by Ally Decker
"I hope so. I don't want you hurt, and I definitely don't want to be even partially responsible for it."
That made her roll her eyes. Nate took his job as her older brother very seriously, and she could admit it was great to have him to lean on over the years, but he could also get overprotective, and it drove her crazy
"You wouldn't be responsible for any of this," she told him, running a hand through her hair. She was almost twenty-nine, and Nate somehow still managed to treat her like a child sometimes.
"We came up with the idea—"
"Because I came to you asking for a plan. And then both Greg and I accepted it, so it's on us."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but the phone rang and Sylvia picked it up quickly.
"Foster, Young, and Urban, New York City Fixers, how can I help you?"
Nate mouthed, "Saved by the bell", and headed back to his office. Sylvia swallowed a relieved sigh and focused on the call. She would have a lot of time to worry about everything later.
***
She changed dresses three times on Friday night before she decided on one, and then she almost stabbed herself in the eye with the eyeliner brush. The one thing she kept repeating to herself over and over again was, "It's not a real date, it's not a real date".
Well, it seemed very real to her.
When Greg finally called to let her know he was waiting downstairs, she took a few deep breaths to calm her hammering heart. She tangled her hands into the strap of her bag as she was walking down the stairs, mindful of the heels she saved for special occasions.
"Be cool. Be cool."
He looked like a man from a movie. That was her first thought when she saw him, and yes, the irony of that wasn't lost on her. He was leaning against the car, dressed in all black, with his hands in his pockets. And when their gazes met… Damn.
"You look amazing," he greeted her when she came up to the car.
She bit her lower lip, fighting a blush. "You look nice, too," she said when he opened the door for her.
They got in, and Sylvia greeted Jack, who sat behind the wheel. As she leaned back against the seat, she had a sudden memory flash of the one other time she had been in this car, right after they'd escaped the paparazzo.
"You okay?"
She turned to Greg and nodded. "I'm fine, I just remembered our last drive. The paparazzo and…you know, everything."
She couldn't believe it had only been a few days. She wondered if the whole thing would ever stop being surreal.
Not as long as Greg's in your life, a voice in the back of her head pointed out, and her throat tightened. She didn't want to think about that.
"You've been handling it really well," he said. "I know it's hard to let people photograph you and follow you around. If you don't want to do this anymore—"
"I'm fine." She wanted to reach out and touch him but curled her fingers on her lap. She had to keep some boundaries. "I'm good."
They looked at each other for a long moment, and Sylvia could feel her heart speeding up. It's not a date, she told herself once again, but now, sitting here with Greg—with his beautiful eyes and his…everything—it was even harder to remember than before.
***
Illuminations had always left Sylvia with the lingering feeling of wonder and the best kind of heartache, and this time was no exception. She walked out to the foyer in a daze, but Greg's presence next to her, his strong arm under her hand, helped to ground her and slowly bring her back to the present.
He was looking at her with a gentle smile and the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes made Sylvia wish she could reach out and touch. She imagined running her fingers down his face, tracing the line of his jaw…
She licked her lower lip, and his gaze dropped to follow the movement, making her breath catch.
That—that wasn't pretend.
The heat slowly uncurled in her stomach, and she tilted her head up as Greg leaned into her. This is it, this is going to happen. She was about to close her eyes and—
The flash went off somewhere on their left. The spell was broken.
They pulled back from each other and turned away from whoever it was that had destroyed their intimate moment.
She blinked quickly a few times, trying to regain her equilibrium again, but this time, Greg's closeness was more distracting than calming. She looked around and focused on small details—red shoes with impossibly high heels on an already tall woman, a couple of women in the corner who had their pinkies linked as each of them held a wine glass in the other hand, the guy in a light green jacket and light blue shoes. Details helped her to get back to the present, to narrow her world down to here and now once again.
"You okay?" Greg whispered into her ear, and Sylvia had to bite her lower lip to stop the shiver. She wanted to tilt her head to the side and expose her neck to him, hoping he would brush his lips over it. Hoping he would kiss her when he was done exploring.
But then his words registered, and she nodded, not yet trusting her voice.
Damn it. Nate was right to be concerned. Sylvia's reactions were getting way out of control.
"Let's just go," Greg said, and after a stop to pick up their jackets, he led her out of the theater into the chilly night. Sylvia inhaled deeply, trying to stomp down on her disappointment as she felt the last remnants of her daze dissolve into cold air.
The heartache she was still feeling had nothing to do with the tonight's show.
"So, where to now?" she asked, trying to distract herself. They had spent the last half an hour in the theater lobby bar because they'd still had time before dinner, but now that they left, Sylvia realized she had no idea where they were going.
"There's an Italian restaurant a block from here," Greg said, leading her through the alley where they'd first met. As they passed the stage door, Sylvia shot a quick look at the group of fans waiting, but she recognized only two women and, luckily, they weren't looking in their direction. She wasn't ready to face anyone she knew while she and Greg were…doing all this.
She recognized the restaurant, but she had never been there before. The main room was a big, open space with more private seats situated in the back. The overhead light was dim, so it took Sylvia a second to recognize the guy who stood up as they walked up to his table.
Charlie Amis. Greg's close friend whom he wanted to introduce her to was Charlie Amis.
"Hi, nice to meet you," Charlie said when she gawked at him like a crazy person.
"Sylvia, this is my friend, Charlie. Charlie, this is Sylvia." Greg sounded like he fought a laugh, and there was a voice at the back of Sylvia's head that promised revenge.
"Nice to meet you, too," she finally said. She smiled, trying to cover up her shock. "I'm a fan of your work."
Charlie grinned at her. "Thank you, I appreciate it. Greg mentioned you are a big Broadway fan."
A big fan. Sylvia wondered if these were really the words Greg used. "I am. I go to see a show every chance I get," she told him after they sat down.
"Me, too! Well, I don't have a lot of time to do that now, but I try to catch most shows throughout the season."
"What do you like the most this year?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Checkers was amazing. I saw it in October, and still nothing has really beat it in my book. Aside from Illuminations, of course, but I'm biased."
"You're not, Illuminations is the best." Sylvia told him, nodding. Then she glanced at her date, hoping he wasn't put out by them steering the conversation to Broadway, but Greg just sat back in his seat and smiled warmly, looking from one to the other. He seemed happy to watch them talk.
Without thinking, she reached out under the table and closed her fingers around his wrist where he was resting his hand on his thigh. She squeezed once and then let go, taking her hand away. She could feel her face redden, but then Greg's smile got softer, and she couldn't not answer in kind.
Then she remembered about Charlie and shot him a quick look, but he was reading t
he menu, or at least pretending to. Sylvia grinned, slowly picking up her own menu. Her life had been taking one completely surreal turn after the other lately, but right now, she was too happy to care.
***
"I still can't believe you didn't tell me your friend was the guy I gushed to you about." Sylvia shook her head when they were on the way to her place. The evening was lovely and she'd had a great time, both because of the company and also because she had a chance to see Greg at his most natural—it was obvious he and Charlie knew each other very well, and they used that knowledge to banter and tease each other.
Now Greg looked at her with a grin. "I wanted it to be a surprise. And besides, you didn't have to waste time stressing over it or anything."
"It was bizarre," she admitted. "If someone had told me ten days ago that I would be eating dinner with the two of you, I'd have thought they were insane. I know you're probably used to meeting famous people—"
Greg shook his head. "Hey, I can still get totally star-struck."
She raised her eyebrows, mirroring him as he turned in his seat to face her. "Really? Who made you star-struck lately?"
Greg tilted his head to the side as if he was trying to remember. "Meryl Streep, I think. We were on the same late night show. If they hadn't introduced us in the green room before the show, I'd probably have embarrassed myself in front of four cameras and three hundred people in the audience that day. She's as amazing in person as she seems on TV." Greg shook his head. "Before that, I think it was Robert Redford. God, I was sure he'd think I was a complete disaster, but he seemed to take everything in stride. He even complimented the movie I'd produced that we were showing at Sundance."
"Oh my God, I love both of them so much," Sylvia leaned closer, excited, before thinking twice and sitting back. "I'm sorry, you probably—"
"Hey." He reached out and caught her flailing hand.
She closed her mouth immediately, staring at him. Earlier at the restaurant, she had been the one who'd initiated contact, but after that, neither of them had touched the other with intent. Now, Greg was tangling their fingers together and squeezing them before laying their joined hands on the seat between them.
"I don't mind. Stop assuming I mind talking about my job and my life. Sure, I'm not comfortable with some topics, but I'll tell you if they come up. Don't think that because some journalists asked me the same question in the past, that you can't ask or that I'll get angry."
"Okay," she said after a long moment of silence they'd spent staring at each other. Their hands were still joined, and Sylvia could feel the warmth of Greg's skin against her colder fingers. She imagined that warmth was slowly spreading into her, as well.
She held her breath as he unbuckled himself, then watched as he slowly leaned toward her. Her pulse sped up, and her gaze dropped to his mouth as she wondered what he was going to taste like.
The first brush of his lips against hers was soft, as if he was asking a question. She tilted her head up toward him, and he kissed her again, this time more insistent, more assured of his welcome. He traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and she opened up for him, deepening the kiss right as her free hand found its way to his neck. The heat spread through her body quickly, and she gasped into his mouth when he put a hand on her hip, right below her waist.
They pulled apart after some time to catch their breath, but they still stayed close. Greg rested his forehead against Sylvia's and ran his thumb back and forth over her hip.
She suddenly felt fragile, as if she would come apart if his hands weren't there to ground her. It was both terrifying—she had never wanted to be that person for whom one touch of a man could turn her into a delicate being—and exhilarating. This was something she'd only experienced a few times after watching the most incredible performance, one that touched her deeply and seemed to rearrange something inside her, even if temporarily.
There was nothing pretend about it at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOLY SHIT, what the hell? Greg tried to calm his breathing, and he was working hard to contain the whirlwind inside him. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this.
He didn't want to move, didn't want to take his hands off of Sylvia. He closed his eyes, anchoring himself in their connection, something that was honest and weirdly fragile. Something that had nothing to do with the charade they were supposed to play.
It took him a while to realize the car wasn't moving anymore, but then he ignored it. It didn't matter. He wasn't ready to leave, wasn't ready to let Sylvia get out and walk away from him. And from the way her fingers tightened in his grip, she wasn't in any hurry, either.
Greg leaned in for another kiss, this time slower, but deeper, hungrier for more of that pull he felt between them. He grazed her lower lip with his teeth, then sucked it into his mouth to run his tongue over delicate flesh.
Sylvia ran her nails behind his ear, making him tighten his hold on her. His cock was getting harder, and the need to get as close as possible surprised him with its intensity.
There was something about her that spoke to Greg. Not only now, but ever since she had smiled at him in that back alley, pale-faced and a bit embarrassed, but still charming. There was something that pulled him in, made him want more—more time with her, more smiles from her, and now—more of her taste.
When they broke apart this time, she ran her tongue over her lower lip and lifted her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were brighter in the dim light of the car than Greg had ever seen them, and he smiled, letting go of her hip so that he could run his thumb over her cheek and the line of her jaw.
Sylvia smiled back and leaned slightly into his touch.
"Do you want to come upstairs?" she whispered, and he nodded before she even finished the question.
"Yes," he whispered back, to make sure there was no doubt, and then kissed her softly before pulling back and glancing at Jack, who stared diligently into his phone and ignored them completely. "This is our last stop for the day," Greg said louder, catching Jack's attention. "Go home and get some shut eye."
If Sylvia didn't want for him to stay the night, he could always get a taxi.
After they said their good nights, he and Sylvia watched Jack drive away before looking at each other. Even in heels, she was still small enough that her shoulder fit under his arm when Greg tugged her closer.
"Come on," she said and pulled him by their joined hands.
They didn't say anything more as they entered the building and walked up the stairs.
At her door, she fumbled with her keys as he brushed his nose against her temple and cheek, inhaling the mix of scents that he realized he could already recognize—the scent of her shampoo, her perfume, her.
When she finally pushed the door open and they got inside, she turned the lights on and they left their jackets and shoes by the door. Greg watched her walk to a little kitchenette barefoot and in her little black dress, and something shifted inside of him, like pieces rearranging in a new way. He suddenly couldn't stand so much space between them, so he followed her, plastering himself to her back as she reached to the glass cabinet above her head.
She sighed, melting against him and dropping her arms down, and he pressed closer, trapping her between his body and the counter. He gripped her hip again with one hand, moving the other to her stomach and splaying his fingers wide. His pinkie landed over the line of her panties under her dress, and he brushed his finger back and forth. She leaned further against him, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder.
One of her hands covered his on her stomach, and she ran her nails lightly over his forearm. Greg tightened his grip on her hip as he fought the shiver down his spine. His hard cock was pressing against the small of her back now, and for a second, he imagined dragging her dress up and fucking her here, against the counter.
"I guess you're not thirsty after all," she whispered, and he chuckled into her hair.
"Not for anything you could find in a bottle."
&nb
sp; She nodded and then pushed back a little to wiggle out of the confines of his embrace.
"Come on then." She caught his hand and pulled him forward, leading him down the small hallway to her bedroom. All Greg could think of now was getting her naked.
She turned to him as he closed the door, and then they were kissing again. Her hands were in his hair, keeping his head close as if she wanted to make sure he wouldn't pull away.
As if.
He circled his arms around her waist, moving one hand lower to run his fingers over the curve of her ass. Sylvia moaned into the kiss and he smiled. He wanted to get more sounds like that out of her tonight. He moved his fingers up and down a few times before flattening his hand, cupping one of her buttocks.
As they broke off their kiss to catch their breaths, Greg tilted his head so he could leave a line of kisses along her neck, and Sylvia's grip tightened in his hair as he licked the dip of skin right next to her collarbone. She moved one of her hands to tease his earlobe with her fingertips, as if she already knew it was his sensitive spot.
Greg turned her around again and reached for the zipper of her dress. When he pulled it open all the way, he inhaled sharply at the expanse of skin right in front of him—to touch, and kiss, and taste. He wanted to map out every inch of her back, every curve and every line, but his erection was getting more persistent.
He slowly pushed the sleeves of the dress down, his mouth following the path of the fabric along her shoulders. When the dress fell onto the floor, Greg leaned in to lick the line of her spine from between her shoulder blades up, ending high at the nape of her neck, where he bit her lightly—not enough to leave any mark.
Not yet, if he was lucky.
Sylvia shivered under his touch, her breath coming faster. She turned back to face him and reached out to unbutton his shirt. He used that opportunity to look at her, in her black, strapless bra and black panties, perfect curves of her body right in front of him. He couldn't keep his hands still on her hips. His thumbs rubbed circles right above her hipbones, and he had to fight not to shove her down onto the bed.