Heartbeats

Chapter 9

Him...

I made a broad spectacle out of seducing her back in the day. She was young, naive, and what she lacked in confidence, she made up for in gumption. Even at the very first table read, the fire in her eyes set me ablaze.

"I'm not here to get involved with my co-stars." She blew me off immediately when I approached her the first time to formally introduce myself, shouldering past me like I was the paparazzi.

"It's going to be an awfully boring next few years, if that's the case. I didn't ask to hop in your bed. I just asked if you wanted to go for coffee."

At that, she stopped and smiled, and in that moment, my burning lust dissolved into something more like admiration. She wasn't like other girls. This wasn't a game of cat and mouse. She made her point and I challenged it. Instead of digging her heals in, she decided to make a new friend.

My respect for her only grew as our friendship deepened and we became more comfortable around one another. We'd stay up into the wee hours of the morning mulling over our scripts together like lexiomaniacs, only to ignite in a prank war on set the very next day, taking advantage of each other's sleep-deprived haze.

Somewhere in the exhilaration of it all, I fell in love with her and I wasn't even trying.

~*~

The first (and the second and the third) time we kissed, it was for the camera, under the blinding lights and careful scrutiny of an entire crew of people who's entire livelihood depended on our performance. Even then, with insurmountable pressure to keep it professional, mechanical, I found myself drawn in like an addict.

I find her in her dressing room after the final cut because I genuinely don't know what else to do with myself. "Hey," she offers, and I can tell by the way her breath hitches that she can feel it too.

"Hey," I smile her way before averting my gaze, suddenly a ball of nervous energy. I don't know what to say to her. "I'm thinking about breaking up with my girlfriend." Why that particular piece of information comes to mind, I don't know, but I go with it, thankful that it comes out more nonchalant and suave than feels.

"Oh?" She turns from her perch at the mirror where she's carefully removing stage makeup to look me up and down. I'm walking closer to her before I can stop myself.

Her hair is partially pinned on top of her head in some intricate style from the 19th century, and it's more than a little disheveled from our heated makeout session. As she starts pulling pins out, I move to help her. "You don't have to do that..." She wonders aloud, as I pull the first pin, but when our eyes meet in the mirror, I know she's only being polite.

"Eh, you know what they say... you break, you buy." She lets out a lighthearted giggle and I subconsciously make note to do everything in my power to make it happen again.

We work together silently until the last of the pins are free from her hair and it flows freely around her shoulders. I run my fingers through it one last time for good measure, checking to make sure no stray clips remain. When my fingers reach her scalp, she relaxes against me, her eyes fluttering closed as I pull her back into my arms.

Before I can convince myself it's a bad idea, my lips fall on the exposed column of her neck, kissing her absentmindedly as my hands continue their wandering. I am a man possessed, consumed by her. The little noises she makes only add fuel to the fire.

Our fourth kiss is real, and it's entirely different than all the ones before. I had thought kissing her on set was the epitome of perfection, but when she turns in my arms and launches herself at my lips, I realize I was entirely mistaken. I've been with many women in my lifetime, women who kiss with their lips and their bodies, their minds and their hearts, but her kiss is different. Even then, when she owes me nothing but skepticism and incredulity, her kiss is honest and open, a window to her very soul.

Her...

When I fell for him, I fell hopelessly. It was pathetic, embarrassing even. Everyone on set knew that I wasn't interested in dating my co-stars, and here he was making an Olympic sport out of making me blush as often as possible.

For a while, it only strengthens my resolve and I find myself determined to resist. He's using you like all the other girls, I tell myself often. He likes the challenge and the chase. As soon as he wins you over, he won't be interested anymore.

But my gut tells me none of those things are true. And the tiniest of moments affirm it. The way he calls me when he's up late thinking about something. The way he defends me to the tabloids. The way his hand brushes mine when we're walking side by side.

He's seeing someone casually until I haul off and kiss him one day in my dressing room because I physically can't contain myself anymore, the tantalizing balance of banter and adoration finally enough to make me spiral out of control.

From that point forward, something changes in both of us, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is for the longest time.

We're at a watch party for the season one finale when he pulls me toward him at the bar. I tense before relaxing against him, realizing we can use the alcohol as an excuse to get a little loose and handsy. We're together but no one knows yet, and that fact alone is more intoxicating than the strongest liquor.

"What are you thinking about?" He breathes against the shell of my ear, and we spend the rest of the night torturing each other with hushed whispers and hidden touches, falling out the door together and catching a cab back to his place once the party dies down.

He makes love to me for the first time (and the second and the third) the next morning once we've sobered up enough to commit each sensation to memory. It's slow and sweet, languid and strikingly erotic, a static spark arching between our bodies for days on end afterward.

Ten years later, as I lie curled against him at our apartment in Atlanta, that thing that changed in both of us becomes clear as day. It's a fierce devotion, a stubborn fire that lingers long after it's served its purpose, the kind of flame that flickers but never dies.