She can play hard to get all she wants.
I will fuck her again.
“I know that,” I smirk.
“Do you?”
“Totally.”
“Good, because I am going to love this job. You know how I know? Everything I’ve read hasn’t bored me. Can’t suck up enough of these interviews, the blog posts, the behind-the-scenes location photos, their mistakes, their lessons, all of it. Have you read this stuff?”
Stretching out on my bed I tell her, “I went to school for this, you know.”
“But you can teach yourself so much online, too!”
“Natalie, I have soaked up everything available. It got me through many nights digging gravel at water reclamation plants for my Uncle Jake. It’s why I’m so gung-ho on doing this without a huge budget. I’m not afraid to work, and I want to get dirty on my own, feel the risk.”
“I like that. Have to admit, I really, really like it.”
“What are you wearing?”
She laughs, “Oh no you don’t.”
“Let me guess…”
“I dare you. But I have a feeling you’re going to say lingerie.”
“Nope. I was going to say, since you’ve had your nose in the Internet, that you’re in sweats and a loose-fitting t-shirt, no bra, and maybe some…fuzzy socks?”
“Mismatched fuzzy socks,” she purrs, teasing me.
“Am I right?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“I’m not?” I laugh, throwing my arm behind my head. “Are you in lingerie?”
She pauses, “Okay, you guessed right. And now I just think you’re stalking me outside of my window.”
“You’re really wearing fuzzy socks?”
“Yes.”
“If I were outside your window would you let me in?”
“No, I would call the cops.”
“Would they join us in bed?”
“You’re mental,” she laughs. After some silence where I wonder if she hung up—that would make it three people who did today—Natalie asks, “What’re you wearing?”
Smiling to myself I use my deepest voice to say unsexy things. “Sweats, a loose fitting t-shirt and no socks. I refuse to go fuzzy.”
“You’re missing out.”
“On your company, yes I am. Because I’m in bed right now.”
More silence before she says, “If we’re going to bring your creative vision to life, we need to stay platonic.”
“Totally agree.”
“Where do you live?”
Sliding my hand under the elastic I reach for my erection, eyes growing heavier as I give her the address. Before we hang up, my producer informs me, “This means nothing, just so we’re clear. This is only because I have pent up excitement that needs to come out.”
“I understand. Where do you live?”
“The Highlands. Twenty minutes with traffic.”
“And there’s always traffic. See you soon, Natalie.”
She hangs up without a goodbye. I pull the phone from my ear and stare at it with my shaking head. “Where are people’s manners?” Amused, I stare at the ceiling, stroking myself until I hear a knock on the door. A man has to have practice not to chafe after that much time. It takes a gentle touch, then a few hard tugs, some teeth gritting and more soft caresses.
Fuck, I love my cock.
Jumping off the bed and adjusting my sweatpants I stroll to the front door, raking my hair back with a smirk. It’s not on purpose, but it has purpose.
Unlocking the deadbolt I lock eyes with the woman who drove all the way over to make me happy. “Hey.”
CHAPTER 8
N ATALIE
“Hey,” I reply, grazing his body with a hungry look. “I see you’re ready for me.”
He chuckles, “Didn’t think you’re a woman who likes to wait,” looking dangerously handsome in a graphic T that has a photo of the rockstar Gabriel Cocker on it.
He opens the door wider on a sparsely decorated loft. It’s a one story building and his neighbors seem to be vacant office spaces.
Strolling in, I glance around his quintessential bachelor pad. Movie posters adorn the walls. On the far left is a nice kitchen and on the middle right is a door I assume that leads to a bathroom, bookshelves built in the wall next to it. Just beyond that is a divider where the end of an unmade bed peeks out.
“Hmmm, these are all old films.” I stop in front of the famous Jaws poster. “A classic.”
Max strolls up to gaze at it, too. “I saw this great documentary about Spielberg when I was a boy. Coppola, Lucas, De Palma, Spielberg, all shooting pool like normal guys but every one of them became successful because they stood by their visions. I sat there listening to their camaraderie, how they goofed around and always hung out together, and how they critiqued each other’s work. I wanted to be there with them, one of them. Haven’t found anybody like that.”
“Not even in film school?” At his questioning look I say, “On the phone you said you went to school for this.”
“Oh yeah. I found a bunch of people who wanted to make money. That’s not what I’m about.”
“You romanticizing the starving artist mentality?”
“No, just want to tell stories through pictures, dialogue, great acting,” he shrugs. “Don’t even need to do the incredible visuals Lucas did—all that stuff we use CGI for now. I want to make films about people. Not flashy, just human relationships. I think we’re interesting enough.” He turns to me, lighting my body on fire with the way his gorgeous green eyes drift down and hold on my breasts. Max gathers me up and smiles. “You know what’s interesting about you?”
“What?”
“You didn’t change clothes.”
I hold his stare. “You think I’d try to impress you when I knew you were wearing sweats, too? I just came here for a quickie.”
“Hate to disappoint you, but I’m going to make this last.” His hands slide down and massage my ass as he captures my mouth in the smoothest kiss.
I drove down 14th street in a hurry. Didn’t want to admit it to myself, nor will I do so now, that my body held the reins as I skidded around slow-moving cars. It’s not often that sex is as good as when Max changed my interview into something far more fun.
I want more of that.
Not a lot more.
Nothing crazy.
Or permanent.
Just…more.
The feeling of his
