Rouse Me

by Crystal Kaswell

  “No. You're welcome to come.”

  So I'm thinking about him coming. It's only a thought and a thought never hurt anyone. It's not as if I'll find out if he bites his lips or moans or digs his nails into my back. Not that it would ever be my back.

  I break into a jog. I'm not very fast, and he has no problem matching my speed. We round a corner and the view is nothing but ocean and sky. It's such a beautiful fucking day. A day for picnics on the grass, long walks on the beach, making out in the shade.

  Not that Ryan could be talked into anything but work during the week.

  Oh, please, like you're thinking of Ryan.

  I run faster and faster, until I can concentrate on nothing but my breath. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Easy. I am so focused, I don't notice a huge crack in the sidewalk. My foot catches on the edge of the crack, and I trip, trying to land on the grass as gracefully as possible.

  Luke stops short and sits next to me. “Are you okay?” he asks, his body inches from mine. How could I possibly be okay with the electricity overwhelming my body?

  “I'm fine.” I try to get up, but he holds my shoulders down.

  “Let me check your ankle.”

  “Don't tell me you're also a doctor.”

  “I just know a little first aide,” he says. His fingers glide over and around my ankle. He checks my wrists next, his hands lingering near mine. He helps me to my feet, and I almost trip again, but he holds my waist, and keeps my steady. We are so close, a few inches apart, but we aren't touching. Why aren't we touching?

  You're engaged, remember?

  “You're fast,” I say.

  “Only as fast as the person I'm with,” he says.

  “Pervert.”

  “Miss Summers, your mind is in the gutter.”

  “Right.”

  My eyes narrow. He grins, that million dollar smile lighting up his gorgeous brown eyes. “Surely an engaged woman wouldn't think about fucking someone besides her fiancé,” he says.

  “Don't flatter yourself,” I say. I stand up and put my weight on my ankle. It smarts a bit, but it isn't totally horrible.

  “Are you sure you're okay to walk?” he asks.

  “We can run.”

  “No, you might have twisted it. We're walking,” he says.

  “Fine.” We're walking. It will take longer, and I'll talk to him longer, and I'll be around him longer. Maybe that will get this desire out of my system.

  Or maybe I'll give in to temptation. That is what I usually do.

  “Want me to put a word in with Ryan about your audition?”

  “He'll kill you if he finds out you're flirting with me.”

  “Miss Summers, that's an awfully serious allegation,” he says, his smile wide.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Besides, you're flirting back.”

  I try to come back with some reasonable excuse, a claim that I am not flirting, that I am not interested, that I would never, ever, ever do anything to hurt Ryan. But all I can do is sadly restate the facts: “I'm engaged.”

  “I'm well aware of that,” he says, eyeing my bare ring finger. “We're only friends.”

  “Do you flirt with all your friends?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “Only the friends who correct my grammar.”

  “And besides, you're a good guy. You wouldn't pursue an engaged woman.”

  “What gave you the idea that I'm a good guy?” he asks.

  “Would you?” I ask.

  “Hypothetically?”

  “Hypothetically.”

  “It would depend on the woman. How much I liked her. How much…Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” he says.

  “Try me.”

  “Are you sure? You are engaged, after all?”

  I roll my eyes. “I can handle it.”

  “It would depend on how much I want to make her come,” he says.

  My eyes go wide. My heart pounds. My breathing stops. I try to formulate a response. Something to remind him I am engaged, that I am not the kind of girl who cheats on her fiancé. Something to convince him I don't want him to make me come, that I don't want his hands or mouth or cock anywhere near my body.

  But all I say is, “Oh.”

  “Don't worry, Alyssa. When I want to fuck you, I'll ask nicely.”

  When. He said when. Not if. When. When he wants to fuck me. So he will, but he doesn't want to yet, or he isn't ready yet, or he doesn't think I'll say yes yet.

  Of course I won't say yes.

  I am engaged.

  And I love Ryan.

  Don't I?

  Chapter 6

  Corine calls at exactly 6:03. “Are you sitting down?” she asks.

  “Just tell me,” I say.

  She takes a long breath. “They want you.”

  “What?”

  “You're their first choice for Marie Jane.”

  “You better not be fucking with me,” I say.

  I close my eyes and open them, expecting to wake up from some daydream, but I am still in the living room, in front of the wall of windows. This is really happening.

  “The showrunner wants to meet you this weekend,” Corine says. “Then they'll do a chemistry read, send over the contract, and make everything official. They start shooting a week from Monday.”

  “When do they need an answer?”

  “Alyssa, if you call me back with a no, I swear I'll kill you.”

  “I have to talk to Ryan.”

  “If he says no, fuck him. You can buy a new Ryan with all the money you'll make from this show.”

  “It will be a yes.” I'll get him to say yes. I'll definitely get him to say yes.

  I pace around the apartment, trying to think of a strategy, trying to think of anything other than Luke asking me to fuck him. I never should have used him as a trigger. I never should have allowed myself to entertain the idea of my hands on his body, however amazing his body is.

  I have to get those ideas out of my head. Now.

  Ryan was receptive this morning. He was considering it. If I can convince him it's a good idea, that I deserve it, that taking this role would make me a better person, a better fiancée…

  I'll be less annoying. I won't miss him all day, or interrupt his work with random texts, or pounce on him in a fit of neediness the second he gets home. Aren't men always complaining about women being too needy? I can have that healthy work/life balance I hear so much about.

  I run the shower until the bathroom floods with steam. It's hot, so hot it will scorch every part of my skin, especially the parts that tingled when Luke touched them.

  How would Luke handle this? He acts as if he's happy for me, as if he only wants my success, but is that as a friend or a fan? It's easy for him to encourage me to convince Ryan when he barely knows me, when he's never seen the mess I got myself into. It's easy for him to encourage me when he doesn’t have to deal with me coming home late, or getting half-naked with attractive coworkers, or showing up as a blurb on TMZ.

  Ryan means well. He only wants to protect me. To take care of me. I have to make him understand how much I need this. I have to make him understand how much I need to do more than sit around this apartment all day. I need to make him understand I have to be more than Alyssa Summers, former actress and recovering bulimic. I need more than a past. I need a present. I need a future.

  But you have a future with Ryan. You're going to be his wife, the mother of his children probably.

  But I can't envision Ryan and me walking down the aisle, and I certainly can't envision him as a doting father. Do I even want to be a mother? I never gave it much consideration.

  But Ryan has been good to me for a long time. If he thinks getting married is best, he's probably right. Besides, it's not like I'm opposed to it. It's just, before he asked, I never really considered it. I never considered boyfriends, much less husbands. I was more concerned with my career.

  What was it Luke said? If I don't love Ryan, I should end it now. But I do lo
ve him and he loves me. Luke doesn't understand. Our relationship isn't sweeping or romantic. It isn't flowers or long walks on the beach or making love under the stars. It's practical. It's safe.

  The scorching shower water does little to ease my mental state. I should have used cool water, freezing cold water, anything that would dampen the heat in my body. How can I want Luke so much? I don’t know anything about him. I've dated plenty of handsome, charming guys before, and none of them ever made me feel like this.

  None of them ever tempted me. Not really.

  So it can't be his looks or his charisma. I'm not that shallow, am I? And it can't be his intelligence, because he's no smarter than Ryan. He's confident, sure. Funny. Direct. But there has to be more to it than that.

  There has to be more to it than some intense desire to feel his hands on my body and his cock inside me. I'm not that insatiable, am I? There has to be more to it than the way he smiles when I correct his grammar or the way he actually listens to what I have to say.

  Or the way his eyes light up.

  I shut off the water when I hear the front door open. Fuck, Ryan is early. It's not like him to get home before 8:00. Without a plan, I have little choice but to come clean. Ryan, I was offered a role. I want to take it. I have to take it. I'll throw myself off the balcony if you don't let me take it.

  No, no jokes about suicide. That will only convince him I'm unstable.

  I pull the towel tight around my chest. Maybe Ryan will be easier to convince if I'm naked. It certainly can't hurt.

  He knocks and steps into the unlocked bathroom, the steam hitting his face. “You know, there's a sauna at the gym,” he says. He takes another step towards me, and I drop my towel. Finally, something to get these thoughts of Luke out of my head.

  I move fast, pressing my lips into Ryan's, my hands already on his belt. Yes, come on. Kiss me. Touch me. Give me a release for all this energy.

  But he moves my hands and pushes me away.

  “What are you doing talking to Corine?” he asks. Was he looking through my phone or is he just psychic?

  “I told you. She was happy for me.”

  “Alyssa—”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You left your email up on the tablet,” he says. It's plausible, but so is Ryan looking through my phone.

  “Fine,” I say, pulling my towel back around my chest. “I went on an audition. I know I should have asked first, but I didn't have time.”

  “Don't lie,” he says.

  “Okay, I didn't think you'd say yes. And I didn't think I'd get it. So why fight over nothing?”

  He looks at me like I've betrayed him. I know, I lied, but it was a little lie, and it was for the best. “And?” he says.

  “And if you read the email, you already know.”

  He stares at me, waiting for a response. Finally, he says, “And you got the part.”

  “You could be excited,” I say.

  “Why would I be excited that my fiancée feels the need to lie to me?”

  “I'm sorry,” I say. “But I can do it. I'm getting better. I can handle it.”

  “And what if you can't? You barely got out of your contract for Together.”

  “I can. I promise.”

  “That world isn't good for you. It's too stressful.”

  “Why can't I decide what's good for me?”

  “You need to turn this down.”

  “Please, Ryan, I need this.” My voice cracks into a high pitched whine. Ugh, it's so awful. How does he always make me into such a whiny, awful mess?

  Ryan's phone rings. I glance at the screen. It's a call from Luke. Luke's called him before, but only to schedule emergency meetings.

  Ryan answers the phone with a curt, “What is it?” He whispers to me, “We'll finish talking about this later.”

  “When?” he says into the phone. I slink into the kitchen and look for a frozen dinner. I really should invest some of my free time into learning how to cook. That, Ryan would be happy about.

  “You think everyone is an asshole… maybe he is, but he's high profile,” Ryan says into the phone. He sits at the kitchen table. “She's done it before. She's very charming.”

  So Ryan did notice that.

  I find an appropriately moderate calorie, low fat frozen dinner and open the microwave. Ryan covers the phone to talk to me. “Don't make one of those awful things. I'll make something.” He goes back to the phone, “No, I need to talk to Alyssa… it doesn't involve you.”

  He pushes me out of the kitchen and pulls ingredients from the fridge. “What else do we have to talk about?” he asks, turning on the counter-top grill and coating it with oil. Another night, another dinner of grilled fish, steamed vegetables, and brown rice. “Fine,” he says. “But you'll have to keep it quick.” He hangs up the phone and turns to me. “Sweetheart, Luke insists on stopping by to finish this conversation.”

  Fuck. Luke is going to be in our apartment. Luke is going to be here, in front of me and Ryan, mere feet away from our bed. He's never asked to stop by the apartment before, not when I was home, and I'm always home. It couldn't be because of me? It couldn't be because I indulged his flirting? It couldn't be because he wants to make me come, could it?

  “Why don't you get dressed? He'll be here soon.”

  “But we weren't finished talking,” I say. If I don't stand my ground, I won't convince Ryan. He is tough and strict. Whining won't convince him. The only thing that will convince him is proof I can handle it.

  “We are finished,” he says.

  “I need to do this, Ryan.”

  He presses the chef's knife through a broccoli stalk with a sigh. So maybe I am getting through to him. Maybe if I keep insisting…

  “Fine, sweetheart, we'll talk about it more later. Now, go put on some clothing,” he says, and he throws the sliced broccoli into the steamer. I really should learn to cook. I've been wary about being around so much food, so many indulgent ingredients, but I don't know how much more of this steamed broccoli and brown rice stuff I can take.

  “Something nice,” he adds. “I don't want him to think he's welcome to hang out here.” And, of course, Ryan doesn't want Luke to think that I am anything less than a polite, demure, fashionable trophy girlfriend. Trophy fiancée. Future trophy wife.

  Ryan doesn't want Luke to think that anyone could do any better than Ryan has done.

  Chapter 7

  Luke sits on our couch, stretched out like a cat—arms over his head, his shirt riding up his stomach, exposing inches of taut muscles. I can't take my eyes off those sexy v-lines of his. Why does he have to be so fucking attractive?

  You are engaged, Alyssa Summers. You are engaged to Ryan Knight, the guy who pretty much saved your life. You are engaged and you are not the kind of girl who entertains these kinds of thoughts about other men. You are not the kind of girl who cheats.

  “Sit at the table at least,” Ryan says. He takes a look at my chosen outfit—a tight, low-cut dress—with clear disapproval. That's not what I meant when I said nice, Alyssa. He should be happy. I put on my engagement ring.

  Luke greets me with a hug, and I can practically hear Ryan scowl. But I don't care about Ryan's reaction. It feels so good to have Luke's arms around me, even if it's only for a second.

  And it's just a hug. A hug never hurt anyone.

  Luke addresses Ryan without taking his eyes off of me. “Don't you have a favor to ask her?”

  “Sweetheart,” Ryan says. “Do you remember when you came to that dinner with me last month and charmed my client?”

  “The old guy who stared at my chest the whole time?” I ask.

  Ryan sighs. “Did you enjoy the dinner?”

  “You know me,” I say. “Always love a chance to act.” I stare laser beams at Ryan, but it's pointless. I'm only going to annoy him. He won't back down if he really believes a return to acting is bad for me.

  “Why do we even want this client?” Luke asks. “His prenup is iron-clad
. Do you really think pimping out your fiancée is going to convince him it has wiggle room?”

  “All she has to do is be her gorgeous self,” Ryan says. “She's used to it. And it's her choice, right, sweetheart?”

  “Right,” I say. I am used to it. I've been the pretty girl on Ryan's arm since high school. School dances, graduation dinners, cocktail parties—it's always the same.

  He scoops food onto ceramic plates and places them on the dining table. He beckons me, come here, pulling out my chair for me. I take my seat, next to Ryan. Luke follows suit.

  The table is too small to allow much room between us. Luke is only a few inches away from me. Our knees nearly touch.

  He pulls a bottle of tequila from his bag. Without asking, Luke pours two glasses, one for me, one for him. He offers the bottle to Ryan. Ryan declines, of course. He doesn’t drink. He doesn't do anything that lets his guard down.

  “We're meeting this client tomorrow night,” Ryan says. “You don't have to come if you don't want to. If you can't handle it, you can stay home.”

  So that's how he's going to play this.

  “I'll wear my shortest dress, and I'll smile my biggest smile,” I say.

  If I'm going to spend most of my life sitting in the apartment, I might as well make myself useful to Ryan, even if my breasts are the only reason why I am useful. The whole point of these pathetic dinners is to get some old pervert to leer at my breasts for so long he realizes how much he really, really needs that divorce from his not even middle aged wife. It's a cheap tactic, sure, but it's fun making Ryan jealous.

  Luke's hand brushes against mine. I feel my heart race. My eyes find Luke's. God, those fucking eyes, so dark and intense. And they're only the tip of the iceberg. Everything about him is amazing. His thick hair is begging for my hands. His soft lips are begging for my lips. His hard body is begging for my… Fuck. I suck on an ice cube in a hopeless attempt to cool down. It only fills my head with even more ideas of what I want to do to Luke.

  “I'm surprised you're so gung ho to put in a bunch of overtime for this asshole,” Luke says. “Wouldn't you rather spend your extra time at home with your adoring fiancée?”