I dig my fingernails into my palm. Hard.
Shit, that hurts.
The pain is good.
The pain means I’m feeling.
Feeling is what we all fear, especially me, and the pain reminds me that on the other side of that fear is nothing I can’t handle. I can survive this. I’ve survived so far.
I think back to Step Nine on the ride back to the hotel.
Make direct amends to the people we’ve harmed.
I can’t make direct amends to Elle for my fuckups back then, but I sure as hell can make amends for today. Even if she won’t take it, she deserves an overture from me.
I pull up her details on WhatsApp. We exchanged numbers after that first table read, though she made a very big point of dragging her feet. I sigh and punch out a message.
Hey. I was a total douche today, bringing up our past. I guess I was getting into the mood of playing Dom in full asshole mode, and I took it too far. My timing sucked. Not cool. I’m sorry.
She types back almost immediately, and I suck in a breath as I wait for her reply.
It’s ok
I’m pretty sure that’s the equivalent ofI’m fine.
It’s really not tho
You’re right. It’s not. You’re an arsehole. I don’t think you need much help getting into character
Fair. U ok tho? U survived kissing me?
Because I barely survived kissing her. Fuck knows what it’ll be like when she’s mostly naked and writhing underneath me. On camera, I mean.
Obviously.
I’m fine. Clearly your sexuality is not as lethal as you’d like to think it is.
Ha. Baby, the only one with lethal sexuality is you. A few on-screen kisses and you slay me. Fuck, that feeling of sliding my tongue into her mouth. Tasting her again. Drinking her in. I felt like someone was gonna pull me off of her, or she was gonna slap me around the face, but no.
This job is a gift sometimes.
Me (deciding not to mention her lethal sexuality):
LMAO. Hey, wanna run lines in the morning?
I freeze as the ticks turn blue, and I wait to see her typing. Nothing. Have I overstepped? Maybe I shouldn’t be so impatient. I played nice and apologised. I should have left it there, not pushed her.
She’s typing.
I’m free now actually
Oh my God. Oh my God. I cannot be in her room with her. It’s a bad fucking idea, no matter how bad I want to lower myself into a chair and feast on her creamy skin with all thatmakeup scrubbed off her, and her pale blonde hair, and her yoga pants or whatever she wears when she’s off set.
Amazingly, because I have no sense of self preservation, I don’t go with ano.
Cool. On my way back from Watford. Give me 30mins?
Watford? WTF?
