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And then his eyes met mine.
He was staring at me like he’d never seen me before.
Tate
Kissing Reed imploded nine years of self-denial.
Granted, we were supposed to be playing our parts. But there was no acting involved, not for me.
Not for him either.
Hard dicks don’t lie.
I finally kissed my best friend. Former. Or maybe not former? I didn’t know anymore.
Whatever the case, I wasn’t playing a character when I touched him.
And our kiss? Fuck me, that kiss.
My skin was torched, my lips tingling from shock and awe.
We kissed like everything else between us—with passion that bordered on aggression. Lust and hate were so closely tied together, I didn’t know which was which anymore.
But I knew that there was no going back from that kiss.
At least, not for me.
For Reed, on the other hand…
After filming wrapped that day, both of us headed back with Jared to the yacht he was staying on. He was hosting a dinner with his friends, his lead bodyguard Alex, his lawyer, Aiden, and our castmate, Dylan. There was privacy here and security on every level of the ship, one bodyguard more scary looking than the next.
Normally I was the troublemaker at social gatherings, but Reed was the one throwing back the alcohol faster than anyone.
And when he started flirting with Alex, things got heated.
Especially when Reed asked Alex if he’d like to go back to his hotel with him. I lost it, Aiden snapped at him, and everything went downhill from there.
Did Reed really want to fuck Alex? Granted, the man was hot, and ripped, and he had that strong, silent thing going on.
But how could Reed act like that kiss we shared meant nothing? Or maybe on his end, it did. Maybe he was a better actor than I gave him credit for?
If so, I felt like a fool.
And it made my anger darken at the slightest provocation.
“Slow down on the booze, Reed, or you’re gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. You don’t want to delay production. Again,” I snapped.
Guests began to get up and leave the table.
“Relax, Tater, I can h-handle my d-drinking,” Reed scoffed, slurring his words.
I shook my head. “You’re making an ass of yourself. Go sober up.”
“Don’t tell me w-what to d-do! And you’re one to talk about s-sobriety.”
“I’ve been clean for a year. Stop throwing that in my face.”
“But it’s better than getting up in your face? Right?” Reed reached for his wine glass, taking another long gulp.
