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Excerpt from Starf**ker
You’re not supposedto ever meet your idols. And if you do, you probably shouldn’t want to fuck them. Nina Cordeiro is already down on both counts.
He’s been eyeing her all night. Staring across the room. Watching her over the rim of a barely touched whiskey tumbler. That huge hand cupped around the glass. The same hand that punched a bunch of zombies on the big screen just a few hours ago. The same hand that would look obscene as it took possession of her, cupping her mound and finding her dripping wet. She tries to look away, tries to keep that fantasy off her face, but she’s never been good at hiding what she wants. No matter how wrong. No matter how ill-advised. And what she wants right now is him.
Seth Frasier. The man who’s been occupying her thoughts for the better part of two years while B12 Pictures got this movie off the ground. He’s been gettingheroff in her mind for months.Years, if she’s honest. Seth. Fucking. Frasier. Sullen-mouthed breakout star of a sci-fi show. Indie festival circuit darling. Prior credits a laundry list of henchmen, bodyguards, and other assorted criminals. Does he know or suspect that she wrotetworoles for him? One in her screenplay and the other in her dreams? Probably. No,absolutely.She was only on set a few times as a script supervisor and consultant. Most of her meetings involved her agent, production, the EP, maybe even the DP. The latter of which never fails to make her laugh. But whenever Seth has crossed her path, it’s been like this. Their gazes clashing. Her thighs tingling. Every molecule of hers screamingwhat if?
Nothing about it is subtle. It radiates from the flush of her face and the way her posture changes whenever he walks into a room. Like a high-school freshman making googly eyes at the varsity football quarterback right before they get eaten by a rotting shambler. Three years ago, writingGeneration Zin her yoga pants and baggy t-shirts, she’d had no idea they’d ever be in thesameroom. Or that, if they were, he’d actuallyseeher. Five-foot-two in her highest department store heels, too much hair and not enough cleavage. Her premiere dress is short and sparkly and it itches like a motherfucker. But her legs look miles long and Seth can’t stop watching her any more than she can stop watching him. Little ol’ Nina Cordeiro. Not the clutch of cute blonde influencer girls that the film’s publicist invited. Or Kiara Henry, the movie’s gorgeous and super sweet female lead.Her.
A minute ticks by. Maybe longer. It feels like longer. Enough to make her shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. She starts thinking that she’s got this all wrong—that he might be contemplating a restraining order—when he surprises her by movingtowardher, not away. That determined stride that’s just shy of a full Sorkin. It’s all Seth, though. The same air of single-minded focus he gaveOff Planet’s Major Casey Shepherd and Eli inGeneration Z. He cuts a path through some reporters and influencers, broad shoulders doing the job of gently checking people when needed. And all she can do is stand there. Wait. Finish her wine and put the empty on the tray of a passing waiter. Seth’s walking withintent, and that is so hot. Hot in the movie, hot right now. And in two more strides, he’s there with her. In a niche in the wall made for observing, not participating. Like she’s a Regency wallflower in off-the-rack silver sequins and spandex. Except there’s really not enough room for both of them. He takes up all the space. Blocks out the light. Blocks out everything. Even the too-loud pop music seems to fade to a buzz.
He must have left his drink somewhere, because he fidgets with his fingers for a few seconds, looking for something to occupy them, before his fight-scarred hands go into his suit pockets. “Hey,” he says. Just that.Hey.
As opening salvos go, it’s not great. But Nina needs to remember that this is real life and nobody’s giving him lines.She’snot giving him lines. “Hey,” she replies in kind, giving him her bestI swear I’m not obsessively creeping on yousmile. “Don’t you know nobody talks to the writer at these things?”
“I did not get that internal memo, no. But I feel like I’m getting a message from you loud and clear.” Seth cocks his head—still with his hands in his pockets, which just makes her wish her dress had some. His dark brown hair is longer than he wore it forGeneration Z, probably for whatever he just finished working on. It’s gelled, slicked back, and looks a little sleazy. Enough facial hair to qualify as a matching beard and mustache hugs the lower half of his face. His dark eyes are keen with something that might be suspicion or could be curiosity. He’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen. “What do you want from me, Ms. Nina Cordeiro?”
A week of nonstop sex. Rug burn. Kisses that go on for days. Whips and chains and spankings, if that’s what it takes. Everything and anything he’s willing to give. The list goes on. She presses her thighs together, trying to douse the heat that’s spreading through her before it gets up to her cheeks. “What doyouthink?” she asks him, sounding at least marginally cool and composed to her own ears. A high-school junior, at least. “You’re the one who heard this alleged message.”
“I think you want me to take you to bed.” It’s such an old-fashioned way to put it. But somehow, in that whiskeyed voice of his, it sounds like nothing but raunch. And the dangerous speculation in his eyes only supports that interpretation. “Is that what’s going on here? You coming on to me?”
He’s forty-four, she remembers. Brooklyn through and through. It’s there in his cadence, in how he cuts to the chase. In how he’s not interested in playing a twentysomething’s games. She gives him the same courtesy. She can be just as direct. Almost thirty-six, Indiana born and Chicago raised, lacking in fucks of all sorts. Maybe a little emboldened by a few glasses of Riesling from the open bar and the edible she popped before getting on the L. “So what if I am? Are you going to do something about it?”
“I could take you up on it.” He nods like he’s contemplating it. His body is already on board. Hands out of his suit, knuckles white from the clench of his fists. And his jacket barely conceals the telltale signs of arousal at his groin. The bespoke suit is plaid, striped with brown and beige and maroon. Between that and the hair, he should look like someone’s pervy grandpa at a wedding. But, no, he’s ridiculously, deliciously sexy. And on his way to being ridiculously, deliciously hard. “But how’s that gonna look? Lead of a movie that just premiered going at it with the screenwriter?” he points out. “I can’t just ask you back to my place for a nightcap.” The conversational tone he’s employing shifts suddenly, along with his vocal register. “I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t pick up a pretty young woman with ‘come hither’ eyes,” he growls low. “No matter how much I want to.”
And that leaves them...where, exactly? She cocks her hip and her brow. “I’m not that young; I just have good genes,” she assures, stepping away from the wall. Closer. The proximity’s making her dizzy; her skin’s burning and freezing at the same time. But this is it. Her one shot. And she’s shooting it.
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. My eyes aren’t ‘come hither.’ They’re wide open. I know what I’m doing. And I don’t care what’ll happen tomorrow,” she says with a shrug. Maybe it’s the wine going to her head. Maybe it’s the nonstop zing of attraction racing up her spine, proving that there’s at least one thing shedoescare about. Maybe it’s the fact thatshe wrote a whole goddamn movie and it premiered tonight.But everything she’s saying is one-hundred percent true in this moment. “Nothing outside of this night matters right now,” she tells him. “Life’s too short.” His veneer of respectability, his reputation as a decent guy, even his marriage...none of that is her problem. It’s not her job to let him off the hook after he’s baited it. It’s not her job to justify it to him or to a woman she’s never met and probably will never meet. Does that make her a horrible person? Probably. She’ll worry about that later. “I’m not asking for strings. I have no expectations. You can go back home to your wife after. As long as you ‘take me to bed.’”
She deliberately uses his phrasing, wondering if she should feel pathetic or empowered. Probably a little of both. But she’s not wasting this chance. She’s learned all too well that there’s no telling what the future holds. And that waiting to get what you what, what you need, just results in disappointment. Sometimes all you can do is grab on to now. She can regret it tomorrow or next week or next year. She’ll have all the time in the world to be sorry.
Seth groans, scrubbing his face with his palm. Heshouldbe the good guy. That’s what he’s probably thinking. That he should be noble and walk away from this thing he just started. But his dick is hard under his tailored suit pants, and she knows he wants to take it out for her more than he wants any of thoseshoulds. “You drunk right now?” he asks. “Because I’m not even entertaining this if you’re drunk.”
“Three glasses of wine over two hours. You?” she challenges, because she’s just as capable of taking advantage as he is...probably more likely to, given her sudden burst of horny courage.
“Two bourbons.” And he’s no lightweight. So, he’s in the clear, too. “Fuck,” he whispers.
“Yes. That.” She’s not sure she should say much more while he’s working through whatever he needs to. Plus, she’s so turned on that she can barely concentrate. He could probably get her off with his voice alone. Dirty talking to her while she frantically rubs her clit. It’s wild, this feeling. Wild and irresponsible and completely irresistible. Just one night.Onenight where she gets what she wants. Is that so bad?
“Drop back. Follow me slow.” His voice is like gravel, and it crunches a reassuring layer over her relief. “There’s an office just down the hall. We can talk there.”
They won’t just be talking.
She knows better than that.
And she can’t wait.
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