Good at Being Alive(65)
I picture raising my knee, slipping my panties to the side, letting him rub against me until it accidentally just…happened. Based on the size of that thing, it would take a little more effort than that, but I’m soaked and swollen at the image anyway.
His breathing changes, gets a little faster, and he presses harder against my ass, his hand tightening on my hip as he pulls me closer. Air pushes through my lips, a quiet huff of desperation.
“Fuck,” he whispers, removing himself, awake at last.
“Don’t stop now,” I tell him with a forced laugh. “I think you were close.”
“Jesus Christ, Bex,” he snaps, shoving another pillow between us and rolling in the other direction.
I think I like unconscious Theo better.
* * *
? ? ?
We start shooting early, as Paris in July is approximately a million degrees, but even if we’re starting early…a twelve-mile run is still a twelve-mile run.
It’s also not a twenty-six-mile run, and I’m failing to see how one thing could ever lead to the other.
Theo is already up and about by the time my alarm goes off. I put on my workout clothes and walk out into the suite. “I need a nap, not a jog.”
“Me too,” he replies. “Someone kept me up all night with her chitchat.”
“Someone woke me early with his erection,” I reply, and he groans, shoving his hand through his hair.
“I knew that was coming,” he says. “Coffee first?”
I nod. “Sure. I can make more erection jokes in line.”
We go down to the kiosk in the lobby, where he buys me a latte and a chocolate croissant without being told to get them. Increasingly, it doesn’t feel as if we’re pretending to be a couple but as if we actually are one. Minus the orgasms, that is. And it would be an unbelievably terrible idea, but I think I’d really like him to give me a few of those too. I’m ninety percent certain he’d shoot me down if I suggested it but…I wonder.
“Theo,” I whisper, grabbing his arm.
“Huh?” he asks.
“Come here,” I say, leading him by the hand through the black-and-white tiled lobby. “Grab that free chair.”
His mouth lilts upward on one side. “Which of us gets to sit? I assume you because your story is more tragic.”
I laugh. “It’s adorable how bad you are at this. Have you never tried to make someone insane with jealousy? Sit.”
He sits, and I immediately climb in his lap, curling up there like a child…or a very affectionate wife.
He stiffens for a half second, then relaxes. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer, before he takes a sip of his drink. “So, who are we making jealous?”
“No one, but someone over there was watching us and she just placed a call. A hundred bucks says Kylie or Jasper or both of them arrive in a few minutes. And they’re hoping for some proof that this is all bullshit, and we’re not going to give it to them.”
He smiles. “I’m not sure the two of us sitting down here early in the morning offers much proof. If we were actually married, we’d still be in bed.”
There he goes again, saying things that make me want to explore the possibilities.
“We are actually married,” I counter. “Kiss me.”
His gaze falls to my lips, a moment’s hesitation, before he tugs me closer and presses his mouth to mine. I suck the coffee off his lower lip and his quiet groan is a whisper against my mouth before he releases me.
I try to move so I can see to the right of us in the bar and his hand clamps down on my hip.
“Careful,” he warns.
I tug his earlobe between my teeth. “What happens if I’m not careful?”
His eyes fall closed. “Several things I’d rather not have occur in public,” he replies.
I grin. “Maybe this morning will get interesting after all.”
The words are barely out before he suddenly rises, lifting me as he goes and setting me on my feet. “Enough,” he says. “We need to get ready to go, and I don’t give a shit who’s down here watching.”
“You’re the least fun husband I’ve ever had,” I sigh.
* * *
? ? ?
Our run begins down the Seine promenade, tree-lined and gorgeous. Lars and Katrina are both absent—I insist it’s suspicious and Theo says I watch too much TV—so Paula is in charge of the shoot. The first part of our loop would make any viewer want to take up running: the plant-covered houseboats and Bateaux Mouches floating to our right, while ahead of us lies the Pont Alexandre—one of the world’s most famous bridges—with the sun glancing off its Belle ?poque lamps and gold-leaf sculptures. On the other bank stand the Invalides and the Orsay, and if I were with someone other than Theo, I might admit that I sort of enjoy doing this.
Alas, we still have eleven miles left to go.
We cross over to the Left Bank, and I’m still hanging in there despite the heat. I can appreciate the beauty of nature as we take a loop through the Luxembourg Gardens (mile three) but by the time we’ve reached the Tuileries (mile six), I never want to see another garden again. Paula decides this is a good time to pull the mics off and let us finish on our own, perhaps because I’m drenched in sweat and so repulsive viewers won’t be able to stomach the footage.