I’m a little surprised the next morning when I head into the dining room for emergency fuel, aka coffee, and find Grayson, Liz, and a woman I don’t know sitting around the table, chatting casually like today isn’t going to be the worst day in the history of the world.
Liz catches my eye as I’m filling up my mug. “Oh good, you’re here. Em, this is Clare. Clare, this is Emmy.”
The woman—white, late twenties, attractive—stands and offers me her hand and a warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Emmy.”
For a second I wonder if she’s my replacement. If she’s been brought in to act as my understudy in case I fuck it all up today. If Liz is preparing for me to fuck it all up today.
“Clare is an intimacy coordinator, and she’s going to be working with you and Grayson for the next two days.” Liz gives me a pointed look, as if she already knew what I was thinking.
“Oh. Great.” And itisgreat. Intimacy coordinator is a relatively new position in the world of movies andtelevision, but a much-needed one, even if the wordintimacypaired with anything slightly touching Grayson fucking West still makes me want to hurl. But I won’t lie; I definitely feel slightly more relaxed knowing Clare is going to be guiding every move we make. I slip into the seat next to Liz and across from Grayson, who I avoid looking at.
Clare wraps both hands around her mug. “We were just covering some of the basics in here, where we can chat comfortably before we head to the set. Have you filmed an intimate scene before, Emmy?”
I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Wonderful!” She turns to Grayson as if she’s sharing the best news she’s ever heard. “So we have two first-timers.”
I peek at him over the rim of my mug. I’m surprised this is his first sex scene, too, but as I think about it, I don’t recall any of his action films ever containing more than a fade-to-black kiss. Not that I’ve seen all his movies or anything. Only one or two. Or ten.
Grayson raises his eyebrows, ever so slightly, as if challenging me to make some kind of snide remark.
Instead, I flash him an overly large, fake smile, like I want nothing more than to share the magical moment of popping our on-screen cherries together.
Clare asks a few more ground-level questions, mostly gathering information about how much we’re willing to show (me: boobs, Grayson: butt), if there’s anything we’re concerned about or hesitant to do (two days wouldn’t be enough time to fully answer that), and if we have any questions (do I really have to do this?).
Then Liz leads us to the room in the inn that will be the set for this travesty, tucked away on the lower level, near the back corner. It’s actually one of the bigger rooms, which is necessary because more than half of the space is taken up by equipment and cameras.
And in the center of the room stands a bed. One single bed. I’ll never look at one of my favorite tropes the same way again.
Liz walks us through some of the technical blocking, showing us specific marks we need to hit. And then Clare takes over.
“Okay.” She clasps her hands together under her chin like this is going to be the highlight of her career. “So for today, clothes stay on. We’re going to take those marks we need to hit from Liz and fill in the blanks. Every move you guys make tomorrow will be precisely choreographed so there are absolutely no surprises. Today is going to be all about the details.”
And that actually relaxes me just a tad. Clothes on. Focus on the details. This part I can do.
Clare guides us to our starting mark, over near the fireplace, which, for today, sits dormant and cold. Like my soul.
I’m seriously rethinking writing another sex scene ever again.
Grayson and I find our places, standing as far away from each other as possible while both staying in the shot.
“Okay, so let’s go ahead and move a little closer.” Clare moves her hands, indicating the small amount of space that should be left between us.
We each take a grudging step forward.
I look anywhere but at him.
And yet I can feel his eyes boring into me.
He takes another step forward, and suddenly I have no choice but to look at him because he’s everywhere. Heat radiates from his body, and his pine-and-charcoal scent envelops me. I stare at his chest, focusing on the closed button right below the peek of his throat.
“Good.” Clare’s voice breaks into my haze. “Now let’s figure out where your hands are going to be. Grayson, why don’t you put one hand on her cheek?”
He hesitates for a half second before he follows her instructions. His hands are surprisingly calloused, a little bit rough on the smooth skin of my cheek, but his touch is gentle. The span of his hand is so large, his fingers wrap around the back of my neck, tangling in my hair.
“And let’s put your other hand on her waist.”
This time there’s no hesitation. Grayson’s other hand settles on my hip, grasping lightly.
