Page 33 of Romance Is Dead

Holy shit. I did that. We did that. Teddy had laid me down, made me come with his mouth, and asked for nothing in return. And that suction maneuver he’d done with his tongue? I was absolutely ruined for any person I’d be with in the future.

I hadn’t been able to bask in my post-orgasmic bliss for long.

After coming back down to earth, I’d remembered that filming wasn’t over for the day — and soon people would notice we were missing.

Especially with Natasha eager to make up the day that we’d lost to police questioning the cast and crew.

The following twenty-four hours were filled with back-to-back shoots, but I still couldn’t turn off the horny replay in my head.

My suspicions had been correct — Teddy was more skillful with his tongue than any mortal had the right to be.

“Look up.” Mara was staring at me expectantly, eyelash curler in hand. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d spun me around and that I was no longer facing the mirror in the makeup trailer. I obeyed, holding as still as possible.

Mara was mad at me. The night before, I’d forgotten — again — that we’d made plans, this time to get coffee and dessert at the hotel’s restaurant.

I’d been so exhausted from the day’s filming and so distracted from replaying my hook up with Teddy that it had completely slipped my mind until I got her text asking me where I was — eight hours later, when I woke up this morning.

I’d spent the day trying everything to get back in her good graces: peace offerings of onion rings and wine, a new romance novel based on thinly disguised Reylo fan fiction, and two separate bouquets of flowers delivered to her trailer.

Nothing had worked. She’d dumped the wine down the drain, trashed the onion rings, and shredded the flowers right in front of me. (Although she did keep the book.)

There was only one option left: sex gossip.

“I guess you don’t want to hear what happened between me and Teddy yesterday.” I sighed tragically.

Mara swiped extra mascara onto my lashes. “Nope. I’m good.”

“I see.” I obediently kept my eyes trained on the ceiling. “Too bad. I don’t have anyone else to tell about the best orgasm of my life.”

Mara’s eye twitched. She pressed the curler to the base of my lashes, helping the falsies stick to my real ones. “Unfortunate.”

“A real talented tongue on that one.”

Finally, Mara’s resolve crumbled. She threw down the eyelash curler and leaned in close. “Tell me everything.”

So I did.

“Oh my God, finally.” She retrieved the eyelash curler from the floor and cleaned it before returning to my lashes. “Have you guys talked about it? What did he say?”

“No.”

“Quinn! You need to talk to him.”

“Why?” I asked stubbornly, blinking as she released one set of lashes and started on the other. “Weren’t you the one encouraging a friends-with-benefits situation?”

“Yes, but — ”

“He told me himself he’s not a relationship guy, and I’m not in the market for anything serious, either. So what is there to talk about?”

“Healthy communication never hurt anyone.” Done with my lashes, Mara moved on to dusting a hint of highlighter on my cheeks. “As long as you’re ok with it not being anything more.”

I sighed, ready to give her the same spiel I’d been telling myself all day. No matter how earth-shattering the orgasm had been, I was in no position to get involved with anyone. No matter how magical his hands and mouth felt against several different parts of my body.

“I’m just saying,” Mara continued, “that friends with benefits rarely works without someone catching feelings.”

“You were the one who told me to do it! The whole Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman thing!”

Mara stared at me blankly. “Quinn, that’s a movie.”

“Oh my God.” I rubbed my temples.

“I’m just saying, you should see how it goes.” She held up her hands in surrender. “That’s all.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You don’t have feelings for him?”

“I. . .” I wanted to say no. But there was something else stopping me, an inkling that if I went any further with Teddy — if whatever was brewing between us continued to develop — that I wouldn’t be able to put a stop to it.

Because I hadn’t just spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about the amazing ways he’d made my body feel.

I was also remembering the way he’d reached for me as I was about to tip over into ecstasy — the way he’d gripped my hand like he was holding on for dear life and whispered, “Stay with me.” The way we’d sung together in the car.

The way he’d taught me how to breathe and stop the panic that took over my body the day Brent died.

I’d felt so secure, so taken care of. So safe.

I thought hooking up with him would get it out of my system, but deep down I suspected it had done the opposite.

“No.” Even I had to admit it sounded unconvincing.

Mara stared at me closely as she reached for the setting spray. “Alright. But you can’t run away from love forever.”

Chloe and I were killing it.

Everything cluttering my head had cleared as soon as the cameras started rolling.

The two of us nailed shot after shot, and even Natasha couldn’t find anything to nitpick — which was really something considering the mood she’d been in since the representatives from the production company had shown up to start their investigation.

In the scene, our characters are searching for an old book that holds the secret to defeating the witch once and for all. It had all my favorite components: snappy dialogue, creepy atmosphere, intense lighting, and some good old-fashioned gore.

“What’s that?” The cameras pulled in tight as Chloe pointed to the ceiling, trembling.

Slowly, making sure Natasha had enough time to get the shot, I tilted my head up toward the dark ceiling of the library, my eyes creeping up the shelves as candlelight sent shadows flickering across the dusty books.

For a moment, I acted like I saw nothing.

But then, a crew member perched high above on a ladder dripped something from a syringe and it landed squarely on my cheek.

A single drop of blood. Next to me, Chloe had the same red liquid dribbling onto her hair.

And then, the ceiling caved in — sending a dead body plummeting onto the floor.

Not really, of course.

The set crew had rigged a false ceiling that could hold a fake dead Brent along with copious amounts of corn-syrup-based blood that would come spilling out.

And it worked, magnificently. All the camera caught was the illusion of the ceiling collapsing under the weight of a corpse, miraculously on the first take.

I waited a beat as the camera lingered on the body. And then I filled my lungs and screamed, loud enough to make my throat ache in protest. Loud enough to fill the room with its shuddering vibration.

“Cut!” Natasha popped up from behind the camera. She looked tired, worn, but vaguely pleased. “We got it.”

Grinning, Chloe held up her fist. “Nailed it.”

Catching my breath, I bumped my fist into hers. “You were fantastic. You’re bringing such an interesting edge to your character.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.” I reached for a towel provided by one of the PAs and wiped the fake blood off my face. “I loved the way you play up her ditziness, but at the same time you can tell there’s a deeper side to her. So layered.”

She beamed. “Thanks! I was trying to channel your performance in School of the Lost , when you played the demon cheerleader.”

I was surprised she knew that one. It was the second movie I’d ever starred in, and while reviews had been good, it hadn’t exactly been a blockbuster at the box office.

Although maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised — over the past week, Chloe had consistently proven she was a true lover of horror, and talented to boot.

If this movie succeeded, she might be the perfect person to take my place in Hollywood.

“You know what, I can see that.” I ran the towel down my neck, knowing I would need an extra-long shower later to remove all the prop blood. “We should get coffee before you film your last scene. I’d love to stay in touch.”

“Definitely! I’ll text you.” She smiled and bounced away, likely eager to get out of her bloody costume.

Pushing through the house, saying goodnight to the crew as I squeezed past camera operators and boom handlers, it occurred to me that this might be the last time I had this feeling after a scene.

The last time I was filled with adrenaline after a director told me I’d nailed it.

The last time I felt that particular brand of satisfaction after portraying a certain emotion just right.

The last time I felt like I was doing my character’s story justice.

It gripped me with a sudden pang of sadness.

Instead of feeling relieved that my career was coming to an end, I was starting to feel regret.

It was hard to imagine that I’d never be on another movie set, that I’d never get to workshop another scene with a cast mate.

I wouldn’t miss the fame, but I’d miss the storytelling.

And even if I thought Chloe would do a great job taking over the roles I used to take — and even though she totally deserved it — it was hard not to feel a pang of longing, of something edging into jealousy, when I imagined it.

I pushed the thought away. It was late, after midnight. I was tired. After I got back to the hotel, I could get a nice shower and climb into bed. I had tomorrow off, so I’d even be able to sleep in. Heaven.

Winding my way through the parlor, I stopped short when I found Teddy waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

He looked like something straight out of a movie — staring at me through the throngs of cast and crew members filing in and out of the front door, waiting patiently with his hands in his jeans pockets and a small smile on his lips.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach. What was he doing here?

He gestured to my hairline as I approached. “You still have some. . .”