without me. That’s why I’m forcing him to try to date.

Walking into the quiet house, I make sure to close the door without slamming it like I’ve been known to do in the past. I tiptoe away and look down the hall toward Brody’s side of the house. His office door is closed.

I chew on my bottom lip debating on whether or not to interrupt him. He was so nervous, but the excitement was there too. It’s nice to see him enthusiastic about something as simple as a date. Usually, he only gets amped up about new tasks at work, maybe a video game.

I’ve never understood the computer stuff, but I listen to every word he says when he talks about it all. I’m not entirely sure he’s figured out why, but I came to terms long ago with the idea that he never will.

With a sigh, I turn away from Brody’s half of the house and walk down the hallway to drop my backpack off in the studio before heading to the bathroom. I peel off my clothing, which still smells like Honey’s apartment. A part of me wants to hold it to my nose and inhale deeply, but I resist the creepy urge.

That’s stalker shit, Miles.

Stepping into the shower and turning on the water, I move through the motions robotically. As my hands spread the body wash over my stomach, they drift down further. Without thought of actually cleaning myself, visions of Honey appear in my mind. The way she tasted–sweeter than her name if truth be told. The way she moaned for me. The way she moved beneath me. The way it felt when her walls tightened around my cock the first time I thrust inside her.

“Fuck,” I growl. I actually growl, like a goddamn animal. For her, maybe I am an animal. A caged animal in need of rescue or a predator in search of its prey, I can’t say which.

I slowly stroke my cock as it hardens. My head falls back, lips parting as the water cascades down my back. I’d give anything to have Honey right here, right now, her hands all over me. I haven’t gotten to feel her mouth on my cock, but I’m looking forward to that. I know it’ll be better than anything my imagination can cook up, but I’m still going to try.

A knock at the bathroom door startles me, ruining the fantasy.

“Hey, man, how long you gonna be? I need to start laundry.”

Really, Brody? Really?

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