Page 17

JACKSON

The phrase “just hormones” is probably going to be ingrained behind my eyeballs soon.

It’s all I can think about, mostly because Rosie insists upon repeating it after every time we hook up. Which has thankfully happened more than a few times.

Our weekly Saturday night Strictly session has been pretty effortlessly replaced with Saturday night orgasms and I would have no complaints if it wasn’t for the doubt in the back of my mind that I’m just here to scratch an itch.

So far we’ve done almost everything apart from kissing.

And penetration. I want nothing more than to go further but I’m trying to hold the line for as long as I can.

I can’t let myself be consumed with her when all she wants to do is keep things casual.

I can’t go that final step until the day she admits she wants everything, not just the occasional hit of oxytocin.

But, if it means I get to spend time with her, then I’ll legally change my name to ‘hormones’ and be with her every minute of the day.

The shoot is ramping up, with a cluster of intense shooting before it starts to taper off closer to Christmas.

I don’t usually mind. I’d rather be working hard for days, weeks at a time with barely any time to sleep in between.

It keeps my energy up, keeps my mind focused.

No distractions, no plans, just the character I’ve stepped into and my responsibility to the team.

It’s harder now though with Rosie and a baby on the way. Every minute I’m not reciting lines to the camera or throwing fake punches, I’m reading baby books in my trailer or driving across London to get a few stolen hours with her.

I’ve even downloaded an app on my phone so I can track how big Smudge is getting. She’s currently a bell pepper. We’re still a few weeks away from finding out the gender but I just know she’s a girl. A little mini Rosie.

“That’s a wrap guys,” Shaun calls and I let out my breath, stretching my neck.

I can’t wait to get out of this costume.

I had hoped I’d left the skin tight lycra days behind me, but the scene is a heist so I’m kitted out like catwoman.

Sure, on the screen it looks cool, but in real life surrounded by a bunch of guys in North Face jackets and lighting rigs, I feel like a giant tool.

Eric appears at my shoulder. “Ready?”

I send him a nod and follow him. It’s easy to feel like a child when I’m escorted at all times, but I also respect that that’s the way it is.

Me getting lost in the backlot or running late to set would cost a lot of people wages and time.

It’s not worth the hassle of fighting it.

And hey, I love my job. I’m riding whatever waves are put in front of me.

Plus, it’s kind of sweet how Eric puffs up his chest when he escorts me, as if he’s my personal bodyguard protecting me from a rogue craft trolley.

“You up to much tonight, man?” I ask Eric as we cross the row of trailers .

He blinks at me. “Uh, yeah me and my boyfriend are heading into the city to go see a comedy gig.”

“Oh nice, who you seeing?”

“Thatcher Price.”

I stop with a gasp and tug at his arm. “You’re kidding. I didn’t know he was doing shows! How is he doing that whilst on Strictly?”

Eric’s brows furrow. “Uh—I,” he fumbles when we get to my trailer.

“If you speak to him,” I throw over my shoulder. “Tell him I’m a big fan.”

I check my phone and text Rosie the news. I’m about to invite her to go see Thatcher with me, but then I remember. Just hormones.

We’ve been to at least three National Trust sites in the last few months and that wasn’t hormones or a date. Just two friends, hanging out and looking at old shit. We can upgrade that to a gig, right?

No matter how many times I try to convince her to go on a real date, she bats me down. Combined with my new official position as sex assistant, it’s enough to give my ego a bruise.

It’s as I’m getting dressed that I get her reply.

Rosie

LOL, maybe we should go see it

If you wanted to I mean

We don’t have to though

Never mind, ignore me

Hope Eric has a good time! !

I snort. Seems like someone’s been overthinking. At least it’s not just me.

“Hey Eric,” I say as I leave the trailer, “Would it be cool if me and my girl come along tonight?”

He blinks at me. “You want my tickets?”

“No,” I scoff. “No, God, those are your tickets. I’m thinking we’ll do our own thing, but you might not want your boss showing up on date night.”

“Oh,” Eric says. “Well, yeah, that’s fine I guess.”

“Amazing.” I grin, rubbing my hands together. “Now, how do I get tickets?”

An hour later I’m knocking on Rosie’s door, dressed in dark jeans and a jacket.

She answers the door still in her work gear, her shirt baggy enough to hide the bump that she still swears is there and that I’m starting to silently agree with but would never admit to.

“Oh, hey.”

“Ready?” I ask, grinning.

Her brows scrunch behind her glasses.

“The gig. You invited me, remember?”

A blush covers her cheeks as she glances at her feet.

“I’m teasing, pretty girl,” I say, nudging her chin up with my knuckle. “I got us tickets. Well, my assistant Eric got us tickets. Come on, it starts in an hour.”

She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.

“Come on, I want to go see Thatcher. Hopefully he tells me his secrets to the American Smooth.”

“Oh my God, do not ask him that.” She turns around and heads to her bedroom. “Let me get changed.”

I could follow her into her room, wrap my arms around her, press my lips to her neck and feel her soft curves in my hands. But no, it’s just hormones .

I rub my hands across my face as I linger in the kitchen. I need to focus. I’m not here to seduce her, I’m here to be the supportive co-parent. It would be messy to get any more involved.

But as she steps into the kitchen wearing a blue dress and black knee high boots, it’s easy to forget that.

It’s not a date, I remind myself. Just hormones .

It’s just hormones, I say when she takes my hand as I help her out of the car, and she smiles up at me.

It’s just hormones, I say when I leave my hand on her leg in the cab and she crosses her legs, trapping my hand between her gorgeous thighs.

It’s just hormones, I say when she laughs at Thatcher’s joke and leans into my shoulder.

It’s just hormones, I say when I put my arm around her as we leave and I feel her chilly fingers under the hem of my shirt, tracing the slice of my skin above my jeans.

It’s just hormones, I tell her as I bury my head in her neck and finally lift her skirt as soon as we get back to her place.

It’s just hormones, I tell myself.

Fuck .