Out of freak-outs, my ass.
Despite my assurances, I’m freaking out, too.
Now that I’m here, I realize this position—my hand over his heart, his lips on my hair, our bodies pressed together—is more intimate than any sex scene I’ve ever done.
Sex is about hormones and body parts.
This is about closeness. Love. Trust.
All the things that scare the living hell out of me.
The first time Ethan and I made love, we held each other like this afterward. I was so happy. So in love with him.
Then everything went to hell.
In this position, with my head against his chest, I can hear Ethan’s heart pounding, fast and erratic. Just like it did back then.
A familiar ache starts in my chest and weaves up into my throat. I clench my jaw to stifle a groan, but I don’t think it works, because Holt tightens his arm around me and whispers, “Hey … what’s wrong?”
His hand comes up to my cheek.
I close my eyes and try to push down the panic.
This is ridiculous.
“Cassie? Hey…” His voice is all liquid comfort and unspoken affection.
A whole mess of past emotion surfaces and floods my body with too much adrenaline.
I sit up as my head starts to spin.
Within seconds, Holt’s arm is around me. “You look like you’re going to barf. It’s been a while since I’ve made you physically ill. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
He waits for my comeback, but I stay silent. I’m in a full-blown panic attack, and it feels like my stomach is trying to crawl up my windpipe and strangle me.
“Cassie?” he says, frowning. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“No.” I’m wheezing, and his expression is too concerned. “Stop looking at me like that. You can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, like it’s perfectly normal for those words to leave his mouth. Like he says it every day, and I’m used to hearing it.
“Miss Taylor?” Marco says as he comes over to us. “Is everything alright?”
I exhale and try to shove my anxiety back into its box. “I’m sorry, Marco. It’s been a long week. Do you think we could leave this scene until Monday?”
Yeah, because by Monday, I’ll be able to do all those highly intimate things to Ethan without unraveling, won’t I?
Idiot.
“Okay, fine,” Marco says. “You’re both tired. Let’s call it a day.”
He heads back to the production desk, and Elissa stares at us for a second before telling the rest of the company we’re wrapping for the week.
I feel movement and turn to see Ethan picking up his T-shirt. He pulls it on and swings his legs off the bed before resting his elbows on his knees.
“I remember the first time we had to do a scene like this,” he says as he turns to face me. “You were less forgiving of my … excitement.”
“You were less apologetic about it. In fact, if I remember correctly, you exploited your power over me.”
“My power over you?” he says, giving me innocent eyes. “You have no idea what you did to me that day, do you? Jesus, I was in real physical pain.”
“You deserved to be.”
He nods as he picks up the edge of the sheet nearest him and fiddles with it.
“Listen,” he says, and tugs at the seam. “I get that you may never forgive me, but I want to at least try to make things easier for you. Tell me what to say, and I’ll say it. Tell me to fuck off, and I’ll try to. Just tell me, okay? What do you want me to do?”
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “Well, for a start, let’s pretend I didn’t just freak out in front of everyone because you hugged me. That’s just mortifying.”
He smiles. “I’m not going to lie—for once it’s nice to not be the one freaking out.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, not going to lie—our role reversal sucks giant yak balls.”
He stands and offers me his hand. “Still up to going out tonight?”
I’d almost forgotten about our talk-date. “Do we have to?”
“Yeah, we really do.”
“Can I at least have lots of alcohol?”
“Sure,” he says as he pulls me to my feet. “I’m buying.”
“Good. Then I’ll order the expensive stuff.”
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
I arrive at rehearsal and do a few warm-up exercises, intent on chilling out and having a good day.
I’m doing some yoga stretches when Holt walks in. He dumps his bag in a seat in the second row and flops down next to it, before putting his feet up on the chair in front of him and closing his eyes. I can see his lips moving, probably running his lines.
The tension between has reached awkward levels since the kiss. We show up to rehearsals, say our lines, act like we’re in love, kiss passionately. Then, when rehearsal finishes and we have the opportunity to talk? Nothing. We’re too weirded out to have a conversation. It’s driving me crazy.
It doesn’t help that when he kisses me, I get so damned turned on I can barely breathe. I’ve spent the last three days in a state of totally debilitating arousal, and today we have to block Romeo and Juliet’s sex scene.
Frick.
I refuse to be one of those girls who makes a fool out of herself for a man. If Holt’s determined to ignore whatever is happening between us, I will, too. I don’t need him.