Page 75 of And I Love Her

After cutting off a portion with a fork, he edged himself between Callie’s legs. He loved the way she closed her thighs around his hips and stroked his chest, as if touching him were second nature for her.

He held the fork to her lips. To her credit, she ate the offering without hesitation, pursing her mouth in thought.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Can I now bestow great pleasures on your body?”

“Well, the pancakes are terrible.” Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed her luscious mouth against his. “And yes, please.”

* * *

“Excuseme.”

Jake jerked his head up from his phone. He should know better than to not pay attention while walking down Starfish Avenue at ten in the morning.

He stepped aside to let a woman carrying a toy poodle pass him. He gave her a nod of apology. She responded with a little sniff.

He turned his attention back to the phone, confirming his lunch plans with Callie. They’d taken to eating lunch together for the past week, usually with him picking up takeout and bringing it to her office for a few stolen moments between classes and her frantic proposal writing. He liked watching her on her own turf—she was no-nonsense professional in her straight skirts and blazers, and she worked with a focused efficiency that fascinated him.

But at night—that was when he had Callie all to himself. He lost himself in her softness and the hot press of her skin against his. He loved all the intimate things he discovered about her—the way she giggled when he nuzzled her bellybutton, her tight grip on his hair when he used his mouth to make her come, the arch of her body and little gasps that caught in her throat when she was close to the edge.

In addition to indulging himself in her whenever he could, he loaded up her refrigerator and cabinets with actual food. He cooked dinners of spaghetti and meatballs, hamburgers, and cheesy macaroni.

At her kitchen table, lit with a single taper candle, they had lengthy discussions about classic movies, pop culture, and mythology. He offered her dozens of examples of the intersection between ancient myth and contemporary culture, from music videos toBattlestar Galactica.

In those moments, when they were either hot and panting between the sheets, or just talking and exchanging ideas, everything else fell away. He didn’t think about his career or what he was going to do next.

He didn’t think about the press or the fact that they were losing their collective shit over the fact that he’d walked away fromFatal Glory. He didn’t think about the backlash waiting for him when he returned to Hollywood, or the number of texts and voicemails still piling up on his phone.

All he thought about was Callie. And how much he increasingly didn’t want to leave her, not even for a single day.

But he was no coward. He had to confront the storm—sooner rather than later.

Stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he realized he’d passed the bookstore. Turning back around, he jogged the half block back to the bookstore and pulled the door open.

Sam approached from the shelves, scruffier than usual in torn jeans and probably two-days’ worth of stubble. “Thought you forgot where you worked for a minute there.”

“Got distracted. Where do you want me to start today?”

Sam gestured toward several boxes sitting over by the window display. “New releases need to be shelved.”

“Got it.” Jake went into the back to clock in and started unpacking the boxes.

He worked setting up a display of the new releases and clearing out the older books. A fleeting thought occurred to him—regardless of how things shook out with his career, he could always leave the industry altogether.

He had more than enough money to last a lifetime for both him and his family. He could pack up and leave his Laurel Canyon mansion without much effort. And he could move back here to work in a bookstore and live by the sea.

Maybe with Callie.

His chest constricted at the idea of waking up to her every day, coming in the front door and hearing her voice from the other room, even watching her organize her satchel for a day at work. He imagined claiming the right to kiss her every chance he got and to undress her at night. He wanted to tell Eleanor that he’d fallen hard for her daughter—that he was still falling—and to please believe that an action-movie star and a Classics professor were an incredible, shooting-star match.

Could he walk away from Hollywood altogether? Did he want to?

LeavingFatal Glorywas a relief now, but his feelings might change when the next movie went into pre-production without him. Especially if he didn’t have anything else lined up.

He set another stack of books on the display. He’d wanted to be an actor since he was ten and sawLawrence of Arabiaat the Vitaphone.

No, he’d wanted tomake moviessince then. A high-school drama teacher had steered him toward acting. Jake had loved the stage and he’d been good at his roles, which led to his move to Hollywood. If he hadn’t gotten his “big break,” he’d likely still be working on production crews. He wouldn’t have fame or money, but he’d have been happy contributing to the stories of the big screen. The movies themselves were still his first love.

“Hey, New Guy,” Sam called from the register. “Someone here to see you.”

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