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Alcohol was tearing down his walls.
It was disastrous. Or bound to be.
Because he’d gone and done the one thing he thought was impossible.
He was more than halfway in love with her, and now he didn’t have the slightest clue what to do about it.
Shit.
He’d known what spending this week with her would do. They’d been dancing around it, speaking double for days.
Maybe Hayley was right… maybe it was time to stop running and let himself feel it for a change.
“Don’t fuck it up,” he said to himself.
“Listen to this review I just found,” Hayley said as he returned. “Kyle’s script of a woman who spends her time lost —”
Harrison advanced on her.
Hayley jumped back, still reading from her phone’s screen. “— in imagination offers an intriguing commentary on mental health and growing up.”
He stalked after her, around the armchair, then the coffee table, always a step behind as she continued.
“A soul-searching tale about generational trauma and the way emotional neglect affects and informs our identities.”
Harrison reached for the phone, but she was too quick, her giggles following her as she went on.
“Her obsession with escape has kept her from knowing herself truly, even while she explores the very depths of her own fantasies.”
He tried again. She ducked under his arm and jumped over the couch.
“By the time she confronts her parents, she’s undergone a journey, becoming a more balanced, if less interesting, individual, but one who finally feels in control of her own destiny.” She lowered her phone. “Sounds impressive.”
He came to stand in front of her, the barest inch of space left between them. “And yet you still beat me out for best original screenplay.”
“You have to admit, that was a pretty good night.”
He traced the line of her jaw. “It was.”
When her breath hitched, he leaned in, needing to take her lips with his.
“And you’ve been busy since then,” she said, pulling away before he made contact and refilling her wine. She frowned when the bottle was empty. “Travel, work. Dating… I assume.”
She was a terrible actress. It was adorable.
“I don’t make time for a lot of things. Dating especially. It’s never seemed important, and anytime I’ve tried, it hasn’t worked out well. It’s nothing like the movies.”
“It rarely is,” Hayley agreed.
“I’d be lying if I said I’d never felt it. That,” he waved a hand, purely to avoid saying the word, then realized he was gesturing between them and stopped. That kind of honesty required at least another glass of wine. Probably a bottle. Then some whiskey. “Magic,” he said. “So I know it’s not all a lie.”
“How magnanimous of you. Have you thought about writing greeting cards?” Her eyes sparkled in the low light, and desire stirred hot in his gut.
“Funny you say that, actually…”
“Let me guess, you wanted to write an award-winning novel, and when that didn’t work out, you started slumming it in screenwriting.”
“Wow. Tell me what you really think of me.”
