Page 23 of Take 2

Chapter Twenty

M y phone is my real enemies-to-lovers romance. It’s supposed to be on do-not-disturb. Why is it ringing?

This time, when I grab it, I glance at it to make sure I know who I’m talking to. Not that it could be Preston.

“I will remove you from my favorites if you make it a habit to call me too early,” I say.

“Is it early?” James asks. “Shit, I forgot about time zones. Anyway, I’m just so happy you’re alive! I couldn’t find my ‘gay and tired’ mug, so I thought you were haunting me.”

“James, you left that at my apartment ages ago.”

“Why is he calling you in the middle of the night?” Preston grumbles beside me.

James gasps into the phone.

“Now you did it.” I shove Preston with my shoulder.

“You are in bed with Preston Greene.”

“Yes, but we didn’t—”

“Is there only one bed?” James’ excitement is too much for the hour.

“There are two beds, but—”

“The other one is filthy from all the hate-sex?”

“No, we—”

“Oh, you’re sleeping in the filth from the hate-sex.” James called me only not to let me speak.

“I’m hanging up if you interrupt again.”

“You’re hanging up anyway.” Preston grabs for my phone, but I pull it away.

“I will cut that hand off,” I threaten.

“But imagine all the pleasure he will not be able to give you if he loses his hand,” my idiotic best friend says.

“There was no hand pleasuring.”

“That sounds like hands would be getting pleasured,” Preston says.

I press my phone to my chest. “Correct my grammar again, and I’ll cut off a body part you care about way more.” Back into the phone, I say, “Babe, we kissed, but—”

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me or Preston? Not sure who you’re calling ‘babe,’ now.”

“James, darling, Preston and I have not had sex.”

“But you’re going to?”

From my position molded to his bare chest, it seems like a stupid thing to deny. “It kind of looks that way.”

James clicks his tongue. “So, he’s a good kisser?”

“Good enough that sex seems inevitable.”

Preston props himself up on his elbow to shoot me a look so incredulous it cuts through the darkness. I guess this is an unfortunate way to wake up next to each other for the first time.

“Wines-day is going to be so good when you get back.”

“Goodbye!”

“Congratulations on the impending end to your dry streak.”

I end the call and sink into the pillow.

“Does he really need details?” Preston is still propped up, looking at me like I’m insane.

“Don’t care if we need to share things like that. We do it anyway. Would you rather it have been when you weren’t around to hear what I said about you?”

He considers a moment, settling back onto the pillow. “I guess not.”

“And anyway, I said you were good.” I nuzzle into his neck, and he rubs my back. I missed cuddling.

“Do you tell him everything?”

I blink a few times. “No.”

He makes a low sound in his throat like hmm and combs his fingers through my hair.

“Can we please go back to sleep?” I ask.

“Mhmm.” He kisses the top of my head, and we fall back into companionable silence.

When I wake up again, I’m alone. Sunlight glows at the edges of the curtains. The pillow is soft, but it’s not what I want to have my arms wrapped around.

I roll onto my stomach, and the ghost of Preston’s touch skims down my back.

My glutes contract, pressing my hips against the bed.

There were reasons not to have sex last night, but I don’t remember what they were.

I wanted him … so badly. I still want him.

The buzzing in my nerves makes my hips squirm, and my feet rub against each other.

It’s going to be torture to be around him today.

What are we even doing? We kissed twice and slept in each other’s arms clothed. James’ theory is much simpler. Hate-sex wouldn’t be as complicated as all this worrying about feelings crap. We could let our bodies take over and get what we both want.

I wonder how badly he needs it. My desire is enough to draw my hand down into my underwear. The way his tongue stroked mine replays in my mind, and I imagine what he would do between my legs. My hips circle at that thought more than from what my fingers are doing.

Not enough.

I throw the nightstand drawer open and grab my vibrator.

A soft moan escapes me when I find the right spot.

Pressure builds, and behind my closed eyelids, it’s all his doing.

Every touch we’ve shared replays in my mind, as well as a collection of fantasies.

His hands, lips, tongue. His bare chest and chiseled stomach.

How differently it’ll go when I pull his pants off again.

My hips buck as I reach my peak, but Preston isn’t the name on my lips.

Heart racing, I melt into the bed and cover my gaping mouth with my hand.

“Oh shit.”

I’m … no. Nope, nope, nope. Not good. This is not the same, Mira. This is not falling for a football player in college. I’m a fucking grown-up.

The way that sounded whiney even in my head really makes me feel like an adult.

He’s … this … ugh. I need to get my head screwed on straight.

A shower doesn’t actually wash out my head, but it resets me a little.

I’m a grown-ass woman on a trip with a grown man, and if —or when, it’s probably when—we have sex, it may or may not mean anything.

Which is fine. Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt.

The pressure we’re putting on it is all in our heads.

Nothing about this has to be weird.

When he knocks on the door between our rooms, I jump like a gun was fired next to me. For fuck’s sake. I press my hand over my heart and let out a slow breath.

The door opens, because apparently that was a courtesy knock, and since he slept in here, who gives a shit? “Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning.” Is it possible to look casual standing in the middle of a room like an idiot?

“I slipped out to hit the gym. Did you sleep in?”

“Mhmm.” I’m pretty sure I have I masturbated thinking of you painted on my face.

“Are you okay?”

All. Over. My face. He knows . “Yep. Just worried about falling off the boat again.”

He cocks his head. “Are you going to complain if I kiss you again?”

“Oh, the lesson I learned was: don’t kiss on boats.” I shrug and grab my purse. “Let’s go.”

In the car, he asks, “Do you want to tell me why you’re apprehensive?”

I lick my lips and look down at my hands. If this isn’t proof that he can read my mind, I don’t know what would be. “I may be scarred from being married for only a year and a half.”

“That’s decent by Hollywood standards.”

“Not by Wisconsin standards.” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. “We were too young for that kind of commitment, and the speed with which it fell apart gutted me.”

We stop at a light, and a thousand things flash in his green eyes when he looks at me. What comes out of his mouth is, “You’re older and wiser now. You’ve lived and thrived. Now that you know yourself better and what you want, are you still closed off to romance?”

“That’s …” Kind of a deep question?

“One day at a time,” he amends, “of course.”

This is trouble. “I can be open-minded one day at a time.”

Of course, today is one more day on a yacht in the Mediterranean, which is made more uncomfortable by my mental slip-up this morning and bringing up the failed marriage.

If the weather forces a third day of this, I might skip it.

What’s become of me if I’m willing to skip a filming day because of my ghosts?

“Hey, the life jackets are in the cabin,” Chris says when we board.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Preston only rolls his eyes and continues past us.

“I wasn’t sure you’d brave the boat again.” Chris’ demeanor is open and straightforward. So much easier to deal with than Preston, though I suppose he wasn’t wrong about me being a little complicated when it comes to him.

“Now that Preston knows I can swim, he isn’t likely to try to kill me that way again.”

“That’s some Once Upon a Time … In Hollywood shit.”

“Yep. We may be writers, and the pen is mightier, blah blah blah, but we do a lot of research on how to kill people and hide bodies, so don’t mess with us.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He goes to work—a cog in the movie gears, and I jot notes and ideas in the background.

This is everything I dreamed of for most of my life, but the sunny perfection of it all is tinted, and not just by my sunglasses.

The clapboard resets everything, and actors get as many takes as they need, but I’m stuck in a live performance where mistakes can’t be undone.

I haven’t gotten to the scenes they’re filming, but my read-through of the screenplay is going faster than I expected. I thought I’d be distracted by knowing whose brain it came from. Instead, I’m so wrapped up in the story that I forget to be bitter about it. He’s really good at this.

This shouldn’t be a revelation. He’s won three Oscars for it in record time. But part of me was holding out hope that he sucked the right dick or something to get into his position. Turns out that was as absurd and jealousy-provoked as logic would make it seem.

When we head back into port, the sun is setting behind the mountains. Rafael comes into the cabin lounge and sits next to me. “Mirabelle, I was hoping to get you and Preston for dinner tonight, but I’m afraid we have an early start tomorrow, and I’m exhausted.”

“Not to worry, there’s plenty of time.” I cross my legs at the ankles. “I’m honored to be on your set. Don’t think you have to entertain me.”

“No, I’m the one who needs something from you. I can’t wait to hear what brilliant films you’re cooking up. I’m a planner. I have to know I have something good after this one.”

“I might have a few options.”

“Of course you do. You’re one of the hardest-working writers in Hollywood.”

“The hardest working,” Preston says as he walks up to us.

I offer him a smile for the compliment if it even is one. “Much to the detriment of my social life.”

“Well, that’s why Preston kidnapped you and brought you out here,” Rafael says. “You have to live too.”

“I’ll add get a life to my to-do list.”

Rafael pats my hand, and the boat comes to a stop. “This industry ages you in dog years if you don’t. I’m only twenty-five, but look at all these grays.” He winks and turns to Preston when he stands. “Are you riding up with all of us tomorrow?”

“No, we’ll drive,” Preston says.

“Of course you will.” He grins at me. “I’m glad you came, Mirabelle.”

“Please, call me Mira.”

“And you call me Rafi. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

When we’re alone, I look up at Preston. “Are you usually a bigger pain in the ass, and I’m distracting you from being so?”

“Probably.” He offers me his hand, and I take it and stand. “Shall we?”

I lead the way back onto the dock. “How early do we need to be up tomorrow?”

“Still not as early as the wake-up calls you get from James.”

“You don’t have to be next to me when that happens.”

“Of course not; that’s why we have two rooms.” From behind me, he sounds perfectly content with that. I glance over my shoulder to see if his face gives away anything else, but he only shrugs as if it really doesn’t matter to him at all.

Well, fine. It’s not like I need to cuddle with him. Not cuddling is probably smarter.

“We should leave by five, actually.”

I groan. “Maybe I will ask James for a wake-up call. Will a coffee IV be provided?”

“You could go back to sleep in the car, I guess,” Preston offers as we get to the car now.

I get in and pull the seatbelt around me. “Why are you choosing to drive if it’s so early?”

“It’s a scenic route that we’ll enjoy more from the front seats. Plus, then we aren’t tethered to the crew.”

The car starts, and I twist the green scrunchie around my wrist. “Is it the same scenic drive where Grace Kelly died in a crash?”

He presses his lips together. “Part of it might be.”

“You are seriously trying to kill me! I’ll need to send James my will tonight.” I gaze out the window and sigh. “There are worse places to die, I suppose.”

“It would make a good story.” Preston’s tone is sarcastic, but it’s true. All of this is a great story.

“Is that the whole point? Are you creating a good story?”

His eyes slide over me and whatever exists where I’d like to have abs tightens. “That’s what we do.”