My orgasm comes out of nowhere. Somehow I manage to grab the box of tissues from the desk and catch most of my cum. I stare down at the soggy tissues and my splattered fingers. Heat floods my cheeks. I suppose it’s more excusable than when I was a teenager. At least this time it’s actually a story about me and someone I inexplicably have the hots for. A very detailed, very explicit story. By someone with a truly filthy imagination. Surely, anyone would find that exciting?
I sigh in resignation. It’s not as if I can ever ask someone if my behavior is perfectly normal, or if it makes me a sex-crazed beast. As well as being a unique situation to be in, because how many people get fanfic written about them and their crush? It’s not something I want to share with anyone, not even my therapist.
I huff. Especially not her. At my extra appointment with her where I spilled all my panic about my feelings for Mackenzie, she just smiled and invited me to consider if sexual thoughts about a good-looking adult were completely normal. Then at my insistence at being straight, she had talked about the Kinsey scale and how few people are truly exclusively heterosexual.
I doubt she’d be so open-minded about this. Part of me would be proud to prove her earlier assertions wrong. Most of me doesn’t want to see her looking at me in horror.
If I’m a sex fiend, then so be it. It’s not like I can change who I am. With that thought in mind, I head for bed.
Chapter six
ThePelatroninstructorisfrighteningly enthusiastic. Her manic energy beams through the screen. I cycle along on the exercise bike and keep up with her, but my mind is fixated on wondering what combination of caffeine and insanity is driving her. It’s strangely compelling to watch.
“Babe!” exclaims Liliah as she runs into our home gym.
Her face is glowing with excitement. I feel strangely guilty turning the tablet off. It feels like walking out of the instructor’s class, but I don’t think Pelatron lets the instructors see when people leave. I hope not anyway.
I stay sitting on the exercise bike as I face Liliah and wait for her to tell me her news. My gaze flicks down to her hand and I see she is holding my phone. I always leave it charging on the kitchen counter when I’m working out. Too many distractions otherwise.
“Your show has been renewed!” she squeals.
She accepts my enthusiastic bear hug, even though I’m all sweaty from working out. I pick her up and spin her around and she shrieks in delight. I put her down and she rushes off to go tell her friends. It’s good news for her career too. The more popular I am, the more exposure she gets.
A second season is fantastic news. It’s everything I have been hoping for. I’ve been auditioning for other things but haven’t heard back yet. My career needs this, not just the money, it’s staying relevant that is the most exciting part.
Being back with the crew is also going to be fantastic. They are a great bunch. Alice is wicked funny, and the director is a dream to work with. I try not to think about Mackenzie but fail. I can’t keep him out of my thoughts at the best of times, so it’s hardly surprising.
As thoughts of filming with him again flood my mind, reality settles over me like a shroud. The truth is hard to deny. The thing I’m most excited about is working with Mackenzie again. It far outshines all else. To the extent that I know I would do it for free.
I take a deep breath. It’s all good. He is Mackenzie Jones, I’d be an idiot not to be thrilled to work with him again. Especially now I know the level of performance he can pull out of me.
We are not at school, I’m a grown man. I’m perfectly capable of being around someone I have a crush on without falling apart. He will never know. No one will ever know. What kind of actor would I be if I couldn’t hide it?
A new thought takes over my mind. I need to phone him to discuss the good news. I need to hear his honeyed voice dripping over my soul. Except I don’t have his number. He has never given it to me. The insult stings but I’m undeterred. It’s almost like I have been waiting for an excuse to talk to him.
I call my agent and then one of the producers. I also call the director. We chat, congratulate each other and discuss a few details. I ask each of them for Mackenzie’s number, claiming that I lost it when I upgraded my phone. Nobody will give it to me. They might be telling the truth, and they simply don’t have it either, but I’m getting super pissed off. Imagining all sorts of conspiracies where he has ordered everyone to keep his phone number from me.
As I end the last call, I’m grabbing my car keys. I might not have his phone number, but I know where the little shit lives. When I first moved to LA, I did one of the cheesy tourist trips where they drive you around the hills in a minibus and show you the homes of the rich and famous. I have a vivid memory of standing outside the Jones Mansion and wondering if Mackenzie, Miranda and Tennessee were in.
One day that minibus is going to stop outside my home. In the meantime I’m taking advantage of my photogenic memory and visiting my co-star. The one and only Mackenzie Jones.
It takes me a while to get there. I’m nowhere near successful enough to live anywhere near his neighborhood, yet. I drive up to his gate in my red convertible, press the buzzer and grin into the security camera. The roof is down on my car, so I know he can see me clearly. I can’t see inside his property at all. It’s like a fortress. Surrounded by a white wall. The gates alone are at least fifteen feet tall and solid wood.
“Yes?” asks a crackling voice with a Spanish accent. I feel stupid for thinking he would answer his door himself. I’m a fucking idiot, but I don’t let my grin falter.
“Hi! Kit Rivers here to see Mackenzie.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, just popping by.”
I’m starting to realize how stupid this is. He probably isn’t even home. He was filming an action movie in the Caribbean not long ago. He is a busy man.
Icy dread suddenly fills my stomach. What if he doesn’t say yes to season two? What if he accepts bigger and better offers? His star is definitely setting while mine is on the rise, but he is still leagues above me. He doesn’t need our show.
I sit there like a dumbass, while the Jones’s staff decide if I’m good enough to be let in. The sounds of a megaphone drift over to me. It’s one of those walking tours of the stars’ homes. Great, they will get pictures of me in my convertible outside Mackenzie Jones’s house. It certainly makes me look good. As long as I’m not left stranded out here. Turning around and driving away with an audience for my rejection will be mortifying.
The gate suddenly buzzes and slides open. I’m far more relieved than I want to admit. Even though I have a niggling suspicion that I’ve only been let in so the tourists don’t see me. Hurried away before I embarrass the great Mackenzie Jones by sullying him with my presence.
