by Logan Chance
Chelsea
After leaving my agent’s office, I’m overwhelmed by all the stipulations. From being pure and wholesome, to changing my last name to something more fitting. To. To. To. It’s all so much information at once.
System overload.
Tonight, I plan to put it behind me and have a great night with my boyfriend.
The boyfriend they prefer I don’t tell anyone I have.
It’s been a week since the part was given to me, and everything is moving at such a fast pace. I don’t know if it will ever slow down. My life may never be the same.
So, I make a meal. Because the way to every man’s heart is through his stomach, right? I light a few candles.
Maybe I’m pushing it, but I really want tonight to be special. Normal. Mainly because I may have neglected our new relationship in the past week. Meetings. Fittings. Plus, still working a few remaining shoots with Bunny Hunnies. I haven’t even had time to breathe lately.
But, Jonah has been great through it all. So, I want to show him my appreciation—tonight, I am cooking for my man, wearing nothing but a short pink apron and pink panties.
When he enters through the front door, I hold my breath.
“Hey,” I say. “I made you dinner.”
He drops his camera bag and desire flares in his eyes. He glances at the set table and then back at me.
“I’d rather eat your sweet pussy first.”
Listen. They were right about this cooking thing. Jonah stalks over to me, lifting me onto the countertop, spreads my legs, and gives me one of the strongest orgasms of my life.
Ten minutes later, yes, his skills are that good, we clean up and I finish things in the kitchen.
“So, what is all of this?” he asks.
“I know you’re not too happy with the amount of time I’ve been spending at the studio, so I just wanted to make it up to you.”
He smiles and wraps his strong arms around me. “No, I’m very happy for you. Please don’t think I’m not happy. I understand how these things work.” He kisses the top of my head.
I kiss his cheek. “Come eat. Where did you go after work?”
“Just around. Took some pictures.”
He fishes his camera out of his bag and shows me the breathtaking pictures of the beach he captured as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. The focal point for me is the woman standing at the water’s edge, wind streaming through her hair, staring out into the nothingness. I can’t see her face, but I wonder what she’s thinking about. Is she happy? Sad? The way he can evoke emotions in each frame of every shot he takes is phenomenal. “Jonah, these are really good.”
He puts the camera away. “I think I’ll upload them to my website later tonight.”
I smile at him. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
I grab the dish from the oven and set it on the table. “Well, sit down, Mr. Marshall, and let me serve you.”
He takes a seat at the table. “Ah, this is nice. Great service. And just what are all of the services you provide?”
I waggle my brows at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He smirks. “Yeah, I would. What’s for dinner?” he asks.
“Cannelloni.”
“Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.” His lips quirk up on one side, and I grin. “A little Godfather humor.”
“Well, it’s cannelloni,” I correct, laughing. “Can I be honest?”
“Always.” He grabs my arm and tugs me onto his lap. His lips crash to mine, and I’m already lost in everything Jonah.
His kisses are memory forgetters.
When the kiss breaks, he leans back, and I cringe at what I’m about to reveal. “I’ve never seen any of the Godfather’s.”
“Oh my God.” He pushes me off his lap, and smacks my ass as I get up. “I can’t believe I’m dating you, unofficially.”
“Oh stop. We just have more movies to watch together.”
“Listen,” he’s oh so serious as I sit down, “this is like a deal-breaker. First Gladiator, now Godfather.”
“Well, those are guy films.”
“Excuse me?” He cracks a smile.
“Have you ever seen Notting Hill?” I ask.
His face scrunches up with distaste. “God, no. At least Godfather is a good movie.”
“I happen to love Notting Hill.” I dish him out some food.
“Fine, I know one movie I can’t wait to see,” he says, stalling.
“What’s that?”
“Psycho Stalker.”
I smile wide. “Jonah, I just can’t wait for all of it.”
“I know, baby. So, if you’re busy until the movie is finished filming, well I’ll still be here when it’s done.”
“Thank you.” I lean over to kiss him.
I love kissing him.
He pulls back, breaking the kiss. “I want to take you out on a real date tomorrow night.”
“I’d like that. We may have to get out of the city to do it.”
He raises a brow. “Well, now you’re pushing it,” he teases.
When I told Jonah about the studio’s image for me, and keeping our dating under wraps until shooting, he agreed. He’s been very supportive.
We eat our food, and I’m still walking on a cloud. “Jonah, tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows.”
“Did I ever tell you what made me want to get into photography?” he asks, placing his fork down.
“Your mom gave you a camera, or something?”
“Yes, she did. But, that’s not what did it.” He smiles. “There was one time I went to your house. Declan and I had plans to play some video games. You were outside with your friends, doing cartwheels or something.”
“I remember we would always do that in the backyard before cheerleader tryouts.”
“I snapped a picture of you.” He pulls out his wallet. “I’ve kept it all these years.”
My heart stutters. “Oh, my God, Jonah. Really?”
He passes over the picture, and I laugh when I see a younger me.
“I liked the way the sun bounces off your hair in the photo. And your smile. You were always so happy.”
“I can’t believe you kept this.” I gaze at the picture again, unsure of what to make of this revelation.
He shrugs. “It’s a great picture.”
I hand it back. “I never thought you noticed me,” I confess.
“I remember this one time you came home from school all upset. I wanted to go to you. Make you happy again. Just because I never said anything, doesn’t mean I didn’t notice you.” Maybe it’s my imagination, but he seems like he wants to say more. He doesn’t. Instead, he leans in and kisses my cheek. “Let’s eat.”
After dinner is cleaned and put away, I slip into shorts and a tank and we settle in to watch a movie we both agree on.
Sharknado.
Ever seen it? Well, you should. If you watch it with the preconception that it’s bad acting and bad budget, it’s actually one of the funniest movies around.
“See you can act way better,” he says, snuggling closer to me on the couch.
While the movie plays, his hands drift further down my belly.
“I’m going to try my hardest with this role.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You’re going to be perfect. And this is only the beginning.”
We make it halfway through the movie before Jonah’s hands have travelled into my panties.
A few minutes later, he has me hoisted over his shoulder and carries me off to his room. We make such passionate love that my chest expands even more, letting him in even further.
23
Jonah
As a going away gift and congratulations for Chelsea landing the movie deal, Bunny Hunnies has decided to do a full centerpiece spread on her in the magazine. Today’s the lucky day I get to shoot that spread. Obviously, it will be tasteful.
The photoshoot is being held near a field with the Hollywood sign in the background. The l
ighting is perfect, and everything is set up.
“Chelsea, this is just supposed to be a light, flirty set. Ok?”
“Yes, sir,” she says as she nods.
I cock a brow. “Get over there, and get ready.” I laugh and almost lean in to kiss her.
I need to control myself better at work.
Chelsea grins, and I snap a picture. I keep going as she twirls and the breeze lifts her dress.
My camera loves her, I don’t stop clicking and staring at her through the lens.
She really is the type of girl who I’d marry. I can’t believe I just thought that, but it’s true.
I never thought about marriage before, but now that I’m married, it has me thinking.
What has been holding me back from taking the big plunge? I always thought it was some major fear of commitment, but I have no issues being committed to Chelsea. In fact, I kind of love it. I want to tell everyone, maybe take out an ad in the local paper.
So it makes me wonder, maybe I’m not some huge playboy who is terrified of marriage, maybe I’ve just never met the right woman.
And I know it’s too soon to even be thinking marriage with Chelsea, even though we are, semantics, but I wonder if she could be the one?
When we stop for a small break, Chelsea grabs a water bottle. “How are they coming out?” she asks.
“What’s wrong?” Something is off. In the photos she looks flawless, but I know her well enough now to see the emotion in her eyes doesn’t match the smile on her face.
“That Hollywood sign got me to thinking,” she says, taking a seat on the grass.
I sit beside her, leaning back on my hands. “About?”
She toys with the label on her water bottle. “Well, I’m not sure how I feel about all these demands from the studio.” She looks over at me. “Be careful what you wish for, huh?”
“Well sometimes we want something so much, we don’t really think about the price we pay for it.”
“I just don’t want to lose myself and start believing in the fantasy,” she says. “Know what I mean?”
I know exactly what she means. “You won’t,” I tell her, rising. “I’ll keep you grounded.” I pull her to standing. “Although, I have some fantasies I’d like you to believe in.”
She blushes at my words, and I want nothing more than to grab her right here and slide into her hot pussy.
But, of course, I refrain.
After the shoot, she kisses me. “Don’t forget about our date,” she says with a wink.
“Never.”
I drive to Booker’s condo before heading home. I need advice.
We head to his patio, and he offers me a Stella Artois. Stelllllllaa. I pop the top, and take a nice lengthy chug before I spill my guts to him.
I tell him everything. And I do mean everything. About the marriage, us dating, and about the role she got offered.
He listens while giving me a ‘you’re fucked’ look and when I’m done—I even add a ‘don’t tell Declan’ on the end.
“Dude, Declan is the least of your worries.” He takes a long pull of his beer.
“I know, man. I don’t need to tell her, do I? I’ll just get the annulment.”
“You fucking tell her. What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell her as soon as you remembered?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Stupidity?”
He sizes me up. “Yeah, you are kind of dumb sometimes when it comes to women.”
“That’s not true.”
He brandishes me with a harsh stare. “Really? Uh, yeah, you never date them long enough to get this deep.”
I nod. “Yeah thanks, man,” I say, sarcasm oozing off every syllable.
Either way, I’ve already fucked things up. So much for starting a relationship on an honest note.
Booker doesn’t offer any sage advice, except…if she really cares for you, she’ll forgive you.
I hope he’s right.
24
Chelsea
It’s date night. Lips are glossed, hair is tousled, backless red dress is hopefully alluring, and important body parts are shaved and silky smooth. Now all I need is a date.
As if by magic, he appears, wearing dark jeans and a blue button down, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a bouquet of flowers.
“Too corny?” he asks, showing me the lovely arrangement of lilies he has for me.
“Not at all.” I smile, flinging my arms around his neck. “I love them.” I peck his cheek and then rush off to find a vase for the flowers.
After arranging the lilies, we set off for a fun night on the town. Our first real date together.
We step out the door, and Jonah turns to me. “Let me ask you a question.”
“Ok.”
“Are you ready to get your funk on?” He smiles, quirking his eyebrow up at me.
“Um, yes?”
He wraps his arm around me and leads me to his Jeep. “Come on, you’ll love it.”
And I do. When we step foot into the Virgil for Funkmosphere off of Santa Monica boulevard, I laugh.
It’s eclectic ambience and 1980’s disco theme has me rocking to the music. He swings me close as we travel to the bar. “This place is really cool, Jonah.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I figured you’d like it.”
I don’t just like it, I love it. The old wood barstools swivel as we take a seat at the bar where old postcards lie beneath laminate. I glance around. Chipped paint peels off the walls. Vast colors of reds and blues cling together, trying to hold on. It’s a hodgepodge of modern and vintage, more vintage, though, and it is quickly becoming one of my favorite new places. Jonah orders me a drink, and then we dance a while.
We shake to the tunes of Boy George and Wham! I can’t stop laughing at Jonah dancing. He’s great in the bedroom, but, um, not so great on the dance floor.
He’s mine, though, and that’s all I care about. Gidget can teach him to dance.
He tugs me closer to him, his brown eyes hooded, and we sway to the beat of a slow number by Madonna.
This has been the perfect date. I love this side of Jonah. He’s no longer just a fantasy; he’s real. At the end of the night, as soon as we step through the door at home, he grapples at my clothes, removing them as quickly as he can.
“Let’s take a shower,” he murmurs between kisses, semi-walk-shuffling to the bathroom.
This sexual intensity is insane. Sometimes it’s a little scary. I can’t keep my hands off him. I want to touch him everywhere. He feels so good underneath my fingertips. It’s almost as if I’m afraid this will always be the last time. Our clothes are gone by the time we reach the bathroom door. My reservations about whether this is deeper than just sex for him are blocked out by the time he starts the shower. He pulls me in and drops to his knees in front of me. The hot water cascades off our bodies while he tongue fucks me. If it wasn’t for his arm wrapped around my waist, holding me up, I would be a puddle on the shower floor. It feels too good. My hand leaves an imprint on the steamy shower door as I try to steady myself. Before I can come, he rises and pushes me against it, with him behind me, and fists his hands through my wet hair.
It’s seductive. It’s naughty. And it’s all I’ve ever wanted
No words are spoken. Instead, we show our want, our need, our pure passion pushing and clinging onto the other. We are totally in tune with one another as he pumps inside me in the steam-filled shower. Everything feels like more tonight.
His hands in my hair. My hands all over his chest and stomach. Him covering my neck with kisses.
It’s the most intense thing I’ve ever felt.
And right before we both reach the pinnacle, he whispers, “I never want to lose you.”
Later, in bed, he pulls me closer, spooning behind me.
He seems a little broody and quiet.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just need to tell you something.”
I flip over, facing him. “You ca
n tell me anything.”
“Well,” his eyes roam my face, “what all do you remember about Vegas?”
25
Jonah
I need to tell her. Booker’s right. As much as I wish it could just go away, she needs to know. The sex we just shared was out of this fucking world amazing. And I’d be the biggest asshole in the world for not manning up and telling her we’re married.
Ok, maybe I’m already an asshole, because I should have told her a long time ago. I should have told her as soon as I remembered.
But, I didn’t, so there’s no sense in reliving the past.
You can’t fix past mistakes, and so many people spend a lifetime trying. All you can do is apologize and try to move on.
Or maybe it’s you can’t change the past? Regardless, there’s nothing I can do about it now. I don’t have a DeLaurian where I can go back in time to tell her after Vegas. Well, if I had a DeLaurian I wouldn’t have married her in Vegas.
Although, maybe I would have.
You guys didn’t see the way she stared at me in that casino. How her hair cascaded in exquisite, soft rivulets down her back.
The way she looked after I kissed her. Or after I fucked her. She was breathtaking. So, give me the ol’ time machine, and I probably would have still married her.
She’s fun. We had a great time that night. And, even now, I still love being around her.
She’s different than I thought she’d be. She’s cute with her corny jokes and movie line knowledge. It makes me smile.
“I remember the roller coaster, and of course the sex against the wall.” She smiles, throwing her leg over me.
“Do you remember anything after the tequila?”
God, why am I having such a hard time? It should be easy to tell the girl you’re dating you’re actually married to her. ‘Hey hunny, you’re not my girlfriend, you’re my wife.’
“No, I was pretty wasted.” She yawns. Her eyes drift closed, and she opens them back up slowly.
“You’re tired.”
She yawns again. “I’m exhausted.”
I kiss the top of her head. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“No,” she says. “Tell me.”
“It isn’t important.” I kiss her, then we shift our bodies and fall asleep. One more night of reprieve.
I’ve realized something. Something big. Huge. Monumental. After sex with Chelsea, there’s no way I could ever want anyone else. She’s the one. Everything with us is going so perfect. So smooth. And once I get this annulment handled, everything will fall into place. There’s no reason to tell her. Booker’s wrong.