Am I bothered that they planned to keep it from me? Not when I consider what Brinley’s been through. It’s probably what got her to agree to coming on the show at all.
I only hope she’s convinced enough by now—without the display she was counting on—that I meant what I said.
Apparently, according to Perry’s resource, Brinley and I are to act out the final scene live on the stage of the Emmys. It’s just as I guessed, only knowing what I know now, I wish I hadn’t guessed. It’s probably what made Brinley jump out of her chair and excuse herself from the table.
But more than that, I wish Perry hadnottold me about the plan. Now I have to act surprised about something I already know. And while acting isn’t a terribly tough thing for me, lying is, and that’s essentially what I’ll have to do.
I sigh and play back our busy day. After returning to the studio, we filmed the first three scenes of our screenplay with lunch and dinner in between. She put her makeup skills to work with our battle wounds, and though I’ve seen her in action before, I was blown away by her know-how and talent.
I like the way she gets into the blood and gore side of things. I like the attention she pays to details like the glossy finish along an edge of torn flesh because it has to look wet. I also like the way she taught me how to do it as well, taking time to explain the why behind the how. She’s a great teacher. Patient, of course, but passionate too, which is why she’s so good at it.
To say I was impressed by Brinley’s performance would be an understatement. She blew my socks off. Scene one was a massive zombie battle. Our parts were roughly choreographed so the special effects team can insert the crazed creatures out to eat us. Scene two was the discovery of the bite marks as Libby and Nick treated one another’s wounds. This is where Libby’s suspicion began, something that became evident when Nick suggested, rather smoothly if you ask me, they test out the legend of the Fix. It’s a dramatic end that begs that ominous question:wasNick really bitten by a zompire? And if so, is he already thirsty for Libby’s blood?
By this point, it’s more than implied that the two have underlying feelings for one another. But it’s something neither of them has addressed.
Then comes scene three. The one where Nick chops the wood and Libby toys with the idea of testing the legend. She chickens out, of course, and pisses Nick off in the process, and the scene cuts once more with that looming, unresolved conflict.
Brinley nailed it. I’m still blown away by the depth and life she brought to Libby’s character. I hope she impressed herself too.
I let out a deep sigh and try not to think about the fact that our time here is almost through. I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with her, but for now, I’ll have to settle for what we have.
“Hey, Dawson?” Brinley calls from her spot on the nice, comfy-looking bed.
I yank my head off the pillow so hard I risk a neck sprain. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to…I mean, obviously, we’ll keep to our own sides and everything, but would you like to come sleep on the bed?”
My eyes double in size. “Definitely.”
The sheet flies as I fling it off and pop up like a jack-in-the-box. In the low light, I spot Moonshine and Muffin curled up at Brinley’s feet. I do my best not to rouse them as I climb in. After sleeping on the stiff cot since arriving, I half-expect this bed to feel the same, but as I stretch my legs deep into the satin sheets, I appreciate the vast difference.
“This bed is like a full-body hug,” I say.
Brinley laughs. “I know. I feel guilty for keeping it all to myself this whole time.”
“Don’t,” I say. “I get it.”
I shrug onto my shoulder so I’m facing her. I don’t want to be assumptive, but the tension is pulsing in the space between us like a life force. Brinley said we’d sleep on our own sides, but that doesn’t mean we can’t share a Goodnight kiss first.
I won’t be the one to initiate it though after she turned her cheek on me last night. Plus, I don’t want Brinley to think I’m expecting more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m dying to share that kind of intimacy with Brinley, but it’s way too soon, and the last thing I want to do is mess this up.
Brinley scoots herself a little closer, so I do the same. Again, she moves, then I move, and soon we meet right in the middle. The sheets are cool, but I can feel Brinley’s warmth already. She reaches out, trails the silky tips of her fingers up and over my shoulder, then slips them along the back of my neck.
Her touch is like rain to the desert land of my bare skin. The only action I’ve gotten in the last two years has been on movie sets. It’s acting, nothing more. But this—what Brinley and I have—is the passion I can only attempt to portray, and I fall short every time without her. No one has ever made me weak, made me want, made meneedthe way she does.
“I said I would make up for the um,almostkiss last night,” she says. “So…”
With that, Brinley leans in, and I do too, my desperation to taste her kiss making me groan. I trace the shape of her mouth with my thumb first, reveling in the moist heat of her breath. I slip my hand down to cradle her face and inch closer still.
At last, Brinley’s parted lips layer mine in the perfect kiss. Smooth, sensual, sweet.Pleasure ripples through my body clear down to my toes. The warm sensation rushes back to my lower belly where it pulses and swells.
Brinley’s tempting tongue meets mine as I deepen the kiss. It takes everything in me to stay on my side. I want to roll on top of her and feel her warm body against mine, but I don’t. Instead, I revel in the slick heat of Brinley’s lips, the taunting tease of her hands on me, and the whimper that gets caught in her throat as I smooth my hand slowly down her warm back.
We overcame our biggest hurdle today, and I’m more positive than ever that Brinley is mine. The thought arouses my possessive side, a side that wants to claim her now and forever. Soon, I’m trailing my lips down the sensitive slope of her neck. Sampling the hollow of her throat. Teasing with the heat of my parted lips.
When Brinley’s hands move to cup my shoulders, I can’t tell whether she’s encouraging me or about to say we should slow it down. Either way, it’s enough to make me see that my wits are fading fast. I pull away the slightest bit. “We better…” I start to say breathlessly.
“Right,” she says with a nod.
