Grayson:I’m sure the right person will come along when they’re meant to.
Kaylee:Care to share any details on any of your past relationships?
Grayson:Not really. I like to keep my private life private.
Kaylee:Okay, how about an innocent one then. Tell us about your first kiss!
Grayson:My first kiss was... it was perfect in some ways, messy in others. But I mostly think it was the right person but the wrong time.
Kaylee:Intriguing! Any chance we can find out who the lucky girl is?
Grayson:Not on your life.
Kaylee:It was worth a shot.
Chapter Nine
I roll over in my bed, stretching my arm out to the opposite side, searching for something. Something—someone—should be there, but when my hand grazes the cool, empty sheet, I remember that I’m no longer Isobel. I didn’t actually have sex with a super-hot man the day before. And he certainly didn’t spend the night tucked under the covers with me. In fact, as seems to be Grayson fucking West’s MO, he bolted as far away from me as possible as soon as he was able.
It’s the very definition of a rude awakening.
I reach over to the nightstand, grabbing my phone and turning off the alarm that hasn’t rung yet. Something tells me I won’t be falling back asleep. I flop over onto my back, stretching my limbs as wide as they’ll go until I make a star worthy of the night sky you can actually see out here in the middle of nowhere.
Flashes of moments from the day before play on a loop in my mind like a super-sexy montage—minus the sketchy porn background music. Normally, I’m all about a super-sexy montage, but this one is leaving me with nothing buta dull throbbing behind my eyes—and maybe an equally dull throbbing somewhere in the nether regions, but I can neither confirm nor deny.
I’m honestly not certain what I was expecting from a kiss with Grayson West, but a not-so-small part of me was hoping whatever spark I felt when I was fifteen would have been snuffed out by now. After yesterday, I think it’s safe to say the spark is thriving, mere moments away from setting me and all of my carefully constructed walls aflame.
Luckily, in just a few more weeks, I’ll be safe and back home in LA, sex scenes and cold sheets and irritating costars no longer a part of my daily life. The thought should make me happy; instead, I just find that dull throbbing traveling upward and making itself at home right in my chest.
I tell myself that’s at the thought of leaving the inn, which really has started to feel like home lately. It definitely hasnothingto do with being away from Grayson. I will have no problem leaving him behind. No matter how sparky his kisses might be.
Although, I can’t help but hope that we bridged some sort of gap yesterday. I feel like there must be a sex pun in there somewhere, even if we didn’t physically bridge the actual gap.
For all of filming so far, Grayson’s been stilted and rude and downright horrible. But yesterday he was kind and supportive and professional. We connected, and we let ourselves be vulnerable with each other. He held my hand.
And we also both got turned on as fuck.
I roll back over, burying my face in the pillow. I’ve never been more thankful for my ability to keep my arousaldeftly hidden between my legs. Although I’m sure he had to have known. The whole room had to have known.
Ugh. Whatever. If anyone says anything—which thankfully they won’t because we all had to take sexual harassment training—then I’ll just chalk it all up to my amazing acting skills.
Yes. It was all acting. Even those oh-so-tender unscripted moments that no one could see or hear but us.
I slither my way out of bed and into a very cold shower because even the slightest hints of a callback to yesterday are enough to set my blood singing. I don’t bother doing anything with my hair or my face because I’ve got three hours in the chair ahead of me.
When I push my way into the dining room, I’m happy to find it empty. At least Grayson has returned to his regularly scheduled programming, where he can saunter in for his call time two hours later, the lucky bastard. I’m back to normal wardrobe that covers me up, so I dump extra creamer in my coffee and grab a cinnamon roll for the road. Not only are Linda’s pastries delicious, they’re also excellent conversation deflectors. Every time Amanda or Sam nudge me for details from yesterday, I can shove a bite in my mouth and delay having to answer.
They eventually give up the interrogation, switching the topic to the latest episodes ofReal Housewives, which is a dialogue I’m always happy to partake in.
And speaking of interrogations, I’m still expecting one from Liz. We haven’t talked since we wrapped yesterday. As soon as we were dismissed and it became clear Grayson was putting a marathon’s distance between us, I beelined straight to my room, and she knew well enough toleave me alone. I know today I won’t get off so easily. There will be no getting off today, pun clearly intended.
When I get the all clear from the team, I slowly walk to the door, planning to make my journey from hair, makeup, and wardrobe to the set take as long as humanly possible. Anything to avoid seeing Liz. Double goes for seeing Grayson.
My hand reaches out to wrap around the doorknob, twisting it back and forth a few times before I actually attempt to open it. But as soon as it unlatches, the door flies forward, directly toward my face. I just barely manage to get out of the way before it fully swings out, banging into the wall.
“You are lucky I have lightning-fast reflexes! I don’t think Sam would take too kindly to having to cover up a black eye for the next week.” I aim my words at the culprit while I’m still half crouched on the floor and unable to see who’s responsible for my almost demise, although I’ve got a sinking suspicion.
Grayson grunts, pushing past me without so much as a hello, let alone an apology for nearly maiming me.
