by Mira Gibson
He wasn’t going to full-on fondle her in a movie theater, was he?
Abby was suddenly mortified and yet growing so turned on herself that there was no way she could grab his wrist and stop his confident climb farther and farther up her thigh.
“Does this feel good?”
His pinky finger made room for the rest and though he had to straighten away from her and face the film for the angle not to be awkward, soon the full expanse of his large hand was cupping her sex. Not rubbing, not stimulating her without warning. Just holding her, the heat of his hand and firm grip causing a hot flutter of arousal to bloom between her legs until the tingling heat swelled into a creamy ache.
Should she stop him? Could anyone see? Was getting busted the litmus of whether or not she should let him proceed to do what she was fairly certain he was planning on doing?
She couldn’t think straight with his hand cupping her like that. She made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand away, but when she took hold of his forearm, feeling his strong musculature beneath the fabric of his suit, her hands went sort of limp and her effort amounted to holding his arm affectionately.
If this ended up on TMZ…
Again, Abby slid her eyes to the side, checking that their neighbors across the aisle weren’t angling cell phones in their direction.
Nope, the coast was clear.
As Zach began delivering a gentle massage, his large hand finally rubbing her core, fingers pressing and stimulating the length of her moistening vagina, only the thinnest white cotton between them, Abby felt her eyelids grow heavy and breathing deepen. She held his arm tighter as if to say, ‘don’t stop’.
And he didn’t.
Something told her he wouldn’t dare.
But when he leaned into her ear once again and suggested, “Come with me to the bathroom,” whatever heights of arousal she’d reached suddenly plummeted.
Taken aback, she looked at him with a furrowed brow then questioned, “You need help in the bathroom?”
His sexy mouth tugged into a mischievous, crooked grin, as he said, “You have an effect on me.”
Abby tried not to get turned on by the compliment—no easy task!—and countered in a whisper, “You in some kind of rush?”
He frowned in understanding of her point and casually agreed, “No, not in any kind of rush. Just being impulsive.”
Abby had a wild side. She was adventurous. And it’s not like she’d never been impulsive before. But losing her virginity in the handicap bathroom of an arthouse movie theater wasn’t exactly the bed of roses she’d been envisioning for herself—Zach Canning or no Zach Canning.
“Isn’t it impulsive enough that we’re about to elope in—“
“Shh,” he warned, bringing his finger to her full lips in what he obviously knew was the cheesiest move of all time, then mouthed, “what if someone hears you?”
She shot him a coy smile and shook her head as if to suggest that his concern was laughable considering he wasn’t at all worried about possibly being discovered with his hand up her skirt.
Abby couldn’t believe she could keep up the joshing conversation for that very reason as well—his hand was definitely still up her skirt and massaging, very much to her pleasure.
“Just watch the movie,” she playfully ordered.
“You watch the movie,” he shot back.
“You!” she mouthed, pointing her finger at the silver screen where Jamison Holt was now in the throes of hoisting a black leather-clad vixen on the back of his motorcycle—when did he lose the Maserati?
Zach beamed that mischievous grin at her, his tight green eyes glued to her, though he turned his attention to the movie straight ahead. Finally, his eyes followed, but Abby stole a lingering stare at him. He looked drop dead sexy with the glow of the film on him. Maybe she was crazy not to go into the bathroom with him.
No, she immediately corrected herself. She was going to be wooed and charmed and swept off her feet, not lust-drunk and racing off into a public bathroom to get banged.
Abby suddenly realized waiting almost two weeks to be married before having sex might be harder than she thought.
Much, much harder…
Chapter Seven
It was the perfect setting.
Warm midnight air that felt like silk against their skin. The sounds of high heels tapping, champagne glasses clinking, overlapping conversations punctuated with billows of lighthearted laughter, and the sweetest sound of all, Abby’s breathless gasp to take it all in.
Jamison Holt’s rooftop afterparty was the place to be.
Zach spotted a handful of his co-stars interspersed throughout the crowd of young, attractive Hollywood stars and starlets, polished producers dressed in suits, and of course the starfuckers—hot and primed chicks who would do just about anything for a night, or hell, ten minutes with an actor. Zach knew all about those girls, God bless ‘em. They used to be the primary reason he was willing to attend these sorts of things. Well, them and the designer drugs that had a way of secretly circulating parties such as this one. But somehow all that seemed very far away. The furthest thing from his mind. The last thing he wanted. Funny how all your priorities could change in the blink of an eye…
Zach urged Abby forward through the sea of cocktail-attire-clad guests, his hand cradling the small of her delicate back, and took every bit of notice in the way she was lighting up, eyes round and cheeks lifted, to discover the panoramic views of Manhattan’s twinkling cityscape surrounding them, all under a dark dome sky.
He had an obligation to congratulate Jamison, drop over to his co-stars, make the rounds, but Abby had made a beeline for the railing that overlooked the Hudson River, its shimmering surface, the sparkling lights of New Jersey across the way, the bridge looming and brightly lit as well just to the immediate north. It was one hell of a view and if Abby couldn’t tear herself away, then neither could he.
“This is incredible,” she said sweetly, folding her arms against a gentle breeze.
He was tempted to blurt out a cheesy reply like ‘you’re incredible’, but he censored himself—he’d pushed his luck enough during the screening—and instead stepped in close behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist as if they’d known each other for ages, and simply held her.
God, she smelled good, like citrus.
It had driven him nuts, in the best way possible, throughout the entire movie. Her scent. The heat wafting off of her from where she had sat so close beside him. There was something about her that drove him wild, her innocence perhaps. She was pure. There was a distinct vulnerability in that. It made him want to protect her, keep her safe, happy, and show her the world just so that she could light up as brightly as she was right now.
But of course, Zach was Zach, and instead of patiently expressing these surprisingly profound feelings she inspired in him by taking his time with her, getting to know her, doing this thing right, he’d gotten a hard-on, shoved his hand under her skirt and nearly blew his load at the arousing feel of her wet pussy, and suggested in so many words that they fuck in the bathroom.
Classy.
The confusing thing was that he could tell she was into it—well, obviously, it’s not like he’d forced himself on her—and yet some part of her had also withdrawn, like it was too much. He sensed she’d wanted more and at the same time, it was also clear she wanted only to hold hands, which was what they’d ended up doing for the remainder of the film.
She must feel conflicted about all this. It was understandable. Zach was feeling a lot of things himself. But where Abby was completely unlike the starfuckers he was used to who leapt into bed with him and had perfected the art of being fun and easy, she was clearly erring on the side of caution, holding herself back, almost resisting the fact of their looming elopement.
Zach was basically the opposite. Why wait? She was his anyway, right?
Well, no. That attitude wasn’t going to work this time.
Zach had realized before the end cre
dits had begun rolling that he was going to have to change.
But fuck.
How?
It wasn’t like he could turn his dick off.
Just feeling her now. The length of her soft body pressing against him. The scent of her citrus shampoo just beneath his nose. Feeling her petite curves, his arms wrapped around her supple waist, the material of her dress so thin that her actual shape beneath was no mystery. Zach stiffened in his slacks all over again.
“Canning! You made it!”
Zach turned, loosening his hold of Abby, to find Jamison sauntering over, his arms around two very smiley, very pretty, very young blonde ladies, neither of which were his wife.
“Hey man, nice work,” he said, giving his co-star a bro-hug that went strangely thanks to the girls Jamison wasn’t willing to give up. “Congratulations.”
Jamison groaned modestly through a huge, drunken grin, hooked his arms around the blondes, and quickly brushed over introductions, “This is Mindy and Cindy. Twins!”
Zach let out a deep chuckle, catching the implication in his friend’s tone. They’d definitely tag-teamed twins before, and considering Jamison’s wife clearly wasn’t in town, there was no mistaking that the actor was interested in some kind of round two.
But Zach wasn’t.
In fact, the implication kind of rubbed him the wrong way. Abby wasn’t invisible, yet Jamison was acting like she was, like she was any typical fan whose rose-colored glasses would blind her to bad behavior he might partake in, as if she’d wait in the wings for his return.
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” he said politely, his hand having never left the small of Abby’s back since having turned to greet them all. “This is my girlfriend, Abby Gallagher.”
Jamison’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline then the biggest grin spread across his face.
“He’s not gay!” he exclaimed, throwing both arms in the air and announcing the revelation to the rooftop at large. “Ladies and gentleman—” Zach was shaking his head and laughing this one off now. “My talented, heartthrob co-star is not, in fact, a homosexual!”
Everyone applauded confusedly and Zach kind of wanted to kill the guy, but had to admit it was funny.
“Enjoy yourself,” Jamison told Abby as he released the twins in favor of dragging Zach off with him into the crowd. “There’s champagne and champagne! Don’t be shy!”
Zach’s eyes were glued to Abby and he promised, “I’ll be right back,” before she disappeared from view where she remained standing, looking both amused and somewhat intimidated to be abandoned, at the railing.
“Tell me all about Pollyanna,” he prodded, depositing Zach in front of one of many bars throughout the rooftop. The bartender, knowing Jamison’s drink, wasted no time producing two whiskeys for the actors. “She looks like a real fish out of water. She’s in good hands with the twins, by the way,” he added when he saw Zach continuing to stare in the direction he’d left her.
“She’s no Pollyanna. She’s not a fish, either,” he corrected, a bit snappishly.
“Hey, whoa, I mean no offense,” he said good-naturedly though momentarily distracted by a buxom brunette in a red dress. “Jasmine! Save a dance for me, babe!”
The woman winked, made a huge performance of brushing up against him in passing, and then sashayed off into the crowd.
“Tonight’s my night,” he declared, clinking glasses with Zach before gulping down more than half of his drink. “She looks sweet, what’s her name, Andie?”
“Abby.”
“And she’s your girlfriend? When’d that happen?”
Zach didn’t love being questioned so he threw out one of his own, “Where’s your wife?”
“I don’t fucking know. With her mother or some shit,” he complained, pulling an eight-ball of coke out of the front pocket of his slacks.
Zach didn’t have his usual Pavlovian response seeing the white powder sheathed in plastic. In fact, he felt a hot flush of worry that Abby might see him in proximity to the drug. He’d never cared what a girl thought of him before. If one had a problem with him, he’d just move on to the next. But he didn’t want to move on from Abby. Contract or no contract. Marriage obligation or not. He actually wanted her to want to be with him.
“See, the thing about Emily,” his friend went on, leading him through the crowd to one of the lounge areas where glass tables accented a corner of purple couches, “is that we’re cut from the same cloth.”
“Okay,” said Zach, unsure of where this was going and feeling self-conscious in a way he’d never before felt to be in the company of a man who was freely snorting cocaine for anyone to see.
“I like booze. She likes booze,” Jamison explained. “I like blow. She likes blow. This is the woman I fell in love with. But the second we got married—” he was laughing and shaking his head now as if he just couldn’t believe the 180 his wife had pulled, “she expects me to clean up my act.”
“What, is she straight-edge now?” asked Zach, not that he was invested in this conversation.
He wanted to get back to Abby, especially in this crowd. If bombshell starfuckers were prowling for horny actors to bang, the producers and agents and investors leering at the female guests were even worse. Abby was a cut above the rest, a real prize. He didn’t want anyone honing in on his girl.
“I’ll tell you what she is, man,” said Jamison, lifting up from inhaling a long line. He sniffed and snorted and rubbed his nose before elaborating, “A liar. She wasn’t herself. She played the game, acting like we were cut from the same cloth, but the second we got married, she turned on me. She wants me to give up the life. Not acting, but you know, the life. She wants kids. She wants normal.”
If Zach hadn’t met Abby and felt the electric surge of knowing that with her he could have so much more, he would’ve totally commiserated with his co-star on this one. But when it came to what he knew he would be embarking on with Abby, ‘normal’ sounded great, and giving up ‘the life’ didn’t seem like a sacrifice.
But it wasn’t lost on Zach that he was coming to some very big conclusions based on what might be love at first sight and was definitely lust or infatuation at first sight. He wanted to get to know her. So, what the hell was he doing sitting across from his cocaine-snorting co-star?
He knocked back his whiskey, antsy to extricate himself from this conversation. He didn’t need to be a sounding board for Jamison who was clearly more interested in getting high then getting some sound bro-advice from a friend.
“I don’t know if we’ll make it,” he went on then angled a twitchy finger at Zach’s face before issuing what Zach could only guess was meant to be a serious warning. “Don’t ever get married. Whoever you think Pollyanna is… she isn’t. It’s all an act. And you won’t know it until she’s got you locked in.”
“Alright, man, thanks for the advice,” he said dryly, rising up from his seat, but Jamison grabbed his arm and yanked him back down.
“Partake, my friend,” he insisted, tapping and scraping a fresh line into shape on the glass coffee table.
“No thanks, man. Me and Pollyanna need to—”
“Fuck off and don’t give me that! One line, you’ll thank me later when you’re banging Red like superman. Come on, don’t make me beg. I know what’s good for you.”
Zach really wasn’t feeling it tonight and he groaned in refusal.
“Don’t give me that,” Jamison pressed. “My premiere, my party, my rules.”
He held out the rolled Benjamin he’d been using on the lines himself and as hesitant as Zach was, he knew the man of the hour was not going to let him get away with leaving sober.
“Fuck,” Zach caved. “One line, then I gotta get back to my girl before all these suits eat her alive.”
“Atta boy,” said Jamison as Zach took the rolled bill and women appeared as if by magic, draping themselves around the actors, perky tits in their faces and thick thighs peeking out of skimpy skirts.
Zach leaned ove
r and the ritual he must have done a thousand times if not a million followed. The snorting. The familiar zing of clarity shooting through his brain. The immediate sense of otherworldly power surging through his veins.
But the second he opened his eyes, lowering the hand that had been rubbing and wiping his nose, he found Abby, slack-jawed and heartbroken, staring down at him.
And if things didn’t look bad enough, the hot and bothered brunette hanging off Zach whisper-shouted in his ear, “Meet me in the bathroom in five. I want to show you a trick.”
Abby’s eyes misted over and though Zach wriggled himself free from the clinging starfucker and managed to get to his feet, she was too quick, turning on her heel and starting off through the crowd.
“Abby!” he called out, his stomach bottoming out with regret.
But she was gone.
Chapter Eight
“You’re dating Zach Canning?”
Abby had barely plopped down at her desk outside of Olivia’s office when Rachel, the token office gossip—correction: most of the administrative assistants were gossipy, but Rachel was the one to corral them with the freshest news—breezed by to ask the question Abby had been asked, repeatedly, by friends and strangers alike, all morning.
When she’d left her Brooklyn apartment, standing in the corridor to lock her door, one of her neighbors who had never made eye contact with her much less utter a single word to her in all the time she’d been living there had approached with brazen curiosity, needing to know. When Abby had gotten to the subway platform, not without being accosted by others with the same curiosity her whole walk there, she discovered that her favorite news stand was peppered with tabloids featuring the new ‘Zach Canning’ rumor—that he had a girlfriend. And there she was, Abby’s flaming red hair framing her heart-shaped face, on Zach’s arm and smiling—not too awkwardly, thank God!—for the cameras. The break room at Tate & Cane had obviously been no better, which was why she’d kept her head down as she’d doctored two cups of coffee for herself and Olivia, having foregone her usual pitstop at The White Rabbit. It wasn’t that she needed a break from their aromatic dark roast. She didn’t realize how all this media attention, and in-your-face attention on the street and at work would make her feel off balance and out of sorts. It wasn’t lost on her why she wasn’t proudly eating all the attention up like she’d thought she would.