AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“He’s a really good guy, though. Quiet but kind. Tuck says he doesn’t know him well but says he’s always known Cohen to be good, but very private.” The timer ticks and I chew the inside of my cheek, thinking about her words.
He is private. Even Tuck, the number one star here who’s friendly with everyone, doesn’t know Cohen well.
Yet Cohen gave me a ride. He came to my house. He checked on me.
“Is there a reason you were asking about Cohen?” she questions as the egg timer dings. She runs a finger along the seal, popping the dried compound free from my body. Slowly, she shimmies it free.
I asked Tuck before this, but I use it anyway. “He gave me a ride home the other night when I had a migraine. He was very polite. A gentleman.”
She smiles at me as she slips the completed mold into a bag. “Entirely unsurprising. He’s got total Sandor Clegane energy.” Her head tips to the side, then enlightening me, “He’s a loyal tough guy from Game of Thrones. Like a knight.”
I shrug with nonchalance, but my stomach twists uncomfortably. I don’t like acting off set, and more than that, why am I having to act? Eye contact and a ride does not make a romance.
And anyway, romances include penetrative sex. And I can’t do that.
I wipe up as Vienna cleans her work space, telling me all about the castings she did for Tucker, and how many times they failed before they got it just right. I force my mind back to Vienna.
The final scenes with Maxi went well, and I enjoyed myself. No orgasm, but I had a good time and more importantly, I felt safe the entire evening. And I realized after the scene, as the crew chatted around the set and all of them kept respectful eye contact, this studio is healing me.
Crave is curing what Jizzabelle took, Maxi and the women are returning to me the things the men at Jizzabelle stole, and I’m repairing the erosion inside me.
And knowing that not all hope is lost makes me… happy.
I wave goodbye across the building to Lance, who barely nods, and push open the heavy door into the new moonlight. It’s only eight, but still, the sky holds gray clouds pregnant with a storm, and the street light flickers, leaving me in a purple dusk.
I’m pulling my car door open when I hear my name. Myrealname. Soft and slow, but the rocky timbre flushes my cheeks. Tingles give way to bumps rising up on my neck as I turn to see Cohen.
“Y-Yeah?” I reply, tossing my purse onto the passenger seat, stuffing my hands in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie.
“Are you safe?” he asks.
I don’t presume to play dumb. He heard my phone ringing off the hook. Pete no doubt said horrendous things when Cohen answered. And he saw my apartment, barren and lifeless. We both know he’s asking because I do come off like the victim in a crime show podcast. Seriously.
I smile. “Yeah, Cohen. I’m okay.” I like saying his name, much more than I should. I hold my smile in place until he dips his head, turns around, and disappears around the corner. A moment later, headlights shine in the distance, and I know he’s in his car now, too. I get inside of mine and start it, sitting a minute to let the windshield defrost.
I wish he wasn’t so nice. Because all that kindness slides into all the deep crevices in my heart, and I have no business catching feelings. I’m in no place.
My phone rings in my bag, and I peer down at it, two ugly letters staring up at me. A heavy sigh leaves me, and I drive to my empty apartment.
eight
cohen
I forgot about myself. I’d only thought of her.
“Hey Mister,” the little boy’s voice prods at me as I clutch the bullnose edge of the pool, gasping for breath, choking for a lungful of life.
That one was close. The closest I think I’ve ever come. I almost blacked out under the surface today. And for the first time in a long time, I wasgratefulto surface. Eager to suck in chlorinated, heated gym air.
With one arm still draped on the edge of the pool, I turn halfway to blink at the little boy treading water just a few feet from me.
“Yeah?” I breathe, my chest still pumping steadily as I struggle to normalize my breathing. I blink one eye as a chlorinated drop rolls over my lid.
“Why do you do that?” He swims for a minute before grabbing the wall next to me, settling in for early morning conversation. I glance around the underground pool area, looking for this kid’s father.
“He’s working out,” the kid offers, noticing.
I smooth a hand through my hair, sending rivulets of water everywhere. “And you’re allowed to swim alone, huh?” I wouldn’t let my child—as if I have a right to judge. I clap a hand against the surface. “Nevermind.”
