“Can’t wait to meet her,” is all I can manage. I chug the rest of my coffee, leaving my plate of food untouched, before plastering the fakest smile I’ve ever generated to my face and storming off toward my bedroom down the hall, where I keep a dresser full of spare clothes for when I crash here.
“Gem,” he calls after me softly, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. If I do, he’ll see the tears I couldn’t hold back. He’ll know what else I’ve been holding back from him all these years. And it’s painfully clear to me now, all those feelings are extremely one-sided.
THREE
AARON
In between takes isnotthe time to dwell on what happened this morning, but what do you want from me? It’s not every day you wake up with an ass in your hands thatisn’tyour girlfriend’s. Even worse, it’s yourbestfriend’sass. And when it feels so much better than it should? It’s been hard enough not to fixate on it the entire day as is. Being bored as fuck, wandering around the set when we’re not rolling, it’s hard to keep my mind from straying to it.
I keep half an ear out for my director’s voice, waiting to hear that we’re ready to restart the shot, but since one of my costars insisted on eating some very questionable street food for lunch instead of what craft services provided, and had torunoff set mid-take… I think I’ve got a few minutes.
Let’s just hope wardrobe doesn’t have to get involved. There’s no helping the shudder that breaks out along my spine, or the chills that accompany it as I say a silent thanks to the powers that be that my job doesn’t ever require me to deal with shit-stained pants.
The elephant in my mind’s room pops back up, front and center, and it’s impossible to ignore. The way I felt this morning, waking up with Gemma’s back pressed against my front, thatstirred things in me Ineverexpected to feel for…her. Gemma Carson. The only girl who knows all of me. Not just what the whole world sees as the boy next door turned budding sex symbol as he passed eighteen in the public eye, then twenty-one, and beyond.
She knows the nerdy kid who never got to put down roots and make real connections with boys his age after moving to the Atlanta area to follow his dreams in middle school. The man who’s still that same kid deep down. The one who deals with insecurities that loom larger than anyone else realizes, who would rather be sitting on the carpet at home playing video games than walking a red carpet with celebs he grew up worshiping. She’s the one constant I’ve had in my life, throughout all of the changes. And that can’t change.
All I know is if I hadn’t gotten up right then and there this morning, I might’ve done something really stupid. Like cheat on my girlfriend. Or worse, risk what Gem and I have. The comfortable,platonictype of bond that only comes with choosing to spend so much of your time joined at the hip with another person, day in and day out, for years on end. It’s the kind of bond that’s been strengthened with every hardship either of us has faced while standing in one another’s corner and supporting each other through the shit when no one else was there for either of us.
What we’ve never done? Flirted with the line of physical attraction. That’s been a stone-coldnofor me since we first met. It’s not that she’s not objectively pretty. I guess she is. She’s got this soft innocence I’m sure a lot of guys would be into. Long brown hair. Big doe eyes, the color of warm tea when you’re sick, like comfort and care, like home. Cute little nose. Kinda tall for a chick, but tiny still, hardly any curves. A lot of models would kill for her frame. I know. I’ve hooked up with plenty of them who’vetold me as much. So it’s not that Gemma isn’t attractive. I just haven’t ever viewed her like I view the girls I hook up with.
She’s always been in a category of her own to me. I care for her like a sister. Well, I don’t have one, so I can’t be sure, but I’m pretty sure just the same. She’s on her own pedestal in my life. My rock. Who I go to when I struggle with the very specific issues my career choices and subsequent lifestyle bring. Who I go to when I have a really stupid joke that I just have to share. Who I wait to watch new Marvel movies or episodes of our current favorite show with, no matter how long my schedule keeps me away from home or our weekly ritual.
Our friendship is a thing of sanctity; it’s not worth risking for anything. No matter how much my cock wanted to find its way home, sink itself between her thighs, and give her a reason to say my name in that breathy way again, but a little louder this time.
NO. Fuck, no. What the fuck is wrong with you, Stone?I haveneverlooked at Gem sexually before.And Idefinitelydon’t see her in the same light as the girls I mean to wake up with.Like Kayla.Mygirlfriend.
The voice in my head is shouting at me now, it sounds condescending as it reminds me of my life, those in it, and the boundaries I keep with each of them.
Gemma = friend.
Kayla = girlfriend.
Maybe introducing the two will help reform those boundaries, stop those lines from blurring?
One of my hands slaps my forehead in frustration—a little too hard, perhaps—as my eyes sting from the contact. I’ll gladly take that pain right now, though. I deserve it.
Fuck, you’re an asshole, you absolute dickwad. Not only did you actually toss Gem onto the floor because you couldn’t control your own boner, but you’ve been practically cheating on Kayla mentally all fucking day with this shit. Get. A. Grip.
My right fist clenches and unclenches as I berate myself, seeking an outlet for this frustration, this self-abuse that has no other release. There’s no one I can talk to about what’s driving me crazy. It would kill Kayla to hear what happened. Even if it were just a mistake, something tells me she wouldn’t see it that way. And I’d rather eat exactly what Jane had for lunch directly before shooting an intimate scene in front of an entire crew than have to talk to Gemma about this awkward morningeveragain.
Gem couldn’t have known what she was doing, how her hips backed into mine so perfectly, circling on my damn erection like a fucking missile finder. How she sounded when she called out my name? Jesus Christ. It’s the stuff wet dreams are made of. Or maybe, more accurately, custom OnlyFans videos? I dunno, never bought one. But I can imagine.
Was she still sleeping? Did she wake up and forget whose house she fell asleep at?
We don’t discuss our love lives very often. We see inside every crevice of each other’s lives, so a little bit of separation is necessary, right? A little bit of delineation, that tiny bit of space, some semblance of a boundary between us, is healthy. I mean, I know she sees guys from time to time. In the past, I’ve even encouraged her to get out and date a little more, so maybe she’s done just that? Maybe she thought I was one of her hookups? Is she hooking up with some guy called Aaron?
I chalk up the uncomfortable wrench in my gut at the thought of her hooking up with someone to her being like a sibling to me. Her hooking up with someone else isnota comforting thought.
Dammit!
Someone. Period.
Not someoneelse.
My subconscious is fucking me over left and right today. Her hooking up withanyoneis gross. Right?
It didn’t feel gross when your dick was inches from her p—a violent shake of my head stops that thought from finishing, and a frustrated groan escapes me. I feel like I’m losing control of my thoughts here, and I am not a fan of the direction this runaway train is going.
