Then
If I useda paper calendar, today’s date would be dogeared, highlighted, and circled in bright red ink, with each day that came before it crossed out with thick magic marker. While I’d never admit it, I’d been looking forward to this day like a kid counting down to Christmas.
Today we were filming the scene where Melody and Holden lose their blushing teenage virginity. That’s right: We’d finally reached the notorious love scene, the one Ryder and I first discussed weeks ago over lobster rolls at the Seafood Shanty. We’d met with the intimacy coordinator, both separately and together, so I had a pretty good sense of how the scene was supposed to play out. That being said, there would almost certainly be some day-of surprises and on-the-fly experimentation.
Though Nate had promised there’d be no nudity, he’d also made it clear that he wanted the scene to be as sensual as possible without jeopardizing our PG-13 rating. Translation: We’d film more than we needed—and get a little more explicit—thanwhat would end up in the final cut. Because the scene marked such a significant turning point in our characters’ relationship, Ryder and I were both on board with Nate’s direction and had decided to go for it as much as possible, restraint—and inhibitions—be damned. Still, simulating sex on camera—especially with a man I had real, rapidly intensifying feelings for—had me wound up tighter than a mattress spring.
Like an action sequence, there was choreography to a love scene, and we’d rehearsed the basic steps. Seeking refuge from the rain, Holden and Melody would take shelter inside an abandoned barn. Once he found her a blanket to dry off, the two would begin passionately kissing, which would grow more urgent until they began undressing each other, falling into a makeshift bed of hay, and finally, consummating their relationship.
To preserve the barest scrap of our privacy, Ryder and I would be wearing “modesty garments,” which for me meant a flesh-colored thong and nipple covers, and for Ryder, a padded athletic cup meant to serve as a protective barrier during any, er,thrusting. I wish I could say I handled this conversation with poise and professionalism, but I caught a serious case of the church giggles when Helena, our perpetually unfazed intimacy coordinator, presented Ryder with the glorified banana hammock meant to “cushion his bits and bobs.”
But it’s what Ryder and I discussed last night in a tipsy late-night brainstorm (or “before-play,” as Jase had jokingly coined it), that had my stomach tied in knots.
We were talking through the next day’s plan over a couple glasses of wine at Ryder’s kitchen table, and while he seemedto be fixated on the mechanics of it all, I was more concerned (read: panicked) that my burgeoning feelings for him, which I’d somehow managed to keep at a low simmer, were about to boil over.
“How awkward is it going to be to have Victor and Gene standing two feet away while we make out?” I fretted, referring to our cameraman and sound engineer. “And what if we make gross slurping noises that are really loud? Ihatethat in movies. Or what if I have bad breath, but you’re too nice to tell me? Gah, I don’t know what I was thinking agreeing to this. Ryder, mydad’sgonna see this.” I rattled off my laundry list of anxieties, covering everything except therealreason I was so nervous:Knowing we’d be nude and dry-humping in a matter of hours was making me short-circuit.
“You’reworried? I’m the one who has to hold it together while a beautiful naked woman grinds all over me. At least you don’t have to worry about your body parts betraying you.”
My cheeks went chili-pepper red, my brain snagging on the wordbeautiful.
“But that’s not even what I’m most concerned about,” he confessed, shifting in his seat. “To be honest, I’m worried about getting carried away.”
My heart skipped out of sync. “What do you mean, carried away?”
He studied me for a moment, considering, before sliding his wineglass to the side and leaning in, his brandy-soaked gaze locked on mine. “It means, how real do you want this to get?”
Good God. Could he read my thoughts?Adrenaline spikedmy blood, my palms suddenly slick with sweat. It felt like a sauna in here. “I—I want it to feel as real as possible,” I stammered.In more ways than one.
His expression was skeptical. “You sure? Because I’m not sure you can handle the level of ‘real’ I plan on bringing to the table.”
I bristled. “Excuse me? I can do anything you can do. I’m aprofessional,” I said in my prissiest tone.
He smirked, holding up a hand. “Relax, Annie Oakley. You misunderstand me—I’m saying I don’t want to take things so far that it makes you uncomfortable. Why don’t I tell you what I’m thinking, and you tell me if there are lines you don’t want me to cross?”
I managed a nod in answer, mainly because I didn’t trust myself to speak without exposing every thought in my head. So now we had totalkabout having pretend sex before we actually pretended to have sex?What kind of fresh hell is this?
“Groping.” He was watching me closely, and I knew I couldn’t get away with feigning nonchalance. At this point, he knew my facial expressions well enough to call my bluff.
But on this one, I shrugged my shoulders. We were playing teenagers losing their virginity; clumsy fumbling was to be expected. “Fine.”
“Tongue.”
Heat started to lick up my spine. “I assumed.”
A lazy smile unfurled on his lips, his dimple deepening, and I braced myself for whatever he had up his sleeve. “Nuzzling.”
Before I could react, he’d leaned in and pressed his nose to my neck, softly inhaling, before dragging it upward to the baseof my ear. I felt the whisper of his lips on my skin, the sharp nip of teeth on my lobe.
“Biting,” he murmured huskily, and I stopped breathing.
If this was a preview of how things would go tomorrow, I wasnotgonna make it.
I was the one shifting in my seat now as pressure built between my legs, my internal temperature rising by degrees. I knew what he was up to, but after talking such a big game, I couldn’t wave the white flag.Just how far does he plan to take this?
He drew back slightly, his eyes finding mine again, his mouth hitched in a devious smirk.This is payback for the plane, no doubt about it. He moved his hand to cradle my face, and my throat went so dry a tumbleweed blew across it. “Cuddling.”
I’d been quiet too long, but still I didn’t speak, just stared at him as the room started to shrink, the air between us crackling with electricity.Are we still talking about the movie?
