Playboy

by Logan Chance

  Best part? Finding out his wasn’t really a date at all.

  “Thank you, Jonah,” I say, lingering back just a bit, because I don’t really know what to do.

  “Where are you going now?” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  I shrug. “Not sure.”

  “There’s a place around the corner. Want to join me?”

  “Yes,” I agree, too quickly. The place could be anything, and I would say yes. I just want to spend more time with him. “What kind of place?”

  “It’s the Aero theatre. They’re showing A Streetcar Named Desire. If we hurry, we can catch the ending.”

  “Lead the way,” I say. “You call the shots.” I smile. “Get it?”

  “Um, yeah.” He laughs. “We may need to discuss this pun problem you have.”

  We quicken our steps. This isn’t a date, but it almost feels like one.

  When we round the corner, the marquee is lit. He buys tickets, and we slip inside.

  The interior is just like the movies it shows, classic. Antique theater equipment is displayed throughout the red carpeted lobby, and it really gives this place a ton of character.

  “I love it here,” I say. Because how could you not?

  “Me too.”

  We hurry into the darkened theater, where the movie has already started, and pick a spot in the back. We’re alone except for one couple way in the front.

  Jonah leans close. “Ever seen this movie?”

  I shake my head. “No. I knew the line because, well, most people do.”

  He points to the screen. “That’s Blanche DuBois played by Vivien Leigh.”

  “Ah, she’s so striking.” I smile at him, and his eyes flit to my mouth. I’m brought back to that moment when our lips met.

  “Yeah, she is,” he whispers in a husky voice.

  “Why is this your favorite?”

  “It has a lot of layers. Blanche isn’t happy with the cards life dealt her, so she lies. She lies to herself, but she believes the lies.”

  “Ok, and Marlon,” I point to Marlon Brando on the screen, “what’s his deal? Do they fall madly in love?” I’m probably batting my eyelashes like an idiot.

  Jonah grins. “Not exactly. Not at all, actually. He’s dead set on exposing her lies.”

  “Aw, why can’t he just let her live in her little fantasy world?”

  He leans closer, stalling for a second. “I don’t know,” he breathes.

  It’s very intimate in this little slice of paradise. Our arms touch. His hand inches closer, and I want more than anything to grab it.

  He points to the screen, and then his eyes land back on me. “That’s Stella, Blanche’s sister.”

  “Is she married to Marlon?”

  He smiles. “Yes, his name is Stanley.”

  “He’s so mean.”

  “He only gets meaner. This movie has some of the best acting in Hollywood to date.”

  My eyes focus back on the screen. I love acting. It’s like a part of me comes alive when I’m in the moment of pretending to be someone else.

  Classic movies have great soul and some great acting as well. They don’t have all the CGI to take away from the emotional connections forged on scene.

  “So, why does Blanche hate her life so much?”

  He shrugs. “She isn’t happy with getting older. It’s astounding how the cinematographer uses the light.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. I can’t stop staring at him.

  He’s so sexy with the soft glow of the movie cascading off his chiseled features.

  “She won’t step into the light, knowing everyone can see her imperfections if she does.”

  “Everyone has imperfections,” I whisper.

  His eyes rake over me, and he tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear. “Some not as many as others.”

  My breath catches, and I want him to kiss me again. No, I need it. My heart beat is a soft drumming in my ears and slowly gets louder the closer he gets.

  Inches separate us.

  My eyes drift closed.

  There’s yelling on screen, and the moment is broken. Our attention is returned to the movie, and I want more than anything to go back in time to a minute ago when Jonah’s eyes were zeroed in on my lips.

  “What’s Marlon doing?” I whisper.

  On screen, Marlon Brando yells to a distraught Blanche about her pulling the wool over his eyes.

  “He’s trying to expose her,” Jonah whispers back.

  “For all the lies?”

  He focuses his attention on me. “Yeah,” he says in a breathy whisper.

  I love being here with him in the dark.

  It isn’t a romantic movie, but the way Vivien Leigh delivers her lines is poetic. The way she moves in each scene is magical. One day, I hope I can be just as elegant on the big screen.

  Audrey Hepburn. Bette Davis. Greta Garbo. Ingrid Bergman. These are my idols. The ones I study and learn from.

  Tears fill my eyes when my dreams become too much for me.

  Jonah leans closer. “Are you crying?”

  We face one another. “No, not about the movie.”

  He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean into his chest. He smells so good. “This movie’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

  “I love it,” I whisper.

  And I do. Maybe not the movie so much, but the experience of it. And isn’t that what enjoying a movie is mainly about? The experience of it all.

  The smells, the feels, the way that one little line of the movie can take on a new meaning deep within you.

  This is why I act. I want to evoke emotions in the people who watch my movies.

  I want people to fall in love while seeing me on the big screen. Not with me, but with the ones who hold them close in a darkened theater late at night.

  Wait, not that I’m falling in love or anything crazy like that.

  Maybe the two down in the front few rows are though.

  I giggle through my tears, and Jonah squeezes me tighter. Who would have guessed Jonah would be into a movie like this?

  At the very end, he leans close, “She’s driven herself insane by believing her own lies.”

  “Ah,” I say, as the credits roll.

  “She retreated further and further into her lies, until she could no longer distinguish between fantasy and reality.”

  “That’s kind of sad, don’t you think?”

  He stands and reaches down for my hand.

  I take it, rising from my seat, and we walk back out into the lobby.

  “A lot of people do it, I guess.”

  “Lie?”

  He laughs a small, short laugh. “Well, they get caught up with keeping up with the Jones’s.”

  “Yeah, the stigma society puts on people, and what they should or should not have, is sad.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Not me. I’m nothing like Blanche. I’m happy with my life.” He smiles as we pass by an old projector from the 1920’s on display.

  “Are you, though?”

  He stops and turns to face me. “What do you mean? Of course I am.” He smiles, confidently.

  “Are you happy going on date after date and never really committing to anything real?”

  “Ouch, oh so deep on a first date.” His eyes widen as soon as the words fall from his lips. He shakes his head. “Wait, not that this is anything like that.”

  I want to tell him it feels like a date to me too, but I keep my mouth clamped shut. I smile, and we continue walking around as we talk about anything and everything that isn’t considered ‘deep’.

  13

  Jonah

  My favorite movie isn’t my favorite movie anymore. Let me explain. A Streetcar Named Desire is a great movie for so many reasons: the cinematography, the acting, the symbolism.

  But, you know what’s even better?

  Watching Chelsea enjoy the movie.

  I couldn’t turn my fucking eyes away from her. It was mesmerizing—the lights
from the screen bouncing across her perfect face, her eyes sparkling as she got more and more into the movie, holding her close while she leaned her head on my shoulder.

  I’ve never watched the movie with anyone else before.

  Mainly because most chicks don’t dig old movies.

  But, not Chelsea. She could appreciate it.

  Even earlier, kissing her was like a dream.

  I shouldn’t have kissed her, though. Yeah, I know. But, in the moment, if you’d have tried to stop me, there would have been no way.

  “I’m really glad you came with me,” I say, leaving the theater.

  “Me too.” Her face glows when she smiles, and I wish in this moment I had my camera.

  “You really would look spectacular on the big screen.” I hold my hands up, as if I’m capturing her on film. She crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out, and I laugh. “See? Stardom right there.”

  She giggles. “Thanks. I really think things are going to happen for me now.”

  “I do too.”

  “My luck has already been changing.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know, but it is.”

  “Were you unlucky in Texas?” We cross the street, making our way back to our cars in the lot of the club.

  “Not always. But, it’s just little things, ya know?”

  “I think it’s because you moved in with me, don’t you agree?” I laugh.

  She shakes her head, smiling. “Maybe something like that. But, you love having me there, admit it?”

  I rub my beard. “Your cooking helps.”

  “Jonah, oh my God.” She makes a little tsk sound. “No wonder you’re still single.”

  “By choice. I’m single by choice.”

  She finds this funny. “Oh, believe me, I know. All the girls at work talk about you.”

  Interesting. I raise a brow. “Spill it.”

  She bats her eyelashes, and drawls out each word slowly, “What do you mean?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Tell me.”

  She shakes her head. “No way. I won’t consort in gossip which makes your head bigger.”

  “Oh, come on. I would tell you what people say about you if the tables were turned.”

  “Does anyone say anything?”

  There’s no way I would tell her the sexual things Tim and Randall say about her. It’s one of the reasons I’m always the biggest grump on set. “Yeah, everyone at work hates you.”

  She laughs, cute and sweet. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe it, kid. They all do mean things behind your back.”

  Her brow draws together. “And you just watch them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you like to watch?” She bats her eyelashes.

  Damn. She has no idea. “I guess you could say that.”

  She narrows her brow. “You don’t defend me?”

  “I’m kidding. I would kick their ass.” And I would. “So, what do the girls say?”

  I know this isn’t a date, but it sure feels like one. My mind travels to that question where most dates end up… do I want to sleep with this girl?

  “Well,” she looks up at me, “they say you’re a player.”

  “Ouch. And you believe them?”

  “Well, I don’t know? I mean, hello, you’re friends with Declan and Booker. Those two are the biggest flirts I’ve ever met, and they call you playboy. So, I guess, in theory, that would make you worse?”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re playing the field.”

  She scrunches her nose. “Yeah, but not like you.”

  Oh, this girl. “What does that mean?”

  “Come on, I’m not sure you’re interested in their minds.”

  Ouch, again. “You’d be surprised. The dating thing is getting kinda old.”

  “Oh really? How so?”

  I shrug. “No one has really kept my attention in a while. It’s just the same ol’ thing, all the time. Girls with no real substance.” I spot my Jeep in the distance.

  “Substance?” She raises her arms to her chest, indicating I’m only interested in big tits.

  “No. The substance up here.” I point to my head.

  “That’s a shame. You just haven’t met the right girl yet.”

  “Says you. Maybe there isn’t one person who’s right for me. Ever think of that?”

  She smiles, and her eyes take on a far-off dreamy look. “No, I want to believe there’s somebody for everyone.”

  “Well, you go on believing that dream. I’ll live here in reality.” I laugh a little.

  “I like dreaming. Sometimes dreams do come true,” she says, quietly.

  “You sound like the poster child for Disney.”

  “Ha. Stop. You have to believe in something.”

  The warm breeze lifts her dress, just a little, and I catch a glimpse of her inner thigh. What would it be like to touch her there? She looks glamorous under the moonlight. I want to tell her I believe in the kiss we shared. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since this whole date, I mean, whatever this is started.

  “Maybe I have a few beliefs.” I grab my keys from my pocket.

  “Oh yeah, like what?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile.

  “I believe in luck. I believe in second chances. I believe Declan would kill me if he knew I kissed you.”

  Her smile falters, and I reach a hand out to hers and grab it. I squeeze her soft skin, running my thumb along the inside of her palm. “But, it was a great kiss,” I breathe out.

  God, was it ever. I won’t lie to you, I want to kiss her again. But, I won’t. Don’t worry, I can manage self-control.

  She lets go of my hand. “Well, Jonah, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  The dim lights in the parking lot make this all too intimate.

  “For letting me live with you, and for tonight.”

  I wave a hand, shoo’ing off her thanks. “Oh please, it’s nothing.”

  The air shifts between us, and I pull at the collar of my button-down. I’m nervous. For some unknown reason she’s gone and made me nervous.

  We’ve made it to our cars in the lot, and I smile at her.

  “Race you home?” she says, breaking any awkwardness from the moment.

  “You’re on.” I hop in my Jeep and fire it up.

  It’s like Fast and the Furious on the roadways.

  I beat her home by a fraction of a second. Hey, it’s a win for me.

  And again the weirdness is back when we go inside.

  I rush out a goodnight, and slip into my office as I hear her start the water for a shower.

  Ah, fuck me. She’s naked behind that door.

  I turn on my computer and gaze at the pictures of Chelsea from a previous shoot.

  My cock stirs to life. Fuck.

  Will not jerk off to pictures of Chelsea. I repeat it over and over, but as I unzip my jeans…I spot one picture I took a couple of weeks ago.

  She’s in a string bikini. A sexy as fuck little black number. Her tits are pleading to be freed from the restraints of the thin fabric.

  Her legs go on for miles, so tan and silky smooth. In the picture she’s on her hands and knees, and her ass is spank-worthy.

  I stroke my cock, imagining what it would be like to run my hands on her round ass, and give it a spank. When I lean back in the leather chair, I spread my thighs and grip my dick hard, pumping it.

  What would it be like to thrust inside of her? What does her pussy taste like?

  That kiss tonight has my head in a crazy place. I want it again. I can’t stop fucking thinking about it. I love her lips. So sweet.

  My hand picks up speed, and my breathing hitches.

  “Fuck,” I groan out.

  She asked me if I believe in anything, and I believe in the fact that I want to fuck her. Hard. And fierce. I want to wrap her hair around my hand and fuck her from behind. Have her on her
hands and knees begging for me.

  Our chemistry when I kissed her was like a damn complicated law of attraction problem. One I can’t solve, because I’ve never felt such intensity with anyone before. I’m so close to coming. I want to scream my orgasm out for the whole city to hear. Hell, I’m tempted to bang down the bathroom door, and show Chelsea how much I want her. But, I won’t. Instead, I’ll have my own private heaven right here, glancing at picture after picture.

  I stroke faster, running my thumb over the tip. God, she was made for the camera.

  She smiles at me through the computer screen, and I jerk my cock harder.

  My blood is on fire. My heart hammers away in my chest as I imagine doing naughty things to Chelsea. Just once, I want to watch her get herself off.

  I stroke a few more times and come hard.

  Fuck. I have to kiss her again. I have to get rid of this want for her.

  After my body calms from the rush of it all, I clean up and shut off the computer.

  Maybe the reason I feel this way is because we’re living together. Being so close to one another. That has to be it.

  Tomorrow I’ll make sure I start keeping my distance. Even if I really don’t want to.

  The next morning, work is a frenzy of excitement. People rush around with big smiles. Real smiles. Not the strained, ‘I’m smiling because it’s the polite thing to do,’ kind.

  Randall peeks his head in my office as I sit down behind my desk. “Did you hear?”

  “No, what’s going on?”

  Chelsea slips past him, beaming. “Did you hear?”

  Seriously? Why does everyone start off with that question? Why can’t they just say the big news or whatever’s going on? I’m going to get all intrigued, and it’s probably something dumb like a new coffee maker.

  “No, tell me.” I’m about to have a heart attack if someone doesn’t speak soon.

  They glance at each other, waiting for the other to speak. My patience is thin.

  Finally, Chelsea puts me out of my misery, “The Cheetah Lounge in Vegas booked a photo shoot. And you’re the lucky photographer.”

  Before the words have time to sink in, Glenda sashays in. “Everyone out,” she shoos them. “Jonah and I need to chat.”

  My smile is already spreading as Chelsea gives me an excited thumb up before leaving.

  Glenda closes the door and turns to me. “I’m sure you’ve already heard the big news.”

  “I may have heard something.” I lean back in my chair, clasping my hands behind my head.