a staggered breath. I almost come—and then, my phone buzzes. Fuck.

It could be the other exec producers.

The verdict on my job.

“I have to take this.” I lean closer to his muscular build, chest to chest, just to wrap my arms around his waist and grab the cell by the keyboard behind him. I’m taller than Oscar, so I can read the text from this position.

As I click into my phone, Oscar keeps moving his hand up and down my dick.

Pick-up shoots updated on the WAC schedule. Check your emails. – Ali

Shit.

“Everything alright?” Oscar asks. He pumps me in two long strokes, and I have to press my mouth to the top of his shoulder to stop a full-body shudder. My fingers slip off my phone and press into the table.

He stops suddenly.

“Keep going,” I groan into his shoulder.

“But what was that?” He’s already rubbing me again. “You look like Bambi died.”

“Just work.” I lay my palm flat on the table, eyes hooked to my phone that lights up with another unread message. “Work again.” Not wanting the distraction, I flip my cell. I have such short windows of time with Oscar when he’s off-duty, and I don’t want texts or online hate to interrupt it.

His hand feels slicker, pre-cum increasing friction and my arousal. “Os.” My voice catches, and I rock into him over and over until I’m almost at a release. He drops down and takes me into his mouth just as I reach my peak.

My breathing heavies for a long minute, and he climbs back to his feet. My head is spinning from the climax and incoming stresses. Two obliterating opposites.

He lifts up the elastic of his boxer-briefs and asks, “What were the texts?”

I pull up my pants, squeezing my cock back into my boxer briefs. “We’re scheduling pick-ups which means we have to reshoot B-roll or make-up for bad footage.”

I explain to him that if production fucks up, we can’t ask Jane to go try on wedding dresses again. We just lose out on the moment.

We’re not on a set. This is real life.

And I add, “More WAC filming means less Charlie filming, and at this point, even if I keep my job, I might not get the chance to finish the actual show. Or it’ll end up being a rushed piece of trash.” I circle around my desk, hunting for that old camcorder I left here last week.

“I’ve seen your work, Highland, it’s not rushed. It’s definitely not trash.” Oscar zips up his pants. “You’re putting too much pressure on this. Be like Elsa and just let it go.”

I catch the Frozen reference and laugh. “Well, Elsa makes that shit look easy.” I search my desk drawers, and I wonder if he’s worried I’ve put too many chips on Charlie. Bet too much on one losing number.

Oscar is gearing me up for the eventual fall. So I’ll land softly.

But he hasn’t realized that he’s been a crash pad for me from the start. In a way, having him helps me take greater risks. Knowing that he’ll be there at the end of it all. That’s the best feeling.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” I tell him. “When I texted, I didn’t know if you’d be free. Is Charlie hanging back at his apartment?”

“No, he’s at a club in the city.”

Confused, I slowly stand up from a drawer. “So shouldn’t you be with him?”

He shrugs. “I got a temp to cover for me.” He says it like it’s nothing, but if it’s not a scheduled paid day off, Oscar doesn’t go off-duty for just anything or anyone. “I figured my boyfriend, who doesn’t text me while he’s at a shoot, probably either wanted my dick or to talk. Either way, I’m here, bro.”

My smile inches up. “Glad to know how I can’t get your ass running to me.” I dig in a filing cabinet. “After Jane’s wedding, I’ll be happy to never have to film another one for a good ten years. Maybe twelve.”

Oscar bends down to grab his T-shirt off the floor. “What about your own? I assume marriage is probably in your ten-year portfolio plan. All lined up with the white picket fence. An apricot tree in the front yard.”

I laugh. Apricot tree.

Found the camcorder.

I set the thing on the desk. “Maybe I should get you to redo my vision board, Os. It’s definitely missing the apricot tree.”

“You dodged that question fast, Highland.”

He asked, What about your own wedding?

I tinker with the camcorder. “I guess I assumed I’d have a wedding. I thought whoever I was with would want one, and I’d do what I could to make them happy.”

“Such a people-pleaser,” Oscar teases, leaning slightly on the desk.

Closer now, my eyes trace the scar above his brow and the curls that touch his lashes. “I like pleasing people. You, mostly,” I say into a smile.

He claps for me. “You’ve done well in that department.”

I take a bow and smile brighter. “Really, if I could avoid having a wedding of my own, I would. I’ve attended so many at this point that it just feels…empty?” I search his eyes, realizing I want his answer to the same question. And I can’t tell where he’s leaning, so I just ask, “Have you dreamed about a wedding?”

Oscar slowly shakes his head. “Who’s got the time?”

I laugh softly. “Don’t I fucking know it.” My brows rise. “Your parents wouldn’t be upset?”

Oscar reattaches a radio on his waistband. “Maybe a little at first. But they have Quinn and Joana, and they know I’m busy as it is. They’d get it.”

I can’t be certain, but I think my parents would be the same way.

Oscar eyes the camcorder in my hands. “You fix that ancient piece of shit yet?”

“Almost.” I slide in a new battery. “I had to buy a couple new—or I guess old—parts on eBay. Plus, this new battery.” I click the power button and the side panel screen lights up with footage.

This…is not what I expected.

Kinney Hale sits anxiously on

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