“What?” I choke on a gasp.
“Ignore her.” Fran cackles. “Let’s leave these two very attractive young folks alone. It was nice meeting you, Ezra. It’s been a while since someone’s knocked on that door.”
Millie lowers her head and picks at her nails.
“It was nice meeting you too,” I reply.
Fran is already shoving her wife through the door, saying something about a cockblock, I swear.
Millie welcomes me into her apartment, and I lead her to the sofa by her wrist and pull her onto my lap before she can speak. Her robe separates when she straddles my hips, revealing nothing but luscious skin underneath. The golden wisps of hair that have grown between her legs since I last saw her have my cock aching within my shorts.
I grip her thick thighs, but when my fingers slip against the satin, I grasp her ass and pull her in until her bare belly is flush against my shirt.
“I missed you.” Angling in, I capture her lips. My tongue requests entrance, and she opens, welcoming me with a tender urgency.
All too soon, she pulls back, leaving my cock protesting. Her fingers are linked at my neck when she says, “Should I call youPrincipalnow?”
With a swat to the side of her thigh, I growl. “I haven’t gotten the job yet.”
“You will.” Her eyes shine with adoration and confidence.
“Speaking of jobs…”
“Ugh.” She releases her hold on me and drops her hands to her sides. “Can we not?”
“Why?”
Slumping onto the cushion next to me, she covers her body with her robe.
Dammit. Why did I have to go and open my big mouth?
Her arms are crossed, her body language closed off, but she remains angled toward me. “My agent’s been after me about auditions.”
My first instinct is to say “that’s great,” but her expression makes it clear that would be the wrong response.
A heavy sigh escapes her. “I don’t think I want to perform anymore.”
With my thumb and forefinger at her chin, I guide her head up so she’s forced to look at me. Her eyes swim with hurt.
“But you love performing.” I wipe at the tears that crest over her lashes. “I’ve seen you. Watching you on stage is… is magical.” It’s the truth. Each time I recall watching her shine, I break out in goose bumps.
“I love the theater,” she admits. “But I need to rethink what that looks like. Maybe there’s a way to keep it in my life without bending and breaking and starving myself for it. I just don’t know what that is yet.”
“What if you coached? Or taught theater at Asher’s camp? Oh, there’s that dance studio between my apartment and yours. You could teach there.” I’m practically bouncing off the sofa with ideas now.
“Ezra.” She puts a hand on my thigh, her expression serious. “Can you not do the typical man thing?”
“What?”
“Don’t try to fix it,” she says, eyes pleading.
Shit. Like an idiot, I jumped straight to Mr. Fix-It mode.
“I’m sorry.” Heart pinching, I gather her by her nape and kiss her forehead. “Do you want to be helped, hugged, or heard?”
“Huh?”
“It’s what my mom used to say to me when I was young. So, do you want to be helped, hugged, or heard?”
