Page 46 of The True Love Experiment

“Take me home,” I tell him. “I want you so bad, Connor. Just one time.”

He breathes against my throat, mouth open, the shape of my name pressed into my skin. It seems to take monumental effort for him to pull away long enough to gaze up at me, only an inch between our faces, but it’s enough for the cold, wet ocean air to invade the space. His eyes clear and he takes a deep, shaking breath. Bending, he rests his forehead to my shoulder, exhaling in a long, slow stream.

Finally, he says simply, “No.”

Inside I am a beast with sharp, gnashing teeth. My clawed hands grab at the bars, shaking my cage. “Why?”

“Fizzy. We can’t.” But he doesn’t let me go. He pulls me into his body, holding me. Connor takes a deep breath, chest expanding against me, and then he seems to deflate. “We just can’t.”

In his arms, with his deep breaths setting a rhythm for my own, my fevered dust settles.

“It wouldn’t have to mean anything more than two friends scratching an itch,” I whisper.

“Unfortunately, I suspect it might mean a good deal more than that.”

I go still, feeling rattled by his words.

“Fizzy.” A gentle surrender hangs between us. “I really need this show to work,” he says quietly. “I don’t regret this, but it can’t happen.”

Leaning back, I frown, drawing a line from his forehead, down the straight angle of his nose, over his lips, and release a low growl.“Fine. Just take me home and I’ll dig in my nightstand for the biggest vibrator I can find.”

He laughs, and I hug him again, pouring all my gratitude into the embrace. Connor is awesome. I think about this friend I have now, this open, curious, steady man. I might not get to have him, but at least I get to keep him.

“I had fun on our quest for joy,” I say into his neck.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me, too.”

“But you’re the one who ended the insanely good groping, so you’re obligated to carry me to the car.”

“Is that right?”

“I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.”

I can feel the relief in his laugh that comes out warm against my hair. “Okay then.”

It takes some awkward shifting, hard parts sliding against soft spaces and his face in my boobs, but he manages to stand up with my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. With one tiny, final peck to my cheek, Connor carries our overheated bodies back to the parking lot.

twenty-twoCONNOR

Ididn’t sleep a wink last night. And I don’t mean that I tossed and turned and eventually nodded off at some offensive hour. I mean that I dropped Fizzy at her place, had an internal crisis as she walked inside and closed the door, drove straight home, tried to read a few things for work and failed, went to bed, replayed every detail of the moment she climbed over me, had a wank—and then another in the shower—and not once from the moment I stepped inside to the moment I put the kettle on this morning did I enjoy a moment of blissful unconsciousness.

It’s only six, but this day has already been a hundred hours long.

Thanks to our ridiculously padded budget, our set for the next few days is a cozy coffee shop in the Gaslamp Quarter. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves, but have paid the staff to supply craft services, and hired actors to unobtrusively chat in the background. It’s a nice place with a green awning out front, local artwork on the walls, and quirky mismatched tables and chairs scattered throughout. The front counter is made from beautifully worn wood, and a pastry case is stuffed full of mouthwatering sweets. The baristas are being paid handsomely to keep everyone caffeinated, and the smell of coffee and sugar—along with the three espressos I’ve had sinceI arrived—is nearly enough to make me forget that I could have fucked Fizzy into the California coastline last night.

Well anyway, let’s find her soulmate, shall we?

Of course she looks fucking incredible today. She walks in and my heart drops down my body and through the floorboards. I’m relieved to see that she followed directions—with Fizzy you never know—and arrived in comfortable clothes, sans makeup. Yet somehow, seeing her sweetly disheveled, barefaced, soft, and warm makes this a thousand times harder.

The crew cheers for her, guiding her in and toward the back where hair and makeup has set up a little station out of the way. Three women flank her, one focusing on her makeup, another pulling a brush through her hair, and a third showing her wardrobe choices. Around me is a high-octane bustling energy, but I feel like the stagnant rock in the center of the whitecapped river, stuck in place.

Because amid the chaos, there’s another observation to be made: she’s not yet looked at me. Beyond a casual wave when she walked in, there’s been nothing. Obviously, I need things to be easy between us on set. The last thing we want is for anyone to sense tension after we’ve been quite chummy for the past few weeks. But perhaps more important, Ilikeher. I more than like her. I don’t want things to be off between us.

Stepping up to the counter, I order two drinks and make my way to where she’s scowling down at her phone.

“You all right?” I ask.

She closes the email app and slides the phone into her bag. “You don’t happen to have a sexy manuscript completed and handy, doyou? I’d only need to borrow it for, hmmm, forever, and permission to publish it under my name.”

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