He holds my head in his hands and kisses me, his lips warm and soft against mine. I sag against him, a soft moan rising from my throat.
“You didn’t need to do all this,” I murmur against his mouth, when his lips release mine.
“I want to show you, Jane.” He presses soft kisses across my eyes, atop each closed lid, my nose, my cheeks, his lips smiling against my skin. “I want to you know I have no doubts.”
“But this…”
“This is the gift you always wanted, remember? The one thing that will ruin you for all other men.”
I nod, a smile spreading across my lips, bright and brilliant and larger than any smile I’ve ever given anyone before. “It is. It’s exactly…I just can’t believe you did all this.”
“I want to do everything for you, Jane. Anything.” His arms are tighter around me, squeezing me as he lifts me off my feet, twirling us around and I laugh, my arms holding onto his neck.
“We don’t have to live here, if you don’t want-”
“You still don’t have any furniture,” I laugh again.
He kisses me hard, his mouth urgent against mine and I reach for the hem of his shirt. “Buy some. Or not. We can live in your house, and just come here to read. Fuck it, fill the whole house with books if you want. I don’t care. I just want you.”
I jerk the shirt out of the waist of his jeans. “I like this house, but it needs some tables and chairs…”
He’s kissing the side of my neck, unbuttoning my shirt and I melt into him.
“Buy all the tables. All the chairs. I don’t care. As long as I have you.”
“A bed-” I barely get the word out before he swallows it, mouth on mine again, pulling me to the floor.
We tear at each other’s clothes, fumbling with the condom wrapper in his pocket and, when he slides into me and I ache with having missed him so, he stills, holding my face in his hands, eyes locked on mine.
“I love you, Jane,” he says it slowly, deeply, each word punctuated by a thrust of his hips.
I gasp against him, writhing beneath him.
“I love you, Jane,” he repeats, faster this time, moving above me, inside of me, as I arch against him. He reaches a hand between us and soon I’m saying it too, crying out his name, begging for him to continue, crashing against me, words of love on my lips as he repeats them against my mouth.
Later, we lie on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms, clothing in tatters at our feet, and gaze at the shimmering chandelier above us. His chest rumbles beneath me. I lift my head, and peer down at his face.
He grins, eyes closed, and pulls me tight.
“We don’t really need a bed,” he whispers, holding me against him.
Epilogue
It’s not the first time Angelo has been to the East Coast, but it’s one of the few times he’s been up north. He looks at the Porsche in David’s driveway, irritated that the rental agency didn’t have the Mercedes Benz he had told his assistant to arrange for him. The coffee is hot in the cup and he’s leaning against the counter because David Jacobs, world famous actor and number one client, hasn’t bothered to buy any furniture
Angelo takes a sip and sets the mug down. It’s an ugly thing, the shape twisted into odd angles so you can’t even fill it all the way. The pottery looks like it’s made with sparkles and he wonders if any of this clay-glitter may have gotten into his drink.
“Did you want something to eat?” Jane, the woman for whom David left everything, enters the kitchen.
She’s pretty, certainly. Brown hair in waves, deep chocolate eyes, and a soft, full body that would catch any man’s attention. So unlike what he’s used to in Hollywood.
Friendly too. Meeting him downtown when he called David, lost in the woods on the way to town.
And smart, obviously. An actual professor. Publishes books and everything.
And welcoming. No judgements or pressure. No assumptions about agents or Hollywood.
Angelo shakes his head, taking another sip from the hideous glitter mug.
David enters the room, unshaven and shaggy-haired. Angelo makes a mental note to convince him to get a haircut. His friend smiles at him, those movie star good looks, but there’s something different now. Angelo can’t put his finger on it, but there is a definite change. He sees it when he watches the two of them together. When David peers down at Jane, the softness in his face, the light behind his eyes. He sees it when she smiles at him, passing him a paper, or mentioning that he’s working on a screenplay and she knows it’s brilliant. A screenplay about love, for Christ’s sake. Angelo wonders how he’s ever going to see that.
But whatever the change is, Angelo sees it. He even sees it when Jane bends over to pick something up and David’s eyes wander across her ass, a combination of lust and love and heat and hope passing over his face.
His friend has it bad.
Angelo takes another sip, shaking his head. He can’t relate to these feelings, can’t understand any of them. His job, as David’s agent and David’s friend, is to help him with his career. To guide him through his choices as an actor and, if he does indeed feel like changing things up, a writer or a director.
“Alright, fellas,” Jane smiles, those brown eyes twinkling and, for just a moment, Angelo can understand why David made the choice he did. “I’m off to campus, but I’ll be back by five.” She winks at Angelo. He mutters goodbye, but watches with morbid fascination as she presses a hand lightly to David’s chest. He catches it, bringing it to his lips and kisses her fingertips. He leans down, whispering something in her ear that creates a similar look of heat and longing in
