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I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to be close to Shane Hott, but because I want it a little too much. Last night’s hug was a reminder of just how good it feels to be a) held and b) held by a guy whose body is sculpted for women’s admiration.
I admired.
I admired and tingled for several hours afterward.
Falling asleep required a five-fingered trick to release the tension. I tried not to explicitly fantasize about Shane…
And failed.
“I’m only going to touch your hand,” he says. Kindly, since I’ve been standing here frozen for an indecent amount of time.
It’s not the possibility of touching that has me off-balance. It’s the fact that our faces are inches apart and his breath is brushing my skin. I can smell not just aftershave and deodorant and shampoo and toothpaste but something so essentially him that it must be the scent of his skin. I catch myself drifting closer, leaning in, and pull back to the distance he set us at.
He takes my hand. My breath stutters, and I hope it’s subtler than it sounds.
“You good?” he calls to Nia. “Start filming.”
Shane pulls slowly away from me, his fingers sliding along mine, the friction starting a beat of desire between my legs. And those are just his fingers. Imagine…
No. Don’t imagine!
He breaks contact finally, his hand dropping to his side. “I’ll see you soon,” he says. He starts a slow lope to the curb. Looking back at me once. Twice. Longingly.
“Cut,” he calls as he reaches his car.
“Got it!” Nia says. “It looks good!”
He takes the phone from her, and we watch the video.
If I didn’t know better, I’d totally buy it. We look like we’ve spent an epic night together and now we’re saying goodbye, both so loath to let the other go we can barely stand to let our fingers slip apart.
“We’re good together,” he says offhandedly.
He doesn’t mean it that way. He doesn’t mean it that way.
If I say it enough times, I will definitely believe it.
I’ve acted a lot of romantic scenes. I’m a trained professional. I’m good with a lot of men.
And yet: Shane’s hand around mine did something decidedly unprofessional to my heart rate. As did the way he gazed into my eyes.
He’s a thoroughly believable romantic hero.
I definitely should never watch the spire sex scene.
“You know what we should do?” Nia says, eyes opening wide. “We should totally film your proposal! That would definitely permanently shut down Anthony?—”
“Nia,” I say sharply.
“Oh,” she says, clapping a hand to her mouth and looking from me to Shane. “I assumed?—”
He’s looking at both of us, waiting for an explanation.
“I didn’t tell you this because it didn’t seem relevant,” I admit to him. “But part of why I agreed to do this is because my ex tried to trap me into a PR marriage with him by filming himself doing this whole elaborate proposal to me?—”
“He what?”
Shane Hott, easygoing, chill, loved by all, has disappeared, and in his place is a towering hostile man-god who looks like he would break Anthony over his knee. And I’m not gonna lie, I like it.
