by Lissa Bilyk
“Did you go to a private school?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I had private tutors. I’ve been acting since I was eight. There’s a certain amount of schoolwork you have to do to pass your classes, and I didn’t have time to go to a regular school. Luckily most production companies provide tutors for child actors. I only had to get my high school certificate.”
Once again I was left pondering at the differences between our lives. I had attended a public school where I was one among the faceless masses. I had done well in my studies, and contemplated going to a conservatorium to study music. But all of that changed when my dad died as well.
The tech run went off with the usual amount of hitches – organising the fades and music, practising set placement and reorganising props. The actors, to their credit, didn’t show a hint of boredom. I guess it’s not that hard when you’re on that kind of a salary.
Just before the break between acts, I went down to Cameron’s dressing room with a cup of coffee for him and a hot chocolate for me. I planned to spend some time with just him before joining the rest of the cast for lunch. He was in the middle of changing costumes when I arrived, and I chanced upon the wonderful sight of his near-naked torso, his enormous biceps gleaming with swirling black tribal ink. I gulped and felt something deep in me clench. Damn, the man was sexy without even trying.
“Hi Tori,” he said, his face lighting up. His team took the hint and left, closing the door after them. I gave him his coffee and he sipped it, letting out a grateful moan.
“I can’t wait for opening night,” he said, his head falling down to rest in one hand.
“It’s only tomorrow,” I chuckled, leaning against one of the dressing room tables.
“It’s gonna be a great show.” He lifted his head and looked at me through half closed eyes. “And I think you’ve gotten more beautiful since I last saw you.”
I blushed and combed at my hair. He sat up straighter, set aside his coffee cup.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Tori. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”
I glanced away, pleasure thrilling through me. If he didn’t stop, my face would redden like a tomato and possibly explode into flames as well. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”
“Think so?” he fairly growled, rising to his feet. “I know so. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I just want to-” he broke off a balled his hands into fists. “God damn, I wish you’d said something to me months ago. I truly had no idea you were interested, and I hate to think how much time I’ve wasted in getting to know you.”
“Maybe I should have sang the first time we met,” I teased.
He did growl this time, a rumbling sound deep from his chest. “Yes,” he muttered. “If only you had.”
He slinked towards me. My heart thumped and my cheeks blushed in anticipation. He slid his hands around my waist and leaned in to me. The table top bit into me and I shifted against him to get more comfortable. His head dropped and his lips slid over mine in a sensual kiss, playful and keen. His hands roamed to my ass and then grasped me and lifted me up to perch on the end of the table. He shoved his knee between mine and shifted the rest of his body to follow. His hands grasped my hips and he shamelessly pushed against me, grinding into me, his erection hard and unyielding. Through the thinner material of my leggings I felt everything. One hand slid under my dress and tickled my belly before diving between my skin and the material of my panties.
I gasped and tried to close my legs, but his other hand let go of my hip and grabbed my arm instead, and he pressed his broad chest down on me until I awkwardly leaned back, crushed between his body and the sharp edges of the table. His fingers delved into a precious, secret part of me and I squeaked in protest. I felt him thrum against my clitoris before diving deeper into my core, felt him smile against my mouth.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, and kissed me hard, demanding. I gave up trying to remain dignified and used my free hand to shove him back. I tore my mouth away from his.
“Stop!”
“Why should I stop?” he said breathlessly against my ear, his finger back against my clit sending spasms of pleasure rocking through me. “You clearly want this. Don’t be afraid.”
I grabbed his hand and yanked it out of my pants. “You need to stop because I’m a virgin.”
Breathing hard we stared at each other, his hands on either side of me, his face so close I could lean forward the tiniest bit to press my lips on his. I’d told him the truth – well, half of the truth, anyway. His eyes searched mine, disbelief peppering his face. I felt my face heat up in shame. A nineteen year old virgin? Most of my school friends had lost theirs in high school.
“Tori…” he started to say.
“I’m a virgin,” I whispered again, confirming it. His arms circled me and his face nuzzled mine.
“I can’t believe it. A gorgeous girl like you?”
I slid my hands around his back, grateful that I hadn’t completely frightened him off. “I have… issues.”
“I’m not surprised. I’m sorry.” He took my face in his hands. “I have a confession to make to you, too.”
“What is it?” I searched his eyes in worry. Had he changed his mind? Or maybe he had a fetish for virgins and couldn’t wait to defile me.
“I lost my virginity when I was thirteen.”
I stifled my gasp of surprise. I knew a lot of my peers had lost their virginity before they came of age, but I’d never met someone who’d done it so young.
“I’ve been fucking for ten years, and I’ve never had a girlfriend. I have never met a woman that I care about enough to even try. Until you.”
“Wow,” I tried to say. “That’s um…”
He smoothed the hair back from my face. “I want you to be my first girlfriend. Will you do that honour for me?”
I nodded, speechless.
He kissed my cheek. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll do exactly as you want. I like to take charge but for you, Tori, I’m letting you call the shots. Just don’t run away from me. I couldn’t bear it.”
I took his hands in mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The rest of the tech run went so well John had no reason to keep us behind after he gave his notes. Cameron took me to dinner at a little Chinese hole-in-the-wall place.
“No pressure,” he said. “This is one of my favourites.”
He recommended a dish to me and we sat on a park bench to eat. Embarrassed at eating in front of him, I only finished half of mine. He was so fit and healthy I felt wrong eating at all. Fat girls aren’t supposed to enjoy eating. They’re supposed to be trying to get thin.
He finished his noodles and then suggested dessert.
“Why Cameron Campbell,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes. “Is this a date?”
He smiled that broad, genuinely lovely smile at me. “Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
Then he grabbed me and swung me around in a circle until I squealed for breath, and then he kissed me and took my breath away again. He took my hand and we stopped for ice cream as we walked back to the theatre, where his car was parked.
“Let’s not go home,” I suggested when the doors closed.
He looked at me, confusion etched in his face, and maybe some hope, too.
“If we go home now, I’ll be going to my flat and you’ll be going to your… mansion. Alone.”
He smiled. I continued before he could say anything.
“I don’t want this to end. Not yet. Let’s go dancing or something. Or maybe not dancing,” I added quickly, “because I don’t dance and I’m not dressed for it. But let’s… I dunno… go for a British drink in a British pub and have a jolly good time.”
The car rumbled to life and as he pulled out of the car park he put his hand on my leg and said, “It’s okay Tori, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know the perfect place for us.”
Chapter Eight
The perfect place was one of the Au
stralian pubs situated in London. It looked like a typical British pub, but out the front hung an Australian flag and another flag, with a yellow background and a green kangaroo on the front wearing boxing gloves.
“Oh, this is definitely my kind of place,” Cam said as he held the door open for me. For some reason I felt nervous – I wasn’t the pub-type kind of girl, so my brazen suggestion had even surprised me. I ran through my limited knowledge of alcohol, trying to decide the classiest drink to order. Cam put his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the bar. I felt his touch burning through my clothing.
Inside the house was warm and cosy, with a wood fire in one corner and a few blokes up at the bar having a drink. Several couples were partaking in a late night dinner. A widescreen TV played Aussie Rules football, but with the season well and truly over it was clearly a replay, and probably just a highlights match. A jukebox played in another corner, although I didn’t know the song.
Cam ordered a Sambuca and turned to me. I looked up at him in panic, my face burning in shame. He chuckled, put his hand over mine, and said, “Let’s start you off with something easy, okay?” He turned to the bartender, a sweet-faced blonde girl, and said, “Vodka and orange for the lady.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered once the bartender turned away. “I don’t know what I like.”
“What were you drinking the night you sang to me?”
I felt my face heat up even more, if that was even possible. “I wasn’t singing to you,” I blustered, unable to make eye contact. “And Juliet had me doing shots of some kind of banana liquor. I don’t know, but it was okay.”
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not pressuring you to drink. If you don’t like this, I’ll just get you a Coke, okay?”
“Diet Coke,” I corrected him, leaning into him. He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me ever so gently.
“Whatever you want, princess.”
The bartender placed our glasses in front of us. Cam’s drink was clear, whereas mine looked safe. Gingerly I picked it up and took a sniff. I could smell the vodka, and it was offensive to my nostrils. I put the straw between my lips and pulled. The orange juice hit first, sweet and little sour, and then the vodka came after that, dull and heavy. It wasn’t my favourite thing to drink, but I could manage. I wasn’t about to send it back in favour of a soft drink, like a child. I was just as grown up and adult as Cameron Campbell, even if I had never slept with anyone before, nor set foot in a pub, nor even knew what I liked to drink.
He watched me, his eyes piercing straight to my soul. The blokes behind me laughed uproariously at something and cheered the TV. I hadn’t moved from my position right next to Cameron, pressed up against his hard body, feeling his muscles flex around me. He dropped his head to whisper in my ear.
“Why don’t we go somewhere more private?” He gestured with his head at the guys watching the TV. I nodded, and he took his arm away to grasp my hand and lead me around the corner to a free booth. We slid in opposite each other.
“Have you ever been to this one before?” I said, playing with my straw.
“Not this one, but I’ve been to a couple of the other ones.”
“Often?” I asked, looking into his eyes. His face clouded over.
“Yes,” he said. “Often. Listen, I don’t want to talk about that. It’s easy to pick up girls when you work in theatre – there’s not that much competition. Quite a lot of the other guys are gay, and you already have something in common with the girls – love of theatre, acting, the craft.”
“I loved that movie!” I interrupted. He looked at me askance.
“The Craft. It’s a movie about teen witches with Neve Campbell in it… are you related?”
He shook his head. “Is she Australian?”
“No, she’s Canadian. I think. Party of Five?”
He shook his head.
“Where were you in the Nineties?” I teased.
“Working,” he said, a slow smile creeping onto his beautiful lips.
“Did you see the Scream films?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s the main girl in those.”
“I never pegged you for a horror buff.”
“Oh, I’m not,” I admitted. “I stopped watching anything scary after my dad died.”
He reached forward and took my hand. “Let’s not talk about that, either.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
He shrugged, then paused and looked up as the bartender’s shadow fell over our table.
“You’re um…” She smiled coyly. “You’re that guy from TV, right?”
“Yes.” Cam extended his hand and shook the girl’s. “Cameron Campbell. Pleased to meet you.”
“Can I get a selfie?” the girl said, sliding into the booth next to him and squeezed right up against him, forcing him closer to the wall. She whipped out her mobile phone, then glanced at me. “Can you take it?”
I looked at Cam questioningly. He smiled in a sort of indulging way. I looked back at the girl and forced a smile. “Sure.”
She gave me her phone and I lined up the shot. Cam slung his arm around her and leaned in, smiling his brilliant thousand watt smile. The girl’s was crooked and giddy. The phone flashed.
“Another!” she shrieked, and flung her arms around Cam. She planted a huge sloppy kiss on his cheek, and I snapped another photo. I may have accidentally-on-purpose made the second one blurry, but I was offended at her invasion of his personal space, and also maybe somewhat jealous. This was my private time with Cameron, and this strange girl was just throwing herself at him.
“You are so fucking hot! Thank you!” the girl trilled, taking back her phone. “Have fun with your friend!” she said to Cam, and sashayed away.
Feeling shell shocked, I looked back at Cam, who discreetly wiped the girl’s lipstick off his cheek with a napkin. “Is it always like this?”
He nodded. “It’s the price one pays for fame. The public think they know you intimately enough to be friends, even when they don’t know the first thing about you.”
Understanding dawned on me. “Oh.”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“That’s why you were so upset when I said I wouldn’t date you. Because I already knew all this stuff about you, and you knew nothing about me.” I dropped my gaze. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”
He took my hand from across the table. “Don’t worry about it.”
I offered him a smile, and he returned it, leaning forward over the narrow bench. I leant forward too until our lips met in a gentle, sensitive kiss. His lips were warm and firm and ever so gentle. I tasted faint liquorice and opened my mouth for his tongue to dart in and sweep over mine. Adrenaline shot through me. My knees wobbled and I had to sit down again in a hurry.
“Did you see that?” Cam said, turning his head this way and that.
“See what?” I said, my head still buzzing with the aftereffects of his kiss.
“That flash. I think someone took a photo of us.”
“So?” I said.
“So no one takes a picture without my permission.” He got up from the booth and checked the pub. It wasn’t that crowded, but he headed towards the yobbos watching TV. They weren’t watching TV anymore: they were watching us.
“Cam, don’t worry about it!”
“They took a picture, Tori! They can sell it to a tabloid.”
“So what?” I pulled on his arm. “You can’t get into a fight. Opening night is tomorrow!”
He whirled and grabbed my upper arms. “They sell it to a tabloid and there goes your privacy. I won’t have that for you.”
“You start a fight and you think they’ll be printing that photo?” I shot back as he walked towards the four men.
“Did you take a photo of me and my girlfriend?” he demanded of the group.
“So what if I did?” the bloke closest to us replied. He wore a green VB t-shirt – Victor
ia Bitter, a type of Aussie beer. He twirled his phone between his hands, and grinned.
“That ugly cow’s your girlfriend?” another piped up from the back.
“Watch your tongue,” Cameron snapped. “Show me your phone.”
“Fuck off,” the VB guy said.
“Show me your phone or I’ll take it off you.”
“Cam,” I pleaded.
“Listen to your manatee of a girlfriend, pretty boy,” a third bloke wearing a beanie said.
“Don’t talk about her like that,” Cameron snarled.
“Cam don’t worry about me, I can handle some drunk loser bogans.”
“You know who I am?” Cameron asked them.
The guy in the back shrugged, but the man in the front with the VB shirt said, “Yeah, I know who you are.”
“Then I promise you that if that photo gets published I will track you down and sue your arse.”
“Probably won’t get published anyway,” the second guy said. “UK tabloids only like pretty girls.”
Cam took two steps and swung.
Chapter Nine
Cameron’s right fist connected with the mouthy guy’s jaw and his head snapped back. The guy behind him fell off his barstool in an attempt to get out of the way. The two blokes in front – VB shirt and Beanie, were jostled aside but leaped to Cameron and grabbed his arms. Cameron roared in anger and wrenched his arms free, but before he could swing again a bellow from the bar stopped everyone cold.
“Oi! What’s going on here?” The big voice came from the equally big man behind the bar, the owner of the pub, or at least the manager.
“One of these guys took a photo of me and my girlfriend,” Cameron said, speaking over the top of the other four, placing a protective arm around me.