The Last Take

by Tabitha Bree

  “I’ve been thinking about this all week,” she breathes.

  And suddenly I’m a madman.

  I move her underwear to the side and skim my fingers over her, relishing her moans before I slide my fingers inside. She feels like heaven and I’m done for.

  I can’t hold off any longer.

  I lean up, hooking my fingers on either side of her underwear and dragging them over her legs. I’m on top of her again in a heartbeat, and as my face lines up with hers, she looks into my eyes, tenderly dragging her hands from my temple to the side of my head. I don’t know how something so innocent can feel so sensual.

  Without taking her eyes off mine, she moves her hand down and wraps it around my cock. As she strokes up and down, I touch my quivering lips to hers, and feel her put me where she wants me.

  I press my forehead against hers as I push inside.

  She arches her back, making a sound so appealing I’m worried I might finish then and there. But I hold off, moving my hips back and forth until I’m in deep.

  “Holy shit,” she gasps, and I do believe this is the first time I’ve heard her cuss. But I have to say, I share the same sentiment.

  This. Feels. Fucking. Incredible.

  I continue to rock my hips, feeling her legs wrap around me as I pick up the pace.

  “Holy shit,” she cries again, louder this time as I push in even deeper.

  I get on my hands now, holding my body up so I can get the best angle and the best view. The position of her head tilted back, the O shape of her mouth, her breasts moving alongside the thrusts of my pelvis. It’s like the best fucking film I’ve ever seen in my life.

  And I can’t hold it in much longer.

  “I’m coming,” I groan.

  “Me too,” she says, clasping her hands over my ass and moving them in time with my hips.

  I push hard and fast until everything goes out of focus. The walls, the ceiling, the bed… everything is fuzzy, except for the gorgeous woman underneath me, who is making a sound that will make me hard for as long as I live.

  The relief is intense and exquisite and surging in waves, making my entire body spasm on top of her while I try to hold myself up. I throw my head down, groaning into her ear as I jerk for the last time, and collapse on top of her. I don’t want to crush her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She winds her legs more firmly around me, making it impossible for me to get off her even if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. Her neck is hot and sweaty, but there’s no place I’d rather be as I rest into it, breathing heavily into her chest.

  “Holy shit,” she says again, her fingers tracing lazy patterns onto my back. I stay there until my heart has stopped threatening to jump from my ribcage, and eventually crumble to the side, relishing the cool air on my chest.

  As I lie there, staring up at the ceiling and listening to her breathe, it’s gradually dawning on me.

  Me and Evie just fucked.

  What am I supposed to do now? I’m not going to get up and leave. That would be the jerk thing to do. And I don’t want to leave, anyway. But does she want me to stay? Sleep next to her? Wake up in the morning and pretend it never happened?

  I roll my head sideways to gauge how she might be feeling. She probably wants to talk about it, right? But when I find her eyes, they are closed, and her mouth is resting in a delicate smile.

  As I watch her relax, I’m overcome with a definite, indisputable thought.

  I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.

  In fact, I can see myself doing this with Evie again, and again, and again.

  The talks we’ve had, the movie theater… the sex. The way I feel about her now leads to one inevitable conclusion.

  I like this girl.

  She mumbles something about the light and rolls onto my chest without opening an eye. The feeling of her against me now differs from before, but is just as incredible. I reach out with my free arm and flick the switch on the lamp, casting the room into darkness, save for the moonlight that shines through the open curtains.

  Jesus. If anyone walked past earlier, they got quite the show.

  As her breathing slows, I run my fingers over her back, drawing shapes and letting my own eyelids grow heavy.

  And just as I’m drifting off, I’m wrapped in a contentment that I haven’t felt in a really, really long time.

  21

  Evie

  I’m awoken by a bright glare coming through the window.

  Darn it, why didn’t I close the blinds last night?

  Last night.

  Oh.

  I roll over, and there he is. So, it wasn’t a dream—or some elaborate hallucination brought on by rum and tiny paper umbrellas. And he stayed the whole night. In my bed.

  Holy shit, I had sex with Adam.

  As I cuss internally, I get a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Except, I’m remembering a much steamier point in time. One where I could feel the full weight of Adam’s body on top of me… moving… gliding…

  So, I had really great sex with Adam.

  He’s still sleeping and I seize the opportunity to take in his face. Every detail. I’m always so paranoid about him catching me staring, it’s nice to have the chance to look over his features. His strong brow, the line of his nose, his relaxed mouth as he breathes through a narrow gap in his lips.

  Those gorgeous lips…

  While I’m looking at them, I have the sudden urge to lean over and plant a soft kiss. The way they do in the fairytales. But it’s occurring to me now that I don’t know how he’d react.

  And he’s my director.

  Good God.

  What have I done?

  Delicately lifting the sheets, I slide my legs out of bed, trying my best not to disturb him. When my feet hit the floor, I see the proof of last night’s antics. Clothes are strewn around the room—a shirt here, a pair of shorts there—and scrunched up near the bathroom are my favorite Simpson undies.

  They probably wouldn’t have been my first choice if I knew I’d be getting primal.

  Oh geez.

  Talk about Primal Nature.

  I’ll never be able to say the name of the film again without blushing.

  Trying to make zero sound, I pad across the carpeted floor, making my way to the bathroom where I shut myself in and turn the lock as gently as possible.

  I look at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the girl staring back at me. Wild hair, naked body, maybe a little pink cheeked from the day in the sun. Or maybe it was because of the memory of his pen—

  No. I will not let myself think about it.

  Not yet. Not until I know what it meant.

  I reach into the shower, turning on the faucet. The pipes clang to life with the loudest, most obnoxious sound and I groan under my breath. Well, if Adam wasn’t awake before, he sure will be now. But at least the shower gives me some time to think. I always do my best pondering under a stream of almost boiling water.

  I step in and turn my face up toward the shower head, relishing the feeling of getting clean. I never got to bathe last night. As I lather myself up with some harsh-smelling hotel soap, I get to thinking.

  What the heck are we supposed to do now?

  It’s not like we’re dating or even talking about dating. We hadn’t even shared a kiss before last night. I have no idea how Adam feels, or how I feel, for that matter. Will he wake up and have crippling regret? Will the rest of production be awful and awkward?

  And then I have a wave of nausea. One that I wish I could blame on a hangover.

  What will everyone at work think?

  Oh God.

  I’m going to be that girl.

  That young PA who sleeps with the director to get ahead in her career.

  Who knows what Kylie will do with information like this. She is probably going to have a field day, for crying out loud.

  How could I have been so careless?

  I hear footsteps beyond the bathroom door and immediately feel queasy. I can’t just stay
in here forever, can I? At the very least, I’ll have to go out to fetch my Simpsons undies and clothes from yesterday because I have nothing else to wear.

  I remind myself that I am a strong, intelligent woman, who isn’t scared of grown-up conversations, and I wrap myself in a towel. When I push the door open, Adam is standing there, in his shorts from yesterday, picking his shirt up off the floor. My traitorous eyes gravitate to his chest.

  “Morning,” I say with as much cheeriness as I can muster, snapping my stare back up to his face.

  “Hey,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  Great. He does regret it.

  “So… last night,” he begins.

  “I think it’s best if we just keep it to ourselves,” I jump in.

  I don’t need to hear the vague reasons he doesn’t want this to happen again, or the insulting discouragement I’ve had from men too many times before. In fact, I’m going to beat him to the punch. Because I don’t think this was a good idea, either.

  “I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” he says, frowning.

  Oh right, because that would be so humiliating for you.

  “Good.”

  I busy myself collecting my clothes, trying to bend over without giving him an eyeful. Not that it’s anything he hasn’t seen before.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

  “I’m fine, why?”

  “I just thought that…” his eyes flicker up to mine, like he’s trying to communicate telepathically “… that we—"

  The phone on the bedside table rings sharply, making me jump.

  “Yes?” Adam answers, pausing to listen. “We’re coming down now.”

  He hangs up and turns back to me. “That was just reception. They want to know if we’re checking out yet.” He pulls his shirt over his head and collects the sweater he threw on the floor last night. “I’ll meet you out the front.”

  And with a tight smile, I’m left in the room alone.

  It’s a quiet drive back to LA, but not the easy silence it was yesterday and the day before.

  Before we decided to change everything.

  And we were really getting somewhere, too. Getting closer. I started to think we were actually friends. Now we’re in this weird no-mans-land, not speaking and not acknowledging the elephant in the room.

  “Should we talk about last night properly?” Adam asks, reading my mind.

  “I didn’t think you were particularly into conversing with other humans,” I quip.

  Ugh. I meant it to sound joking, but it comes out snarky and sarcastic.

  “Sorry, that wasn’t an insult.”

  “It’s fine,” Adam says, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead.

  Another awkward silence follows, but I just can’t bear it this time.

  “Yes, let’s talk about it,” I say, rolling my window up so I can hear him easier. “We’re adults. We can talk about sex and not make it weird.”

  The corners of Adam’s mouth twitch, and I realize I have most definitely already made it weird.

  “We did it with each other, so what?” I continue to dig my own grave. “It doesn’t have to be awkward that we’ve seen each other’s genitals.”

  For the love of God, stop speaking.

  Adam bites down on his lip, like he’s trying not to laugh. But then glances over at me. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah. You just seemed kind of… mad earlier.”

  “I’m not mad,” I say, shuffling in my seat. “I guess I’m just worried.”

  “About me?”

  “About what people might say. What they might think.”

  Adam draws his eyebrows together.

  “I’m the PA who slept with her director. We both know how that looks,” I explain.

  “No, how does it look?”

  “Like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

  “Hang on. We both know that’s not what’s happening here,” Adam says. He reaches over, almost like he’s about to grab my hand, but then settles his fingers around the stick shift.

  “I know.” I look at his hand, wondering if it would feel nice curled around my own. “But other people will jump to conclusions.”

  “Who cares what other people think?”

  “I do,” I say, suddenly feeling very defensive. “It’s okay for you. You’re already respected and have a high position in the industry. It won’t reflect badly on you that we’ve been together.”

  A pause.

  “I’m sorry,” he replies, his voice growing quiet. “I didn’t realize being with me would cause you such issues.”

  His tone isn’t sarcastic, it’s more… deflated.

  “It didn’t, it won’t. I’d just… like to keep this between us.”

  He looks over at me and attempts a smile. “As it was always going to be.”

  I nod, turning my attention to the window. If Adam says he won’t tell anyone, I believe him. But there’s still an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I watch the coastline go by outside and try to push away the thing that’s glaring right in my face. Because the truth is, I don’t regret my night with Adam.

  It’s been so long since I felt a man’s arms around me, since I felt warm lips kissing my neck. Every second together was incredible, and more than that.

  Every second together felt right.

  Part of me wishes this movie was already done, and we had the option to explore whatever happened between us. But there is no use fantasizing about that, partly because it isn’t the case. And partly because I don’t even know if Adam feels the same way. He hasn’t made any indication that last night actually meant something to him.

  Whatever happened between us in that bed, it was amplified by the fact I hadn’t dated anyone in about five hundred years. My defenses were down, and I was vulnerable to falling victim to it.

  The feels.

  And I can’t have feelings for Adam. Not when we have the rest of the movie to get through. There is only one logical thing left to do, and the sooner I get a start on it, the better.

  I have to start dating again.

  That’s it. I have to put myself out there, because a year of celibacy is dangerous—especially when you’re drinking tropical cocktails with your funny, cute, sexy—

  Okay, enough.

  It’s settled. I will make a profile on the best app when I get home. No, not just the best app. On all the apps. Better to cast a wide net. And then I can forget all about the night I had with Adam, and we can go back to just being colleagues. Or whatever you call people who work on a film together.

  We’re nearly back in LA, and I’m glad that I at least have a plan of attack for moving forward. I roll the window down again, soaking in the midday sun.

  But as the breeze hits my shoulders, I’m taken by a memory… the feeling of Adam tenderly stroking my hair as I fell asleep on his chest. And suddenly I’m overcome with emotion—a weird combination of loneliness and sadness, and pining for a time that was only mere hours ago.

  Yet feels so out of reach.

  22

  Adam

  I never thought I’d see the day that I’d be happy to meet up with Eric and Simon. Yet here I am, with a script on the table in front of me, waiting for them to meet me for coffee. I’m actually excited to tell them a few extra ideas I have for the rest of the shoot.

  Something has changed. Ever since that day at the movie theater, it’s like a load has been taken off my mind. Like I’m allowed to embrace this film for the fun, stupid, lighthearted adventure that it is.

  Why did I let myself get so bogged down?

  For too long, I’ve been comparing myself to my father. Measuring any success against his insane legacy, and beating myself up every time I come up short. I let myself get so wrapped up in his highbrow literacy achievements that I forgot why I fell in love with film in the first place.

  The spectacle of
it all. The sheer boyish joy. The huge sets and the magic and the storytelling, drawing people into a new world where they can explore and laugh and experience life through a character’s eyes.

  No, my movies aren’t the same as my dad’s books. But the truth is, we are apples and oranges. And comparing my work to his is irrelevant. Maybe my films aren’t pensive or complex or get discussed at wanky pretentious parties, but that doesn’t mean my work is any less important.

  “I was surprised you wanted to do this,” Simon says, accepting a coffee from the server. “If I can be frank, you haven’t seemed all that invested in the film. Not since Nolan came to set.”

  I smile at my coffee cup. “Let’s just say I had a change of heart.”

  I think back to sitting in the theater with Evie, her big excited eyes looking into mine, and my smile fades.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it, because I think we have a hit on our hands. We should all be happy!” Eric says, sharing a fist bump with Simon.

  Oh geez.

  I go over my plan for the rest of the film, which is the same as we’ve been doing, just with even more commercial oomph. More action, more goofs, more special effects in post. Eric and Simon look so excited, it almost makes me want to leave. But I can’t say I blame them. Eric is right, whether you regard it as lowbrow or highbrow, this film is going to be a hit.

  But there’s still something in the back of my mind, putting a cloud over my newfound enthusiasm.

  Evie.

  We’ve barely spoken since we got back from San Diego, and honestly, I have no idea where I stand with her.

  The morning after our night together went nothing like I thought it would.

  For starters, she wasn’t even there when I woke up. I didn’t want to begrudge her the right to have a shower, but how quick did she want to get her body away from mine? Was I that repulsive? I was kind of hoping she’d come out of the bathroom and give me a kiss, share even an iota of the happiness I’d been feeling. But she was completely distant.

  I understood why she wanted to keep it a secret and her concerns about how it would look if it got out. But what I didn’t understand was why she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.