His lips brush mine. I force myself to get into it. I grab Quinn by the collar of his shirt and pull him closer to me, pressing my mouth against his, only a little self-conscious about the moan that escapes. Quinn’s body tenses. He pulls back, staring at me like he’s starting to see a new person—someone I haven’t shown him before, maybe. He yanks me closer and kisses me again, pushing me back onto my bed this time.
He pulls off his shirt and leans over me as he kisses my neck. I open my legs for him and he makes himself comfortable, and Quinn’s—not Logan’s—hard-on presses into my leg. He lets out a breath that’s too close to my ear, and I arch myself into him.
“Cut!”
Gray pushes off me instantly. He’s breathing heavier, and his smirk is gone. At least he can’t pretend to be unbothered. Dave hurries back over.
“It was good, it was good,” he says, hands up, “but—just a little quick, you know? It was hard to feel that growing desire that Quinn and Riley would feel. They would be more tentative still. Try going slower.”
I watch Logan as he leans against the desk again. He stares at me, refusing to look away. I’ve been attracted to him since the moment we met. I didn’t think he would be interested in someone like me, but that heat in his eyes is undeniable. This isn’t just acting. Maybe we’ve both had some pent-up attraction for each other. Maybe that’s why he pushed me away. I could be overanalyzing, but it’s possible, isn’t it?
Lines again, before he walks over to me. He seems more unsure of himself. This might be closer to the real Logan. He lets out a breath, then leans into me—hesitates, continues. My eyes are still open when he kisses me. I close them as I return the kiss. Slow, like Dave asked, and—I don’t know, it feels better, too. One of those soft kneading kisses, a rhythm back and forth. Logan pulls away, and my hand—I didn’t even notice it, but I’ve already begun to pull at his shirt. He tugs the tee over his head and lets it fall to the ground.
I have a moment to take him in. I remember the photos I’d seen of Logan once, back in the days when he was in and out of rehab. He’d been so thin, so it’s nice to see he has some more weight on him. I touch his stomach, which clenches, as if my fingers are cold. I bite my lip, then lean up to kiss him again.
I pull him backward onto the bed. He’s on top of me again. I want to roll over, to straddle his waist, but this is the position we’d decided on, and I can’t change it now. He kisses me again, taking his time from my lips to my neck and my collarbone. He pulls up my shirt and I let him take it off. His kisses continue down, over my chest and stomach and to my jeans. He looks up at me from between my legs and kisses the inside of my thigh. He can probably feel my hard-on against his cheek.
“Is this all right?” he asks me. His voice is so much deeper, almost hoarse.
I nod, letting out a shaky breath. He begins to unbutton my jeans.
The scene ends. “Cut!”
He pushes away and I sit up. Neither of us can look at the other as I tug my shirt back on. Makeup and hair return to the scene, powdering my face and fiddling with the strands of my hair—they probably got messed up from being on the pillow. Dave’s back, and I hear his voice distantly. I try to snap out of it, to come back to reality.
“That was great,” he’s telling us. “It felt more intense. You can try playing around in the next few takes with levels of emotion. Sounds good?”
I chance a look at Logan. He looks at me, too.
“Can I have a break?” I ask.
Dave blinks, then nods. “Yeah, sure.”
I get up from the bed and walk off set, away from the blinding lights and watching eyes.
Video begins:
A reporter, recording on a phone, hurries toward Matthew Cole, who’s wearing an expensive suit and followed by an entourage as he leaves the Winchester hotel and approaches a black car where Logan Gray waits in the back. There’s already a gaggle of paparazzi snapping photos of Logan. The reporter tries to push through the five, six men that are waiting.
“Mattie! Mattie!” the reporter calls. “Why are you dating Logan Gray? Everyone wants to know!” The reporter doesn’t seem to care that Logan is close enough to hear. “Why would you date someone who spoke so badly about you just a few months ago?”
Matt has been ignoring the paparazzi, but this particular question makes him pause. “I really misjudged him, I think. Logan has told me that he misjudged me, too. We should’ve given each other a chance.”
The reporter seems excited to have caught Mattie’s attention. “Why Logan, though? Isn’t there anyone else you could date? You’re an attractive guy.”
Logan glances over in the background. Matt hesitates. “Logan—well, there’s something special about him.” He seems to blush. “Besides the fact that he’s really attractive. I think there’s more to him than meets the eye. Maybe everyone should be willing to give him more of a chance, too. Sorry—sorry, excuse me, I’m going to be late.”
He gets into the car.
Video ends.
Logan
The silence in the car, as we’re driven away from the hotel, is awkward as fuck.
I’m usually okay with silence. I thrive in silence. But Matt won’t even look at me—not sure if he can—and I’m having a hard time looking at him myself. He’s been pissed off at me for the past week. I mean, yeah—I get it if he didn’t like the way I left things in his hotel room, but I was just being honest, right? And protecting both of us, too. It won’t end well if we get sucked into this lie. Someone’s feelings are going to get hurt.
His anger might’ve been bearable on its own, but then we had to spend hours on top of each other yesterday, kissing each other, grinding against each other, feeling just how turned on we both were, and—fuck, I have to admit I’m attracted to him. I hate that I am. I hate that I’m starting to get hard again just by breathing the same air as him, remembering his soft-as-fuck hands all over me. If we didn’t have this red-carpet event tonight, I’d probably have ended up in a bar or club somewhere, just to have a quickie in a stall and get some of this out of my system. And then someone would’ve snapped a photo, and it would’ve leaked that I’m cheating on Mattie, and then I would’ve ruined the entire fucking movie and thrown myself back onto Hollywood’s blacklist again. Shit.
He hears my sigh and glances over. Matt seems uncomfortable in his blue suit, sitting on the black leather seats stiffly, like he’s afraid to wrinkle his clothes. I have to admit, the stylists did a good job on him. He’s got the floppy-hair heartthrob thing going on. There’s a beat when he looks like he’s going to say something, then thinks better of it and looks away again, out of the window and at the passing lights of the city.
Fuck it. I can’t take the tension. “You meant what you said back there?”
“What?”
“About misjudging me. Giving me more of a chance.” Maybe he was just acting. Maybe he was serious, and he really meant it, even after I treated him like crap.
“Would you care if I did?”
Good question. I don’t bother trying to answer it. It was a weird thing to ask him anyway. I guess I’m on edge, too. It doesn’t help that we’ve been in prep for this red-carpet event for the past couple of days. Basically just drinking water, barely eating any food for a fatphobic industry, and then hours with the stylists today…