How to End a Love Story(78)

Only Nicole knows the full picture of past and present, though. (Saskia probably suspects too, given their last conversation at the precipice of everything, but has been too polite to ask.)

“You trauma bonded your way into mutual attraction.” Nicole nods. “Healthy.”

Helen laughs, then groans. “I think . . .” She pauses, carefully considering her words. “I think he might think he’s in love, or not even love, but catching inconvenient feelings. I think he’s the ‘falling in love, catching feelings’ type. You’ve met him.”

“Yes,” Nicole says dryly. “I have. You know, I do like Grant, as a friend. Maybe I should ask you what your intentions are here. I’d hate to see him heartbroken and left in the dust at the end of all of this.”

Helen shifts uncomfortably.

“Grant knows what’s happening,” she says. “This is just . . . it’s like a game we play. I keep us on track and he’s always trying to push and see what’s the most he can get. It’s like we’re negotiating, all the time, and it’s . . . fun, I guess, otherwise we wouldn’t both keep coming back. It forces us to pace ourselves. But he knows the rules. He wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t ask for something he knows is impossible.”

“Hm,” Nicole says, and sips her wine. “Not gonna lie, that sounds confusing and kind of hot, but maybe you should be a little careful here, Hel. You’re smart, but you’re not smarter than dumbass lizard-brain feelings. You can still get hurt with your eyes wide open.”

“That’s a good line,” Helen says. “You should put that in something.”

“I’m such a writer,” Nicole says, and they laugh, and Grant and his unspoken, tricky, possibly-there feelings don’t come up again.



In the room the following Monday, Suraya declines the invitation (“You’ll have more fun without the boss around”) and has her assistant ask for Grant’s home address so she can send a bottle of champagne. Everyone else accepts.

“Nice of you to put this together, Helen,” Tom adds, and Eve jabs him in the ribs.

“I’m, um, trying to make up for being so mean in high school, apparently,” Helen answers, as Grant watches her from across the table with I fucked you against a wall this morning eyes.

“Anyway, production starts next week, and then the room’s going to end pretty soon after that,” Grant says. “It’d be nice to see you all not in this room, for once.”

They spend the night at her place on Friday, so she can pick from the full scope of her wardrobe for the party tomorrow. She wears a silk robe as she lifts options in the absurdly large dressing room adjoining her bedroom and auditions them against her body for him.

“I like it,” he says, when she holds up a flirty black dress.

“I like that one too,” he says, when she pulls a vintage green dress.

“My prom dress might be around here somewhere, think you’d like that one too?” Helen huffs, and he laughs. He stands from the dressing room bench and pulls her back against his body, kissing her neck. “You’re absolutely no help.”

“I like watching you get dressed up,” he says. “But it’s late, and there are other things we could be doing.”

She shivers against him and turns, and her arms lazily clasp around his neck as they sway gently to music that isn’t playing.

“What time is it?” she asks.

He glances at the clock on her bedside table. “A little after midnight.”

“Happy birthday,” she says, and rises on her tiptoes to kiss him. He lets out a satisfied little “huh” before he kisses her back. The sound washes over her, and the familiar yearning feeling in her stomach returns. When he pulls back, her breaths come out in shaky little spurts.

“Sometimes I feel like I miss you when you’re right in front of me,” she says as he nudges her cheek with his nose. “Isn’t that weird?”

He laughs, and tilts her face up to kiss her again instead. His hands slide down her arms and soon she finds herself lifted up, her legs wrapped around his waist as he walks them back into the bedroom. She helps him pull off his shirt, and by the time they fall onto her bed, all that’s separating them is a thin layer of his cotton boxer briefs and her silk robe.

He hums slightly with thoughtful hms as he pulls the tie of her robe and the bow comes undone quickly. He brushes the robe off her skin easily, like wrapping paper, and follows the path of his hands with his mouth.

She’s shivering, she realizes, even though it’s warm and his lips are hot.

“Do you miss me right now?” he murmurs against her stomach, and kisses softly down past her belly button, drifting maddeningly toward the tops of her thighs.

Her fingers tangle in his hair and she nods without thinking as she redirects him to where she wants him.

“Yes,” she gasps, as he laves attention to the soft, secret spots of her. “It’s so good, it feels so good.”

He builds a slow and steady rhythm, then suckles against the tiny, sensitive nub he’s become so familiar with, and she’s surprised by her own sudden orgasm.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “I didn’t know . . . I was so close.”

She looks down and he’s watching her with fevered eyes; he looks hungry and satisfied at the same time. She thinks maybe this is how she looks at him too.