Authors: Kimberly Stedronsky
An elderly couple exiting the elevator watched us intently, and the woman suddenly gasped, reaching for Keaton. “Keat? Is that my little Keat, all grown up? Charlie, Charlie,” she smacked the old man in the blue suit twice across the shoulder, and he lifted his eyes to peer through bifocals.
“Give the boy room to breathe, Meems,” the man snapped at who I guessed was his wife. “Keaton, that you, son?”
“Hi Uncle Charlie,” Keaton hit the stop door button on the elevator panel, bending over to hug the couple. The woman patted his shoulder, pressing a long, pink kiss to his cheek. “Aunt Meems, you don’t age, how is that possible?”
“I knew you were my favorite,” Aunt Meems proclaimed, pinching the lipstick mark off of his cheek. “Is this your wife?”
Here we go. I managed to keep my eyes on Keaton’s aunt and uncle (or
great
aunt and uncle, I deduced) while flashing a brilliant smile. “Vivian Hale. I’m Keaton’s girlfriend,” I held my hand out, shaking both of their hands. “You may know my grandmother-…,”
“Laney! Charlie, this is Greg’s daughter… remember, he married Catherine Locks? Right out of high school? Greg Hale, you remember, he was the quarterback for Laurel Valley,” she pushed his shoulder, and he flashed an aggravated grimace.
“Stop poking me, woman! Yes I remember Greg,” he turned back to Keaton. “You still the big Hollywood director?”
“Not this weekend,” Keaton answered, his arm sliding around my back. “This weekend, I’m just Luke’s big brother. And I’m enjoying this time off with Vivian.” He bent to brush a small kiss on my neck, and I couldn’t help but scrunch up, giggling as his lips tickled the sensitive part of my throat.
“Ah, so beautiful. Beautiful girl,” Uncle Charlie said appreciatively, and Aunt Meems pushed him off of the elevator.
“See you at the wedding, honey,” she called.
The doors slid closed, and I slumped against the wall. “Well?”
“Well, you’re ticklish,” he answered, shifting the suitcase at his feet. “That is something I will absolutely use to my advantage.”
“Oh shut up, everyone is ticklish somewhere,” I protested, watching the floor numbers continue to light up.
What floor are we on?
“Not me.”
“You just want me to drag my hands all over your body, and I’m not taking the bait. You know, if you want to be a successful director, you have to drop all these clichéd, overdone scenes. Bribing the desk clerk? Kissing in the elevator in front of the elderly couple? You’re actually kind of disappointing me, Keaton,” I curled my lips inward to hide my grin as the elevator stopped at just the right time. The doors opened, and I marched out, leaving him following me, floundering.
“Are you telling me how to direct?”
I found our suite, turning to him. He had his arms full with two suitcases and three garment bags.
Shifting into starlet mode, I let my lids get heavy, locking my eyes in his. My fingers slid over his hip before plunging into the pocket of his shorts. I made sure to brush the back of my hand over his thigh as I secured the keycard between my fingers.
When I discovered his full-on erection with my fingertips, I couldn’t help but gasp.
It was his turn to be amused. “Did you find what you’re looking for?”
I snatched my hand away with the key card, and I knew that my face was on fire.
The heat that I’d felt through the thin lining of his pocket was enough to send a burning path from my navel to my thighs. I wetted my lips, nodding.
“You’re not following our contract,” I choked, still fastened to his gaze.
He took an impossible step closer, and I wanted to knock the garment bags to the floor to
feel
him pressed against me. “You’re playing the reluctant escort very well. But we both know that you didn’t want your own room.” He dipped his face even closer, and my one-inch heels propelled me nearer to his mouth. “And I haven’t signed anything yet.”
“You will,” I managed, my own unreliable breaths coming too quickly and too long in between. I slid the keycard into the lock, shoving forward. “I’m drafting the rest of the contract before we leave for dinner. And you’re going to sign it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed me inside, dropping the suitcases against the wall. “But involuntary woodies are inevitable, so I can’t be
penalized
for them.”
I groaned at his dorky pun with a reflexive grin, taking in the luxury of the massive suite. I felt like spinning around with my arms thrown out in a Julie Andrews circle. “This is beautiful, look at this place,” I said, admiring the artwork, the crystal chandeliers, and the smooth, mahogany furniture. I turned to see that he’d disappeared into the bathroom.
“I’m peeing. Be right out.”
“Peeing?” I shook my head, trying to block out the sounds from the bathroom. He wasn’t shy, that much was clear. I heard the sink running, turning again.
And I froze.
The single, king-sized bed loomed like a sacrificial altar, and my mouth fell open.
He took a running leap from behind me and dove for the bed, landing once on his back, bouncing, and then ending up on his side. Bending his arm, he propped his head up with one hand, smoothing a slow circle over the mattress with the other.
“Come here to me, my firecracker.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “You have the maturity of a twelve-year-old boy.”
“Twelve and a half. Like my shoe size.”
“Keaton, my god, you are incorrigible.”
“
Incorrigible?
Hey schweetheart,” he began with an old-timey accent, grinning, “I’m just on vacation, and I’m trying to have
fun
. Will you loosen up a little, please? Contract aside, I really am enjoying your company. You’re funny with your witty little comebacks and your huge vocabulary... and you’re fucking
hot
, and I would like you to give me a break here.”
I stared at him.
What was I being so bitchy for?
Really?
I liked him, too. I liked his humor, his fuck-it-all demeanor, and his teasing attitude. Maybe I really was engrossed in playing the reluctant escort role far too much
.
I’m getting paid,
he’s
fucking hot, and I’m about to get all dressed up and go to a party. Take it down a notch.
I dropped my purse and stepped out of my heels, lowering to the bed to crawl on my hands and knees to him. His eyebrows rose so far up his forehead, I thought that they’d disappear into the air.
“I’ll feel much better after you sign the ‘contract.’”
I managed to deliver the air quotes for about two seconds before he howled, tackling me, rolling me onto my back. “You’re going to lose a finger.”
His face. God, his face.
He should be starring, not directing.
Those eyes took on an insane gleam. “
This
finger?”
I lifted my pointer finger slowly, and he grinned, snapping for it. I shrieked and rolled just in time, actually a little wary of those sharp, white teeth accidently closing over my skin. “Hold
still…
,”
“No!” I flipped him to his back, catching his hand in midair. “How do you like it?” I demanded, straddling him but holding myself up to keep space between us.
I bit down on his finger.
The moment my teeth clenched, his expression sobered. He slid both of his hands over my jaw, pushing his finger into my mouth.
I started to pull away, but he held me firmly in place.
After endless seconds, I shut my eyes and closed my lips over his skin.
He tasted like soap, like the complimentary bar he’d probably just opened in the bathroom… and just a hint of coffee. My tongue darted, twirling over the tip, and warmth spread over me, dizzying, distracting.
Groaning softly, he pressed against my tongue with the pad of his pointer finger. I liked the sound that he made when I worked my lips up and down the length to his palm. I almost lowered my thighs to grind against him, but his voice startled me.
“V.”
He exhaled, pulling his hand away and lifting me up and off of him.
“Let’s… get going. I’m going to take a quick shower, and you draw up that contract. I’ll be right out, okay?”
I nodded, silent. Even if I had a voice, I wouldn’t have known what to say.
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I stared at my hands, numb.
What in the hell is wrong with me?
Stop it!
I screamed at myself. He’s not even divorced, and his ex is pregnant. He’s arrogant, he’s bossy, and he’s employing you to boost his
ego
and maintain his reputation. Everything about this man screams asshole, and here you are, sucking on his fucking finger, convinced there’s something more here than a scheming opportunist and a naïve, inexperienced actress.
And you don’t need this. Not after what you’ve been through… not after Matthew.
The shower turned on, and I stalked to the desk in the corner of the suite, yanking the drawers open too forcefully. I found an Omni pen and pad of paper in seconds, and sat down, willing my thudding heart to settle.
Contract Dates:
July 4-July 7
Item One:
Final wardrobe decisions are executed by Mr. Thorne.
Item Two:
Miss Hale and Mr. Thorne agree to the background story as discussed, and will not deviate from, elaborate on, or embellish said story.
Item Three:
Sexual intercourse is prohibited between Mr. Thorne and Miss Hale, and Mr. Thorne agrees to prohibit intercourse with third parties.
(I threw that in, deciding it would make ‘fucking the bride’s sister’ a violation of contract.)
Item Four:
Mr. Thorne agrees to pay Miss Hale $2,085.46 in US American currency by 3:00 PM Monday, July 8
th
.
Item Five:
Both parties agree to a mutual separation with no connections.
There.
I stared at my neat handwriting, proofreading my work, before marking two X lines. I signed my name, and then slammed the pen down on the tablet for him.
The shower turned off, and I quickly tore a sheet of paper from the bottom of the notepad.
Going to get some air. I’ll meet you in the lobby.
Sign the contract before you come downstairs.
I rushed out of the room before he could emerge from the steamy bathroom, hips draped in a too-small hotel towel, forcing me to admire his muscular body and enormous penis.
Because, after all, wasn’t that how the scene was supposed to go?
The lobby was glamorous, with champagne colored walls, detailed arches, and chic chandeliers. A baby grand piano occupied the lounge, and I adjusted my skirt, moving easily in my heels to the front entryway.
Keaton was going to be a problem.
I wanted him.
I was in no position to have him.
He
wanted a guilt-free, no-strings-attached weekend, and to simply cut a check and be on his way by Monday.
I wanted… to move on.
Without Matthew.
Anger burned my throat. I resolved to put on the greatest performance of my life from that point forward, and walk away paid for a job well done.
We had to be at the church by six, and dinner was promptly following the rehearsal. I knew Robin was there already, as well as the rest of the wedding party. Whether I liked it or not, Keaton and I were going to make a grand entrance (fashionably late.)
As I stepped out the revolving door, my heart dropped.
A yellow Jeep pulled into the parking lot, and I stumbled on a heel, pressing my hand to my mouth.
No, it can’t be him, not here.
I waited, breaking into a thin sweat as the Jeep came closer, and even though I could plainly see that a middle-aged woman was driving it, not Matthew, I still struggled for breath.
It’s your imagination. You’ve been thinking too much about Matthew. There’s no reason for him to be here.
“Hey,” Keaton’s voice made me jump, and I pressed my hand to my beating heart. “You’re supposed to
breathe
when you go out for air. What’s wrong?”
“I thought I saw someone. I’m fine.” I turned to him, grinning, maybe a little too brightly given the way that I was feeling about him only seconds ago. “A suit? Not that I’m complaining, you look great, but do you think maybe we’re both a little overdressed?”
He turned me to face him, his eyes burrowing into mine. I shifted on my feet, trying to avoid his soul-searching glare. “You’re lying. If we’re going to make this work, I need to know what’s going on up here.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
The gesture, so intimate and heartfelt, almost made me believe that he was truly mine.
“I thought I saw my ex-boyfriend. And I don’t want to.”
He listened for a moment, raising his eyebrows. “Ah… the demons.”
“We have to go, we’re going to be late-”
“Did he beat you up? Cheat on you? Does he have a mountain rape cave, too? What?”
My mouth fell open, and I huffed. “You are so
god
damn tactless, did you know that? What if he had done those things? Don’t you think I’d be upset if you brought it up?”
“Tactless is a resentful word for honest.” His hands slid down my arms, resting at my elbows. “So what did Chip do to you? Or Mack? Craig? I’m definitely thinking one syllable name. Blonde. Creeper facial hair. Soul patch?”
“Keaton!” I growled, turning to march to his Ferrari. He was smiling, popping dimples and forcing me to bite back a smirk. “His name is Matthew, and he was just a normal guy. And I loved him-a lot-and I don’t want to see him tonight. Or tomorrow night, or any night ever again,” I finished, staring at him from across the car.
He considered my words, moving around to my side to open the door for me.
“Lov-
ved?
As in past tense? Doesn’t sound like past tense to me.”
I silenced him with a glare. He grinned.
“Did he leave you when you gained the freshman fifteen?”
I felt all of the blood drain from my head. My tongue forked, and I lifted my face to his with livid eyes. “No, he left me when I gained a baby.”