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Fuck, I shouldn’t feel so goddamned disillusioned with every-fucking-thing when I was about to ask someone to commit themselves to me for the rest of their life. Before I took such a big step, I had to be sure.
I’d had the engagement ring in my possession for more than a month now. I’d done nothing but think about it and I thought I’d come to a decision, but now I was second-guessing myself. Getting cold feet was normal, right? Or was that just with the wedding?
I loved Remi. I had no doubt about that. Sparks flew between us the first time I met her. I knew at that very moment that I wanted to have sex with her, but I didn’t trust her enough yet.
Remi was — and still is — a reporter for Hollywood Exposé. She was tasked with interviewing me when my name got linked to a notorious A-list movie actress. I didn’t give a damn when rumors started flying about me and the actress; it was par for the course in this business, but apparently, the infamous diva was having marital problems with her husband. She took her anger out on me, making things seem very personal between us, even though we’d barely ever spoken a few words to each other.
My agent was gleeful. The very public spat and airing of our tumultuous relationship, which was totally fictitious, only served to catapult my popularity into the stratosphere. The powers that be at Devious wanted to capitalize on that. I was told to do the interview with Hollywood Exposé and to ‘dance around’ any questions about the actress. Neither confirm nor deny an affair. I balked for about five minutes before I caved. The studio always got what it wanted in the end.
Remi didn’t just interview me for the story that one time; she came back several times to meet with me and go over notes. Including me in the creative process, she consulted me about which direction I thought the story should go. Her vision was to craft a story that was more than a fluff piece, to give the fans a glimpse of the real Greyson Durant. She painted a glowing picture of a worthy man that, frankly; I didn’t even see myself.
We talked a lot. We had coffee and shared laughs. I suspected that she was drawing out the process just so she could see me again. And it felt good because I loved being with her. I smiled when I thought about her and missed her when I was alone with my thoughts.
When we met for the last time to brush up on some last-minute details, I asked her out to dinner. She turned me down. She felt it was a gray area, ethically, to date the subject of her interview. But, after the story ran, and she’d cleared it with her boss, she agreed to go out on a date with me.
We had sex that night, and it was as sensational as I suspected it would be. She was sexy as fuck and slightly shy in bed, which was unexpected but refreshing.
We began dating discreetly. Instead of getting mad at the paparazzi that made dating near impossible, we made it a game to sneak around them. She wasn’t looking for attention or fame and I never saw dollar signs dancing in her eyes like I’d seen in so many others before her.
Over the next few months, we got to know each other better. She was a very intelligent and compassionate person and damn good at her job. The article she’d written about me was a hit with the public and had shown me in the most flattering light. Her knack for ferreting out hidden truths and certain qualities and delicately highlighting them was impressive. I’d started reading her older work. There was no doubt what a talented writer and reporter she was. The quality of her work stood out.
She’d confided in me the entire story about her previous job as an investigative reporter, where her digging had unearthed a huge political scandal that ended up getting her blacklisted when she wouldn’t back down. Eventually, the crushing machine of power politics, a full-court intimidation campaign, institutional corruption, and a few death threats ground her career to dust, but she never sold out her integrity. She was knocked down in the worst way but managed to get back up again to start over.
I loved her honesty and integrity. I loved her fun-loving spirit. She made me laugh. She made me feel like a superhero when she looked at me with stars in her eyes. Most of all, I loved how my heart hitched when I sunk into her.
Did I mention that she looked like a sex goddess? She was all lush curves and soft flesh. No matter how many times I told her she was absolutely perfect and not to lose a single pound of weight, I knew she didn’t quite believe me. She’d seen the pictures of the girls I’d been photographed with. My supposed love life was plastered all over entertainment media for the entire world to see. With her job, she’d been front and center to witness it over the years, even before she knew me.
My last relationship, which in reality had only been a brief fling, was with my co-star, Stella. The media couldn’t get enough of us. They kept our relationship going for months and months, long after it had burnt out.
Stella was the beautiful ingenue that the villainous bad boy that I played on Devious had ensnared. The fan base shipped us hard. It was tough not to get caught up in it all when our on-screen emotions blazed like fire.
She wasn’t the first actress I dated. A lot of actresses were enviably gorgeous on the screen, but in real life, they were way too thin for my taste. I could actually count Stella’s ribs, her hip bones jutted out unattractively, and I could hang a rack of clothing from her collarbone. I was legitimately scared that I might break her. She was also years younger than me and immature as fuck.
Remi wasn’t obsessed with her appearance, like most of the women in my occupation. She lived a healthy lifestyle, though not quite as rigorous as mine, of moderation in eating and regular exercise without going overboard. It was refreshing not to hear someone purging the meal I’d just treated them to or obsessively reading every critique or nasty comment about their weight or appearance on social media.
As much as I’d told Remi how much her body turned me on, I think it was finally beginning to sink in now that I’d been able to show her over and over again. I couldn’t get enough of her and that luscious body. My dick was stirring just thinking about it.
Tonight, after she accepted my proposal, I was going to take my time making love to her. My cock thickened in response to the thought. Maybe I’d rip off her clothes and take her on the kitchen counter first. No, I wasn’t going to propose in the kitchen. I’d been thinking in front of the fireplace. Then, we could celebrate with the expensive bottle of champagne that was currently chilling in the refrigerator before I dragged her down to the rug and fucked her to climax with my tongue. Then I’d carry her to my bed for the real celebration.
I was attracted to sexy women like any other guy. I’d had sex with too many of them to even remember all of their names, and I’d had long-term relationships with a few of them, too. But I’d never fallen in love with a woman before Remi.
So, why did I hesitate for even a single heartbeat with this proposal? Because fuck me, I’d fallen in love with men before. Several, in fact.
Was it real love or just lust? Oh, I definitely had severe crushes on men before. Feelings that felt an awful lot like love. The relationships I’d had with men were a lot trickier, mainly because of my profession. The audience that watched Devious didn’t know that I was bisexual, and that’s how the studio wanted it, according to my agent.
Honestly, I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal if anyone found out. No one gave a shit about sexual orientation anymore. It would be a big splashy headline at first because it’d been a secret for so long, but it would fade out of the spotlight fast. Women would still lust after Colton Grimaldi.
My agent, who was seriously old school, was always cautioning me to keep it private, and since I didn’t really date that many men, I was hardly ever seen in public with another man, so it was easy. I told myself that the main reason I kept it under wraps was that my sexuality was not the world’s business. It was my personal life. I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I sure as shit didn’t owe anyone an inside look-see at my sex life.
Remi knew I was bisexual, and she was okay with it. During the interview process, I’d told her that I was in love with someone unattainable and it was a great source of pain for me. I’d bared my soul to her, and she accepted me. All of me.
And I knew Remi. We’d confided in each other and shared our secrets, hopes, and dreams, and I could feel the depth of our bond. We trusted each other. I loved her.
It was just him that wouldn’t get out of my head. The biggest fucking asshole to walk the planet. I didn’t love him. It was pure lust.
It was just dumb fucking hormones.
How could it be love if he never fucking acknowledged me? He couldn’t even be bothered to turn his head in my direction when I was certain he knew I was there. How could it be love if I really didn’t even know him? I only knew what was on the surface. He would never let me in, and he knew next to nothing about me. He didn’t want to.
