Dirty Talk

by S. L. Scott

  The day started on such a high. One email caused me to call my friends to go out and celebrate. The deal was closed. I’m a producer on a film I know will score on the indie circuit and I can sell to major distributers worldwide. Production begins next week, so work is good. Work is great, in fact. Normally my work takes my mind off everything, especially off her.

  Not this time.

  I’m about to be tested—heart and soul, mind and body. This will determine my future and I have no idea if that future holds the same ending the film does. Somehow I doubt it. Not everyone gets a second chance.

  CHAPTER 2

  ~Jane~

  WATCHING LUKE WALK away last week—walk away without me—was a shot to the heart. Lawrence Reinstardt turned that pain into anger quick enough, ruining the whole encounter. A relationship formed from loneliness has morphed into desperate actions. Lawrence was once appealing. I thought we had a real shot at love. I was wrong. So wrong. He approached me like he approaches his enemies in the courtroom. He analyzes the situation like a forensic scientist and then goes for the kill. He caught me off-guard, in a weakened state and made me feel good, wanted even. I hadn’t felt wanted long before I left Luke, so this felt like the sun rising after a thunderous night. He offered me what Luke couldn’t give me at the time, what I thought I wanted over all else—a commitment.

  Lawrence made me feel special. He’d wined and dined me. Laid on the romance as thick as he could—gifts, flowers, expensive dinners, glamorous parties. Despite my entire world changing along with my social status, I still felt empty inside. That’s when I realized it was never about the commitment that I thought would make me feel whole, it was about love.

  I never loved Lawrence. I don’t even know if I’m capable of loving another like I loved… love Luke.

  Staring out at the ocean before me, I lean back not sure how my life ended up where it is. My career is finally taking off while my personal life is worse than ever. Maybe not worse. I think I got out of the worst. I’m just back to being lonely. Lonely is good right now. It means I’m feeling again. And maybe one day that feeling will be love instead, but for now I stand up and dust the sand from my jeans as I head back to my car. I’m not in a hurry to get home because I don’t have a home to go to. The hotel where I’m staying is nice, but not a home.

  With so many changes in the last two years you’d think I’d be used to it. I’m still resistant to my actual reality. Pushing that aside like I’ve become so adept at, I check my phone to find two missed calls and two text messages from my agent, Sarah Devers. The first message reads: CALL ME!

  My agent gets demanding, but I have two screenplays out there so my heart leaps hoping for the best.

  The second text from her: CALL ME NOW!! <--- I used two exclamation points. You know what that means.

  My eyes squeeze tight and a smile erupts. I call her. As soon as she answers, I squeal. “I sold a screenplay?”

  “The deal is closed. The papers have been signed. You gave me permission to negotiate and close it and we got our top offer, including moving you into script supervisor on set. You did it, Jane. Until I Met You is going into production next week.”

  “This is amazing. Thank you.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Deflating a bit when I look around at the empty parking lot, I ask, “Want to celebrate with me?”

  “I’d love to join you but my boyfriend has threatened to leave me if I don’t come home from the office before ten tonight. Too many late work nights have led to a lot of fights. I promised him tonight.”

  That pesky feeling of loneliness creeps in again. “Yes, you do work too hard. I’ll let you go so you can get out of there. Thanks again for the great news.”

  “Congratulations and we’ll touch base soon.”

  She hangs up and I start the car. I end up sitting in traffic. Typical LA. Doesn’t matter the time of day or night. There’s always traffic. In the distance the Hollywood sign isn’t lit up, but I can still see it. The beacon that pulls me toward it has changed from when I first arrived in LA. I remember the first time I saw it after Luke and I moved here to attend school together. We were young…

  Grabbing his pillow, I flop down on the bed in his dorm room and cuddle it while watching Luke organize his CD collection. I’ve watched him grow from a scrawny kid with charisma and a cute smile into a man with broad shoulders and confidence. The tank top he’s wearing shows off the arms he’s built over the summer, something he worked at six days a week.

  Basically, he’s hot.

  And he’s mine.

  Leaning forward from a chair by the bed, his eyes meet mine. His comforting blues burst my daydream but the real thing is better than any fantasy anyway so I don’t mind. He teases, “You didn’t hear me, did you?”

  I smile and roll onto my back. “No. Sorry. What did you say?”

  A CD is held up, and he asks, “Is this your Foo Fighters? I have two.”

  Closing my eyes, I move the pillow off me. “Maybe. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter. We share everything anyway.”

  “True. Should I toss it?”

  “No, just put it next to yours and then come over here. I want you to lie on top of me.”

  I don’t have to see him to know he’s smiling. “I’m going to write your name inside this one, so we’ll know whose is whose.” I hear the cap of the Sharpie and the light sound of the ink as he writes on the CD, then the click of the cases when he adds mine back into his collection.

  The mattress lowers under his weight as he balances around me and then gently lies on top of me.

  “I want to feel your weight, all of it.”

  He relaxes the rest of the way and my chest is heavy, my breath harder to release, but he feels so good. Too good to worry about simple things like breathing.

  Dropping his head to the bed next to mine, he whispers, “Are you okay? Am I too heavy?” He starts to move, but I tighten my arms around him.

  “I like you like this. Stay one more minute.”

  He does. But he also knows I’m struggling, so as soon as a minute passes he rolls off and looks at me. “Why do you like that so much?”

  “I feel close. I feel surrounded by you. I feel connected to you.”

  His fingers weave into my hair and he leans closer to kiss me. “I love you, Jane.”

  My eyes remain closed as our cheeks press together, and I whisper, “I love you, so much.”

  …I take the next exit off the freeway before I can change my mind. Fifteen minutes later I’m parked in front of Luke’s Hollywood Hills home. My lights are off, the engine idling, giving me an out if I want to take it.

  The thing is, I don’t want to take it. I turn off the car and get out. Nervously holding the keys after setting the alarm, I’m sure he’s been tipped off to my presence as I debate one last time before approaching his door. I can still leave. I can still save myself the heartache of seeing him again—possibly with someone else—and not being his.

  As soon as I knock, I turn to leave, but don’t reach the corner of the house before he answers.

  I lick my lips, push down my nerves, and turn back to face him. Why does he have to be so handsome, so everything I should have never walked away from? “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He leans against the doorframe and smiles lightly. “Just in the neighborhood?”

  “Something like that.”

  Silence spans the next minute that starts feeling like ten.

  I finally admit, “I don’t know why I came here.” Hoping he doesn’t think I’m crazy.

  His smile grows and I can’t help but return one. Righting his body, the door is opened wider. “Would you like to come in?”

  Looking just beyond his shoulder, I worry he has company of the female persuasion. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “No. I was just cooking dinner. I have enough for two if you’re hungry.”

  My stomach growls at the mention of food. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and haven’t
had a home-cooked meal since I moved out on my own again. I don’t tell him that though. “I am.”

  “Join me. I’ve got chicken in the oven.”

  My hand is flat on my belly in a ridiculous attempt to calm my nerves. I used to be so comfortable with this man. Why am I so nervous now? “I’d like that.” I take a step toward the open door, toward him. Each one is heavy with our past and the many things we left unsaid, the things we should be saying even now. Maybe it’s because of those things that I’m unsettled, restless, and aimless. Maybe beneath his put-together life, he’s floundering from lost love like me. He looks too good in his low-hanging basketball shorts and T-shirt that seems to show off every one of the muscles across his chest, biceps, and shoulders. Broad shoulders I used to embrace when the whole world was lost to more blissful times.

  I bite my lip as my gaze slides up to meet his eyes just before I pass him. His smile—that damn charming smile—tells me I didn’t get away with that head-to-toe I gave him.

  Turning my focus forward, the door shuts behind me and I stop to wait for him. The short sleeve of my shirt is tugged when he passes me. “The kitchen’s this way.” The smile remains in place and I look down as I follow him, smiling as well.

  One hour.

  Two.

  It’s been a few hours since I arrived and just after midnight when I realize it.

  Easy.

  He’s so easy to be around. I had foolishly forgotten.

  The TV is on and the movie is more than half over. We settled on the couch more than an hour ago, dinner long eaten and dishes cleaned. Not wanting the night to end, we opted for a movie. He watches the action flick and I watch him… well, when he’s not watching me. “Do you want more wine?” he asks.

  “No, I shouldn’t. I have to drive.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  The words are said so casually as he stares at the big screen in front of him. When he ventures to look my way, he catches my surprise. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he starts. “Reinstardt probably wouldn’t appreciate another guy saying that to his fiancée.”

  My palms are flat to the cushion, ready to help me pounce and run. “I should go.”

  “Don’t.” A look of pain resides in his eyes. I remember that sadness so clearly from the last night we were a couple, the night I left. It has made itself at home in the dark blues of his eyes that used to look so happy.

  I decide to stay a little longer, though I’m not sure if it’s for him or me. Needing fresh air, I walk outside onto the back patio. The view is great from here. The silent night is broken when music wafts from inside, reaching me. Foo Fighters. I smile. Good to know some things don’t change.

  He comes outside and leans against the railing a few feet to my right. “How’s work?”

  Tentative to let him back in, I share my news shifting nearby. “I sold a screenplay today.”

  “You did?”

  “I did.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  His gaze warms me. “You should be celebrating.”

  “I am,” I confess. He smiles, that cocky one that makes all the girls go wild. Including me. “Settle down. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  When he laughs, it’s hearty and genuine. I love hearing it again. “I can pop open a bottle of champagne to celebrate your great news.”

  “I’d like that, but I shouldn’t.”

  We’ve been dancing around real feelings all night. Until now, when he asks, “Tell me, Jane, why’d you come by tonight?”

  Resisting him is still something I struggle with, and I don’t have the energy to keep up appearances right now. I close the gap and lean my head against him. “There was no one else I’d rather celebrate with.”

  His arms come around me. And I never want them to leave. I never want him to let go again. No one will ever make me feel at home like he does. He could say so much about what I just confessed, so much about us, about Lawrence and how I should be celebrating with him. But he doesn’t. I think he might want to forget all that and enjoy the right now too.

  I leave the safety of his arms knowing the embrace can’t last forever, just like we didn’t. Inside, I look around. I feel lost here. Through the excuses I invented to see him since we broke up, I’ve been to his home several times. But I’m uncomfortable here—in his space. I’ve lost touch with who I am and where I belong.

  There aren’t traces of me to be found here, much to my disappointment. It makes me wonder if he got rid of everything I left behind or if he hides it not to be hurt by the sight of it anymore.

  Does he still hurt like I do? Are we putting up fronts to protect ourselves or have we settled into an unwanted friendship? Is that what that embrace was? Two friends with no future of anything more? Or worse, was he taking pity on me for not having anyone else to celebrate with?

  He follows me inside, not offering anything this time, not even a smile. I fill the void between us the only way I can. “Dinner was good. Thank you.”

  “The company was good. Thank you for stopping by.”

  I reach the door and with my hand on the knob, I stall, not wanting to leave… this time. I almost tell him about Lawrence, but I don’t want to make this into a “thing.” We can part and keep things easy, like they’ve been most of the night. Putting on my best Hollywood smile, I reply, “See you around.”

  “See you around.”

  As soon as my car door closes, I exhale a deep breath. The air is stale in here compared to the lightness of his house, but I start the engine and leave anyway.

  In the quiet of my hotel room, I lie in bed with my hair twisted on top of my head and jammies on. I scroll through social media. Instagram first. My agent is celebrating the deal with a post and a pic of her drinking champagne. Since I’m tagged in it, I press the heart icon and then comment: Next time we celebrate together. #Cheers

  I open Twitter, but I discover a message on the hotel phone flashing, so I set my phone down and call the front desk. Shortly after, they deliver a package to my room. The papers from Sarah can wait. My eyes too tired to read through them. I pick up my phone again and go to my Twitter notifications. There are three tweets. To my surprise, the most recent one is from Luke.

  @RealLukeAnders: @LAJane55 What if Chicken Thursday became a thing?

  Smiling, I type: @RealLukeAnders That might lead to Pork Friday and then where does that leave us? #Trouble

  I haven’t stopped laughing from the tweet conversation when another pops up.

  @LAJane55 Pork Friday it is! Same time. Same place.

  Wait. What? Did we just set a date on a very public social platform for everyone to see? He’s lucky I like the flirting too much to stop, so I type: @RealLukeAnders The pork was a bad joke that didn’t land.

  @LAJane55 It landed exactly how it was double-entendred, and I am fully committed to making #PorkFriday a thing.

  @RealLukeAnders What if I’m craving steak?

  @LAJane55 We’ll steak, then pork. Sound good? I’m starving all of a sudden.

  I must be out of my mind to continue this, but like when we were together, I just fall into a rhythm that feels relaxed and fun with him. And I’m enjoying the flirting. @RealLukeAnders Me too, but I’m not hungry.

  @LAJane55 I see what you did there… and I like it.

  @BlaiseDaze tweetjacks our conversation: @RealLukeAnders What is happening here? O.O @LAJane55

  Luke is quick to reply, washing away my frown: @BlaiseDaze GTFO. I’m having a convo full of double entendres with @LAJane55 right now.

  His friend adds: @RealLukeAnders @LAJane55 I’m outs. And congrats again on the deal.

  I respond before I realize what he is really saying. @BlaiseDaze Thank you! @RealLukeAnders

  But my tweet is beat by Luke’s: @BlaiseDaze Thanks @LAJane55

  Wait. He wouldn’t know about my deal yet. I guess he was congratulating Luke. Reading it again, I almost ask him what deal. Finding out he had something to celebra
te too makes me feel bad. I tweet Luke: @RealLukeAnders Congrats on your deal.

  @LAJane55 Thank you. We should celebrate, maybe on #PorkFriday?

  Chuckling, I type: @RealLukeAnders You really are trying to make this happen, aren’t you?

  @LAJane55 More than you know.

  CHAPTER 3

  ~Jane~

  NO MATTER HOW long I stare at the papers in front of me, they don’t change. I had ordered a bottle of white wine just as I finished flirting with Luke online. I opened the package and made it two sips and one paragraph in when I saw it.

  Luke Anders.

  Executive Producer - Until I Met You.

  My wine spills when I accidentally knock the glass right off the nightstand in surprise. Rushing into the bathroom to grab towel, my mind is spinning. When I return, I keep peeking at the papers, trying to comprehend what is right in front of me as if it will change, as if all will be explained. I continue patting the floor, trying to soak up the wine. Fortunately the glass didn’t break on the carpet. When I return to bed, I take the documents in hand, once again staring. The words make even less sense than before. Our history alone should have kept him away… our history should have kept me away as well, but there I was earlier tonight—knocking on his door, eating dinner, and flirting with him on Twitter.

  This makes no sense. I just saw Luke and he didn’t say a word. Why would he not tell me he’s the executive producer of my movie? Why would he withhold something that big, something that important, something that will tie us together not only in the present, but in the future? This movie will put us in close working proximity. We’ll both be on set.

  Every. Day.

  Together.

  My heart beats heavily in my chest and I smile. Every day together. An opportunity.

  Maybe.

  But why would he not tell me? He obviously knew.

  I sign the documents because no matter who is producing it, I can’t pass up this deal. Personally, I admit I want this opportunity with him, this second chance. Professionally, this could be a nightmare. What’s his vision for my movie? Is there a hidden agenda with him, a reason he didn’t tell me tonight? We were together for almost three hours. The conversation was light, nothing that would lead into dangerous territory like our past. But why hide this? It affects both of our futures.