The Role

  The heat he was giving off as our bodies came into contact was frightening in its intensity. His head moved inexorably down toward mine and his full lips grazed my jawline. “Do you feel this too, when we’re together?” he whispered.

  All I could do was nod, swaying forward even farther to erase all space between us. One glass of wine deep and I was more than okay with climbing this guy like a tree. I felt like I had been suppressing every filthy daydream about him since waking up together hungover in my bed. Finally.

  My fingernails dragged a shiver out of him as they moved up his chest to tangle in his hair. I tugged gently and he reached out and traced over my eyebrows and cheekbones with a feather-light touch, as if he were afraid he might break me.

  My head fell back and he began to nip at my earlobe and down my neck to my exposed collarbone. I felt his groan in a bone-deep vibration that woke up every sensitive synapse along my body. It felt like lightning was crackling between us.

  “We need to stop. I don’t think we’re ready for what could come next,” he ground out.

  From a very remote space, some part of me agreed with him—we’d never even talked about the other morning—and I managed to push him back the requested few paces. The rest of me practically wept at the loss of his physical presence.

  He bent over at the waist, hands on his knees, gasping like he had run a marathon. Shakily, I tried to downplay our mutual reaction to each other. “We’ve got to knock this shit off, or every time we hang out is going to be an exercise in denial.”

  His eyes blazed up at me as he suppressed his desire, hands clenched on his thighs. He breathed out heavily, shook his head hard and gestured to the sliding door. “After you. I believe we have a date with a shitty nineties rom-com?”

  “Teen rom-com,” I corrected him self-importantly, while I tried to control my own shaking hands and play it cool. We really needed to have that talk about what the actual fuck we were doing with each other. Whether or not it meant anything. Denial was more than the name of a river in Egypt.

  In the living room, Markus refilled my glass and gestured for me to sit down on the couch. I slumped down, still a little stunned, and grabbed the remote. After scrolling through our options, I clicked on 10 Things I Hate About You. “Work for you? Since Heath Ledger turns your crank and all.”

  “Sure. Your house, your choice,” he answered easily and sat down on the opposite end. “Holy shit, your couch is outrageously comfortable!”

  It was. It really, really was. Soft and squishy, it basically ate everyone the minute they sat down. I threw a blanket toward him. He nodded gratefully and stretched out his legs on the couch while I tucked mine up. Our feet entangled almost immediately as the familiar opening scenes started to play.

  Predictably, I woke up an hour later to run to the bathroom and drink some water to ward off the pounding headache that had hit after we’d finished the bottle of red wine. Markus had turned over and his face was buried in the back of the couch, and my heart ached with how badly I wanted him. After that life-altering kiss, I couldn’t lie to myself about how much he was coming to mean to me, but the depth of my feelings was confusing. I didn’t know if I could trust myself—or him, for that matter. Did he want me? Was I simply convenient?

  I sighed and lay down behind him, my body curling around his, taking comfort from his warmth and proximity. What’s one more night of cuddles among friends? As I drifted off, he sighed and muttered something in German. Then he grabbed the hand that I’d tentatively placed on his side and pulled my arm over him, tugging me closer until our bodies were plastered against each other and one of my legs slid between his. The reassuring beat of his heart echoed against the cheek I had pressed against his back.

  * * * *

  Waking up to Markus doing his very best impression of a boa constrictor for the second day in a row was oddly comfortable. There wasn’t an inch of air between us from nose to toes, and we were clutching each other as though we feared someone would try to drag us apart, never to see the other again.

  My television was still on in screen saver mode, and the flickering fireworks battled the early morning light as I shifted slightly away from him, trying to reach for my phone to check the time. The hand that was tangled in my hair, holding my face against his chest, slid down to cup my ass, a fingertip skating beneath the hem of my shorts to tease the soft skin on the back of my thighs. I gave up the search for my phone, instead letting my fingers dance across the smooth, hard-stacked abdominal muscles beneath his shirt while brushing my lips against his chest. The temperature of his body seemed to rise as our touches became bolder, more sure of their reception.

  He growled into the top of my head and his wandering hands tickled my ribs as they skirted back up to stroke the sides of my breasts. As his thumb circled around to flick my nipple, I moaned and craned my neck up so I could reach his mouth. I bit down hard—harder than I’d intended—onto his full lower lip, and he effortlessly flipped us over to cage me in beneath his body.

  “You bit the shit out of my lip…” He trailed off as he dropped his mouth to mine in a bruising kiss that left me tasting blood. The urge to consume each other took over our half-awake bodies as we kissed in a hot, messy tangle of lips, teeth and tongues.

  My phone started ringing as he toyed with the hem of my shirt, and I groped blindly to silence it. He pulled back abruptly, almost leaping to the other side of the couch, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. We sat there panting, me clutching my phone as an ineffectual barrier. He gestured roughly between us. “Forgive me. I have no idea what’s going on with me, with this. I feel like I’m on fire when I’m with you, like touching you is the cool water bringing relief.”

  “Markus, stop. I feel the same way.” I gulped, deciding to be brave about the feelings I was only now starting to admit to. “But maybe it could be more, right? Do you feel that too?”

  “Maybe? No. We’re friends, right? I mean, if you wanted to try friends with benefits I’d be into that. But ‘more’?” He shook his head, and his concerned look pierced right through my happy bubble of endorphins.

  Oh.

  He hastened to add, “I mean, I’m really fucking attracted to you, and I like you a lot. But I’m coming off of a terrible relationship, amongst other shit. ‘More’ shouldn’t even be a possibility, given the mess I’m finding my way out of. Right? Why would you even want me?”

  Ouch. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered the fact that I was a convenient rebound. That didn’t stop his rejection from hurting like a bitch.

  I rolled out from under him and adjusted my clothes. “I’ve got to check who called, might have been Michael. Be ready for that network meeting tonight, it’s at eight-thirty.”

  He nodded and hesitated with a hand halfway outstretched toward me. I recoiled and he finally picked himself up and attempted to flatten out the sleepy cowlicks that had formed in his wild bedhead. We sat there in awkward silence, me huddled into a corner of the couch fiddling with my phone and trying to look as if I was completely absorbed in typing out some stupid text to Michael, him waiting to see if I was going to call him on his bullshit.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He stood and jammed his feet into the shoes he’d lined up neatly at the foot of the couch. I didn’t reply, didn’t even look up. Ten seconds later, he was gone, like a shimmering mirage that had falsely promised safety in the middle of the desert. I blinked back the sudden moisture in my eyes, hard. Falling for broken people was a terrible idea and working with them even worse. I didn’t know how I’d pretend to be fine the next time I saw him, but I couldn’t afford to let anything affect my job.

  Chapter Eleven

  Markus

  It was official. I was losing it. Since I’d left her home that morning after stupidly denying any feelings on my part, I had done nothing but think about Alina and what a relationship with her would be like. Run a scene. Imagine skiing in the Alps with her. Get coffee and try to chat with coworkers. Imagine her la
ughing while my brothers did dumb impressions of my movie characters. Have Candace touch up my makeup to cover the permanent blush from imagining her unruly chocolate waves spread out across my pillows.

  That was pretty much where my head was at all fucking day. And I had messed everything up by pushing her away, telling her that we weren’t anything. The regret was eating me alive. I could have come clean, told her I felt the same but that I wasn’t ready for anything serious. But no. Instead I had panicked and shot her down in the most condescending way possible.

  To cap it all off, Michael seemed to have come unglued and kept unexpectedly switching up the order for the day’s shoot before the summit the three of us were supposed to attend with the network execs later in the evening. The production staff was pulling their hair out trying to keep up with him and Alina was nowhere to be found. By lunchtime, Candace was blotting my face—yet again—and I took a chance, asking if her friend was going to be on set soon.

  She blinked at me and said slyly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  I’d never had the patience for dealing with coy women. “Well, yes. That’s why I’m asking. I kind of owe her an apology. Is she sick? Michael seems to be losing his mind without his muse in place.”

  “You like her,” she said smugly.

  “I do. She’s a very nice person who’s becoming a good friend, which I’m apparently in dire need of, given the way everyone who I thought was my friend seems to have gone running straight for Kate or the press to take her side in our break-up.”

  “I know. But you like like her, don’t you?” She grinned at me, not at all offended.

  “Are we in primary school again? Like like her? Of course I like her. She’s incredibly kind. She likes sugary cereal. And her shampoo smells amazing. Plus she looks fantastic in just a T-shirt—”

  Alina’s verbal diarrhea seemed to have become contagious. And Candace was staring over my shoulder at someone. Her eyes bugged out as they slid back to me. I was completely lost. “Candace? Is she here or not? If she’s sick, maybe I should stop by her place and check on her.”

  “I knew it!”

  I turned slowly away from Candace to face Michael. “Knew what? I was only asking—”

  “Oh, I get it. I know what you were asking. Her shampoo smells amazing and she looks fantastic in just a T-shirt? How long has this been going on?” He continued, gloating, “I knew something was happening with you two.”

  “No, n-n-no. We’ve hung out a couple of times outside of work, but that’s it. Nothing going on.”

  They both stared at me, disbelieving, and I jammed both hands into my hair, tugging on the ends. I wasn’t fooling either of them.

  “Yeah, I knew it. You two have stupid googly eyes around each other,” Michael said, while Candace nodded wildly. “But whatever, it’s your business. I need to head back. We’re shifting scenes again. Total pain in the ass, I know, but we’ll do that final battle scene sometime this evening.” He started walking away shaking his head, muttering, “I fucking knew it!”

  I wanted to bash my head into the nearest wall.

  As he narrowly avoided crashing into an intern, he turned and shouted, “Oh, and she’s out running errands for me today. Should be on set any second. Now keep it together, we’ve got two more scenes to shoot before that network meeting.”

  Candace was still staring at me with wide, apologetic eyes. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean for Michael to hear any of that. Alina is going to murder me.” She turned tail and fled.

  I dropped my head to the table. It was going to be a toss-up to see which one of us—Candace or me—Alina decided to kill first.

  * * * *

  Michael was mid-rant with a hapless production assistant over the temperature of his coffee, of all things, when Alina’s voice crackled over his headset. “Boss? I’m back. Heard you need me on Stage Two?”

  “Get your ass over here. We’re down to the last scenes of this entire godforsaken season and I need an extra hand,” he growled.

  The production assistant with the coffee calamity had taken advantage of the interruption to disappear—smart girl—but now Michael was pacing in tight circles, yelling out random commands as he waited for Alina to show.

  I sidled up to Rory and a few other cast members and asked in a voice that was hopefully too low to be overheard, “Has he been like this the entire time you’ve been shooting?”

  “Totally,” Rory answered cheerfully. “Sometimes it’s entertaining, but I think we’re all a little over it at this point.”

  Alina came around the corner of the set and beelined toward Michael. “What’s up? I tracked down your dry cleaning, got some more green M&Ms, and your wife is now booked for the ladies’ spa weekend of her dreams.” Her face was red and a light gleam of sweat covered her forehead, a single drop tangled in her eyelashes. She looked run off her feet.

  He swung her into a bear hug. “Alina, have I mentioned how much I fucking love you?”

  She squirmed out of his arms and rolled her eyes. “Yes, a few times. Back it up, personal space here. What do you need?”

  “We’re on the last scene—the battle between Markus and Ethan—and I have to work out a few technical details. The extra you called in is still in makeup and we’ve got that meeting in an hour and a half, so I need you to stand in for her. We’ll get everything blocked out around the three of you, okay?”

  She frowned at him and asked, “Stand in?”

  He impatiently grabbed her by the arm and pushed her toward me, Rory, Ethan and the scene choreographers. “Yeah, run the lines together and hit the marks so we can work out lighting and sound.”

  She shrugged. “Sure, I can do that.”

  “Great, places, everyone!”

  The choreographer rushed up to our group and ran us through the action. Alina still looked a little bemused and out of place in her street clothes, while the rest of us were all in some badass fighting gear.

  I sidled up to her. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

  She shrugged a little stiffly and wouldn’t make eye contact with me. “Yeah, I’ve done this before when our visionary captain decided to do some last-minute changes to characters’ wardrobe and makeup, no big deal. I’m only a body, you know? Plus, we have to make that meeting or we’re fucked for next season.”

  I tugged her sleeve and she swung around, her hair wafting that faint floral scent my way. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for what happened this morning. I didn’t explain myself well and I hurt your feelings. I really want to talk—”

  Her eyes narrowed as she waved me off and mouthed, “Later.”

  “Okay, everyone. Let’s walk it through, action!” shouted the assistant director while Michael continued to buzz around making minute changes.

  Someone thrust a script into Alina’s hands and we kicked off, walking side-by-side over to Rory and Ethan. The scene unfurled and Alina’s and my scripted banter was actually a lot of fun as we taunted Ethan’s character. We vibed off each other so well—maybe too well.

  Finally, Ethan threw the first punch at me. Next to me, Alina growled and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. I dodged and faked my own first punch, then pulled out a futuristic fake sword. The half-battle commenced and Alina followed me from place to place. The actual actor would be heavily involved, but she had no idea about the choreography and there wasn’t time for her to learn.

  Finally it came to a climax as Ethan and Rory cornered Alina and me against a wall, swords at our throats. It was my cue to surrender and I said my idiotic line. Ethan and Rory melted away, leaving Alina and me alone, still pressed against the wall.

  I turned to her and she was frowning down at the script as she said her line, “Well, that could have gone better.” Her delivery was well-paced, a little out of breath, as if she had been fighting too, but I knew what was coming next. The role she was standing in for was a love interest as well as my partner and the screenplay called for us to have an emotionally charged kiss next—alth
ough exactly why this was supposed to happen was beyond me. Ridiculous show.

  She frowned again and looked up, rolled her eyes at me and sighed. She went up on her tiptoes and leaned into me. We mis-timed the entire thing. I was going for the perfunctory cheek kiss, as was she, only our lips met in the middle as we both went for the same cheek.

  My eyes were open, but hers weren’t. Until our lips met, and they went wide in surprise. It was a gentle press of our mouths, but the sheer electricity that traveled down my spine was as brilliant as more than half of the full-on sexual encounters in my life. We stayed frozen in that pose and stared at each other. My arms went around her reflexively as she swayed on her toes and I lifted my head from hers. She was frowning at me. “Dammit, every time. Are you okay?”

  The room seemed to have disappeared. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Are you?”

  She sighed and my arms tightened around her. “I’m fine. Also, yes, you hurt my feelings, but I’m trying to forget about that for the moment. Can we talk after the meeting?”

  Our lips hovered within inches of each other and I longed to close that gap. “Yes, after the meeting. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “Whoa, cut!” Michael’s incredulous command broke us apart. “Well, you two. That escalated quickly. Alina, thank you for your willingness to assist. Great job with the lines. Can you get everyone ready to break down the rest of the set and clear out while we film this?”

  She stepped away from my arms, her face bright red. “Sure, Michael,” she said briskly, trying to recover her equanimity. “I’ve got this.”

  I watched her walk away and Michael strolled up to me, hands in pocket, shit-eating grin on his face. “Mmhmm, you just like her, eh?” he said sotto voce, then clapped his hands. “Everyone ready? Places. Last run-through, this one at full speed with fighting choreography.”