Quirks & Kinks

by Laurel Ulen Curtis

  Suddenly his tongue touched mine, abandoning the professional boundaries and our characters in the blink of an eye.

  Lost in him and the moment, my tongue danced back, twisting and caressing the inside of his mouth with the fervor of someone who feared they’d never get another chance.

  His chest and the call of the script beckoned in the back of my mind, but one moment turned into two and before I knew it, we’d both lost all sense of time and spacial reasoning.

  We didn’t have all the time in the world to explore, and we sure as hell weren’t alone on an island of lust. People were waiting. People were watching. But neither of us managed to put a stop to it before it landed us in an uncomfortable place.

  “Cut!” came Howie’s loud and startling call, breaking us apart quickly and without an ending that did justice to the beginning and middle of our first kiss.

  “Well, I know I said to take your time, Easie, but maybe not that much,” he teased, bringing a rare rosy blush to the center of my cheeks.

  Glancing to the man between my legs, I found something completely unexpected. Because for as repentant and embarrassed as I looked and felt, Anderson didn’t.

  His eyes were hot and completely—intently—focused on me.

  Luckily, Howie didn’t push it, nor did he let it linger, announcing, “Let’s go again!” before any of us had a chance to do anything else.

  “And action!”

  I kept my mouth closed this time, breathing shallowly through my nose as little as possible. He smelled so damn good, but each hit of his scent seemed to significantly affect my decision making skills.

  Hell, it was exactly like a drug.

  His throat was smooth and long, its thickness thinning a little as he stretched to give me better access. A small nip of his collarbone transitioned into an exploration of his chest, but I didn’t give myself long before zeroing in on the extra nipple.

  I told myself that if I focused on the part that wasn’t actually attached to Anderson, I could get back into the right frame of mind. The Miranda frame of mind.

  Purposely shutting out Anderson’s motion and response, I treated him like a mannequin, praying for a swift end to the take.

  Howie, evidently with a direct line to God, chose that moment to tell us we were done.

  “Cut!”

  Sitting up quickly, I separated myself, compartmentalizing the lower half of my body into a box labeled “Open This Later.”

  “I think we got everything we need for this. You guys go into wardrobe and get ready for the intro.”

  Following Howie’s instruction immediately, I swung my leg over Anderson’s body as though dismounting a horse and scurried free until our bodies no longer touched at all.

  I could feel his eyes on me, their weight dimpling the skin like a physical touch, but I studiously avoided them.

  I may not have a college degree, but I’d just earned an honorary one in avoidance.

  Wardrobe was waiting, and as far as I was concerned, it was screaming my name.

  Trudging through a cloud of awkward fog that I’d largely created with my impression of Speedy Gonzalez, Anderson and I managed to finish shooting the intro after an agonizing twenty-four takes.

  I wasn’t proud of the number, but I was content to live with it. Howie wasn’t mad, and the show got done. In the face of everything that had happened in the last couple of days, professionally, I really couldn’t ask for more.

  But there was something that bothered me, so after getting changed back into street clothes and removing all of my TV makeup, I hiked up my panties and went in search of Anderson.

  When I found him, he was gathering his stuff in his dressing room, just pulling the bottom of his t-shirt down to cover his exposed abdomen.

  Focus.

  Stay fucking focused.

  “Hey,” I greeted softly, alerting him to my presence for the first time.

  “Hey, Easie,” he murmured back, slapping his hat back on his messy-haired head and tucking his sunglasses back into the front collar of his shirt. The day had truly come full circle.

  “So, um . . .” I stuttered to a start. “The second episode airs tomorrow. I know it’s not you, you know, yet. But, um. Did you . . . Do you maybe want to come over and watch it?”

  “Oh,” he said, surprised, scratching at his chest with long, tan fingers. I couldn’t blame him. I’d totally blackballed him since the moment his tongue left mine. He probably wouldn’t be expecting me to invite him over.

  “I can’t.”

  I tried not to let my face fall too noticeably.

  “I’m sorry, Easie. I wish I could.”

  I waved it off like it was no big deal. Because it wasn’t.

  No, really. “That’s cool if you don’t want to. I get it,” I offered with a smile, internally cringing when I realized it probably looked faker than Pamela Anderson’s boobs.

  “No,” he disagreed vehemently. “You don’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “I want to come,” he said with a chuckle before explaining further. “I can’t. I have to go train, and then I’m covering Tammy’s shift at El Loco.”

  Instead of focusing on the part of his statement that made me imagine stabbing people, I honed in on the other part.

  “Train?”

  “Yeah. I’m running the 100 mile Rio Del Lago Endurance Run later this year.”

  “100 miles?” I coughed. “People miles?”

  “What other kinds of miles are there?” he asked with a smirk that just barely rumpled up his nose.

  “I don’t know. Hamster ones?” I asked hopefully.

  “Nope,” he replied, the shape and intensity of his grin growing into a smile. “Definitely the people ones then.”

  “And by running you mean?”

  “Running.”

  “Like, with your legs?”

  One raspy laugh coughed sharply from his throat. “That’s the plan.”

  “All at once?”

  “Yep.”

  “Holy shitballs. That makes me weep inside.”

  Finally, he let go, laughing the kind of rolling hilarity that started deep in his gut and ended at my ears.

  Yeah, at my ears. Definitely not by forming a floral wreath around my swelling heart. Definitely.

  “I’ll pretend to be impressed by you doing it though.”

  “I’d appreciate it. It seems like it’d be a waste if you weren’t impressed,” he teased.

  “Okay, well . . .” I mumbled, “I guess I’ll see you—”

  “If you aren’t intent on watching the show,” he cut in, “You could come hang out in my section at El Loco.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he confirmed, offering, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Oh, thanks. I don’t really drink, but thanks.”

  “Addictive history?” he asked compassionately, being so understanding that it made my real answer seem even funnier.

  I shook my head and shrugged. “Poor.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he burst out laughing. “You’re one interesting woman, Easie Reynolds.”

  With a knock to the table, he walked toward me and the door, pausing in its opening just inches from me. The dark metal of his chunky ring glinted as his hand came up and tucked my hair behind my ear. His nose twitched and his face turned cautiously hopeful. “Text me if you’re coming tomorrow night?”

  I nodded my acquiescence.

  His half smile turned full. “Later, Litterbug.”

  “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” Ashley asked as I paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again for the sixty-second time.

  What was wrong with me? That was a good question. I’d venture it had something to with the all out war going on inside of my chest as I tried to decide whether I should give in to the urge to go the restaurant or not.

  Explosions. Bullet spray from an army of AK-47s. A grenade launcher in the distance. It was fucking bedlam in there.

  I’d manage
d to put it out of my mind until now, but with the time until the show aired dwindling down, my entire body had become overwhelmed with the possibility of going.

  “Are you anxious about watching the show?” she asked, tuning into my angst but misjudging the cause. “You know, with Ryder and everything?”

  Truthfully, I hadn’t given even one thought to Ryder. But, apparently, I was just shamelessly desperate enough to see Anderson to use it as an excuse.

  “Yeah,” I lied. “I guess that’s it. Maybe we should go out.”

  Oh, you dirty, dirty liar.

  “Okay, we can do that,” she agreed easily. “You wanna just run down to the pub?”

  Shit. The pub was just up the street, so it was no surprise that she’d suggested it. It just made it a lot harder to explain why I had a different idea.

  Now, I know I should have just told her I wanted to go see Anderson.

  But it’s called denial for a fucking reason.

  If you’re not admitting the truth to yourself, you certainly don’t admit it to other people.

  “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for the pub,” I evaded.

  “Chinese food?” she suggested.

  Fuck.

  “Ehh,” I murmured with a shake of my head. Hoping to slide it in innocently, I mentioned, “I’m not sure. Maybe tacos or something?”

  Wow. Major failure on the innocent thing. Red flags were fucking waving all over the damn place.

  Her blond hair swung dramatically over her slender shoulder as her head came up, and her midnight blue eyes narrowed on me.

  “Tacos?” Her tone edged toward suspicious.

  “Or something,” I avoided. “I’m not sure exactly what I’m craving, but those don’t sound bad.”

  “I don’t suppose you want to go to the Mexican place two blocks over, do you?”

  “Eh,” I breathed, officially giving in to the desperation and digging my grave. “I’m not sure those are exactly—”

  “Easie.”

  “Shit,” I muttered before admitting, “I was thinking El Loco.”

  “Any specific reason?” That fucking voice. She knew there was a reason.

  I glared at her.

  “Okay,” she caved. “We’ll go to El Loco. Sans explanation.”

  Well, damn. She gave in so easily that now I was suspicious of her.

  “That was too easy.”

  “Do you want me to argue? Press you for answers? I totally can if that’d make you feel better.”

  Ugh.

  “Let’s just go.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, nodding like the winner she was. “Let’s just go.”

  Bawk Bawk Bawkkkk.

  Something tasted like chicken, and I was guessing it was me.

  I must have taken my phone out no less than thirty times on the drive to El Loco, and yet, not during a single one of those times had I actually texted Anderson.

  For some completely bogus reason, texting him to let him know I was on my way felt intimate on a level I wasn’t ready for. Like, I’ll see you soon, honey.

  He’d know I was there soon enough.

  There was at least some comfort in the fact that I knew I wouldn’t have to run into Tammy since he was covering her shift. And in the lingering tobacco of the two cigarettes I’d smoked on the way there.

  “Table for two?” the hostess asked when we stepped inside and approached the podium.

  Succumbing to the pressure now that we’d come all this way, I spoke up before Ashley could. “Yeah, but, um, could we sit in Anderson’s section please?”

  Ashley was annoyingly unsurprised, nodding and murmuring, “Uh huh,” under her breath.

  “He’s pretty busy, but I’ll see what he’s got.”

  “Uh, um,” I called as she turned away, catching her attention and making one of the bravest decisions I’d ever made. The truth was, I was terrified. Terrified that I’d commit to someone who couldn’t see beyond the bitch.

  Terrified that he wouldn’t like what he found when he did.

  “You can tell him it’s Easie asking.”

  “Mmhmm,” Ashley hummed.

  “Shut up.”

  The hostess came back fairly quickly, waving us forward with a smirk curving her lips and a twinkle lighting her eye.

  “Right this way.”

  Following her silently, I ignored the holes I felt Ashley’s eyes drilling in my back and focused instead on preparing myself for my hello with Anderson.

  I wasn’t sure if we would wave, or shake, or maybe even hug. I wasn’t thinking he’d stick his tongue in my mouth again, but that didn’t mean my body got that very important memo.

  Anticipation churned like a stormy ocean in my gut, sloshing at the edges and making me dance on uncomfortable feet.

  But as soon as Anderson turned the corner and came into view, a huge smile highlighting the light of his eyes and a piece of dark, wild hair curling down onto the line of his forehead, it all settled. The waves abated, the skies cleared, and the sight of him happy and at ease seeped into me and made me feel much the same.

  “Here you go,” the hostess said, settling us into our table and handing us each a menu.

  “Thanks,” I murmured as my eyes followed Anderson across the room—watched him laugh at something another table said.

  He walked away and his eyes scanned the tables, and I had absolutely no doubts whatsoever that he was looking for us.

  When he finally found us—found me—his smile deepened, his long legs eating up the space twice as fast as I ever could.

  “Easie,” he murmured, pulling me out of the booth, into his arms, and inhaling the skin at the side of my throat.

  I got lost in it for a minute, reveling in the feel and soaking every last bit of his warmth inside me.

  And then Ashley called my name.

  “Easie!” She waved a hand dramatically in front of my face. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring at the same spot across the room for a long-ass time. Like, without blinking.”

  Um . . . what?

  Scanning my surroundings, I found no Anderson, no body of any kind. The only thing in my arms was a cold dose of reality.

  Great. So I’d completely made up the hugging and throat sniffing. This did not bode well.

  “Oh. Yeah. Swell.”

  “You’re weird tonight.”

  I’d say that was a completely fair assessment on her part. In fact, just saying tonight rather than lately was unflaggingly generous.

  “Yeah,” I admitted, “It’s probably going to stay that way.”

  Her face scrunched, but after a few seconds, she decided finding out what I meant wouldn’t be worth her time or energy.

  Instead, she shrugged.

  I didn’t blame her.

  Anderson was nowhere in sight, and the daydream left me feeling like I didn’t know my left from my right. I didn’t know when he’d disappeared, or where he’d gone, or if I’d ever even seen him in the first place.

  Sinking my face into my hands, I did my best to regroup through a series of deep breaths and rough facial scrubs. Unfortunately, all it probably got me was wrinkles.

  “What’s she doing?” I heard whispered in an achingly familiar voice. I peeked just one eye open.

  Anderson sat crouched at the end of our table with his chin resting on his folded arms. Afraid it was an illusion, I didn’t trust it, waiting instead to see if Ashley would answer him. If she didn’t, I was driving straight to the nearest hospital.

  “I’m pretty sure she’s on the verge of a mental breakdown, but I’m hoping the real hysteria holds off until I’ve had my tacos.”

  Slowly, I opened the other eye, dragging my fingers roughly down my face as I pulled my hands away. The skin drooped and pulled appropriately, leaving Ashley’s face a mask of disbelief and Anderson’s smile beaming.

  “Long day, Easie?” he asked, a lighthearted lilt making my heart sprout wings for the sole purpose of fluttering.

  “Something like that,
” I responded, feeling the pieces of my scattered self put themselves back together courtesy of a little Anderson flavored glue. “How were the fifty million miles?”

  He chuckled, shifting from his squat back to standing and forcing my eyes to follow the line of his lean body all the way up. “It was just slightly less than that actually. But the old legs are feeling it. If I didn’t get up just now, I never would have.”

  “Yeah, you’re a real Grandpa,” I remarked sarcastically. “How old are you these days, eighteen?”

  Luckily, I already had my tackle box and pole all packed as I headed off on my fishing expedition.

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “Right, right. So basically a hundred.”

  “If we’re using the same scale you use for miles, then yeah.”

  “Boom!” Ashley offered, entering the conversation uninvited.

  Both of our heads swung to her, surprised, having pretty much forgotten that she was there. At least, I had.

  “Oh, sorry,” she apologized sarcastically. “Don’t mind me. By all means, continue volleying your ball of explosive sexual tension. I’ll just wait here.”

  “Don’t you have someone named Larry you could be texting?” I fired back, satisfied when a sharp blush stole across her cheeks.

  “Reallllly?” Anderson cooed, turning his attention fully to her. “Larry, huh?”

  Looking her up and down, he slid right into the role of a protective big brother. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”

  Naturally, she blamed me.

  Shooting poison-laced daggers through my head, she denied, “I’m not with Larry.”

  I raised a skeptical brow, and she got a defiantly challenging look in her eye.

  “I’m not with Larry, just like you and Anderson aren’t together.”

  “We aren’t together,” I reiterated, glancing at the man in question as he looked on, intrigued.

  Her smile only grew. “Exactly.”

  “You guys are incredible,” Anderson murmured in awe. “I’d stay here all night to watch the show if I didn’t have other people to serve.”