Filmed: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (City Series Book 3) (22 page)

“Noah, your father may have always been a bastard, but he loved your mother,” Miss H said, breaking the silence.

“What does that matter?”

“It means you don’t have to end up like him.”

There was a second while I watched Noah process that. I couldn’t imagine what was going on inside of him, but one part suddenly made sense. He was so afraid of ending up like his father that he began to push people away from him. He was convinced that he was a bad person. But I knew better, I knew all the people Noah had helped in his own way, and a piece of shit like his father would never do those things. Finally, he grinned at Miss H.

“When did this turn into a therapy session?” he asked.

She laughed. “Blame Linda here, darling.”

“Hey, I was just pointing out a coincidence,” I said.

We laughed and the tension broke. I picked up my tea and sipped it. It was luke-warm, but minty and delicious.

As Noah finished off the biscuits, and we drank our tea, I was convinced, more and more, that my project was the right idea. No matter what happened, regardless of whether we won the contest or not, I knew that I was doing the right thing. I was helping a friend get his life together, but more than that, I was helping him discover the life of someone he cared about. Regardless of my misgivings over working with Noah, I felt happier and more content sitting in Miss H’s living room, chatting about movies, than I had in years.

N
oah dropped the heavy brown box onto my living room floor and let out a breath.

“Last one,” he said.

“I can’t believe how much stuff she gave us.”

We stood staring down at a stack of eight boxes, each full of pictures, cassettes, VHS tapes, DVDs, books, scraps of paper, and more. Noah had asked Miss H to give us some stuff to look through in order to get some establishing shots for the film, but he didn’t expect her to unload a lifetime’s worth of memories in one sitting. Noah had just spent the last ten minutes lugging them up the stairs while I began to catalogue their contents.

He collapsed on the couch. I could tell he was sweating slightly through his slim fitting white button down shirt and his tight black jeans.

“So what’s in there?” he asked.

I knelt down in front of the box I had just opened. “Pictures, mostly.”

“Excited to sort through it all?”

“Yes and no, honestly.”

I sifted through the pictures and pulled a stack out. I began to look through them, one at a time, and realized I didn’t recognize a single person in any of them. I knew a little bit about Miss H, though mostly just the broad strokes. She had tried to give us a little more information, but she was frustratingly difficult. She had a tendency to wander down pointless tangents.

Noah slipped off the couch and joined me, taking out a stack and sorting through it. 

“I don’t know anyone in these,” I said quietly.

“I know a few.”

“Noah, how are we going to do this? I mean, how can we piece together a person’s whole life?”

He laughed and shook his head. “We can’t.”

“What do you mean? That’s the whole point.”

“Look, dots, we can’t possibly do her justice that way. We’ll have to get the important stuff down.”

I sighed. “Seems wrong, I guess. To leave all these people out.”

He grinned at me. “Aren’t there people in your life that you’d rather not make it into your documentary?”

I looked back at him thoughtfully. “I think I could name one right here.”

“Please. I’d have a starring role.”

“Maybe as the villain.”

He shifted closer to me, smirking. “Is that because I’m so bad?”

I rolled my eyes. “Cut it out.”

“I can’t help it around you, dots.”

There was a short pause while he looked at me, and for a brief moment I thought he was being completely honest. But the moment passed, and he went back to sorting through the pictures one at a time.

It took us a while to get through the box, but at the end we had it broken down into two big piles: one with pictures we might want to use, and another with pictures we definitely didn’t want. I slipped the discard pictures back into the box, and opened another.

“What’s the prize?”

“More pictures.”

He groaned. “Maybe this was a horrible mistake.”

“Backing out already?”

He sighed. “No, not getting rid of me that easily.”

We dove back in, silently sorting the pictures into two main piles. As we worked, I kept stealing glances at him. It had been a week since we met with Miss H at her apartment, and he had stopped by the theater a few times since then. In fact, I had seen him almost every day. We were busy scheduling time to interview Miss H, trying to get a visual narrative of her life, and generally setting up the documentary. It was a lot of work, but I was shocked at how willing Noah was to get down to it. Things might not have been what they once were, but they were at least comfortable.

When it came to the technical stuff, he was better with the equipment than I was. But in terms of blocking out the scenes and creating the overarching thematic movement of the piece, I was shockingly good. He told me that he was impressed by how quickly I was able to boil down Miss H’s life into the high points. I had originally thought that would be the most difficult part, but I tackled it head on. Noah managed to get people from Miss H’s past to agree to do interviews with us. He was as charming as ever, and people tended to fall over themselves to agree with him.

More than that, though, he looked healthy again. He had been actively going to meetings with Ellie, and it showed. The gaunt look in his eyes was completely gone, although the memory of his strung-out appearance still haunted me sometimes. But he looked like his old self again, and I had to admit that I liked it.

“Hey, check this out,” he said, breaking the silence.

I scooted over closer to him and peered over his shoulder. He was holding an old faded photograph of a young, beautiful girl in makeup. It looked like an old headshot.

“Who is that?”

“It’s Miss H. She can’t be older than 20 here.”

I looked at the picture again and gaped. Miss H had been an absolute knock-out. Her lips were full and pouty and her hair was thick and luxurious. I was a little shocked at how different she looked.

“She’s pretty hot, isn’t she?” Noah said.

“Oh stop, perv.”

“What, I’m just saying. Not as hot as you are, but still, pretty good for the 60s.”

I felt myself blush at his compliment. “Okay, yeah, she is pretty hot.”

“Alright, put it back in your pants, dots.”

He snapped the picture away as if I were about to grab it from him. I laughed and pushed his back lightly. He turned part way toward me, grinning, and grabbed me by my hips, pulling me forward into his lap. I was surprised as a jolt of excitement ran through my core and I landed smoothly in his lap, my arms grabbing onto his shoulders. His strong arms were able to easily pull me onto him plus support my weight. I felt small in his lap, looking at him with my lips slightly parted.

“Hey, careful,” I managed to get out.

“You started it,” he said.

His face was inches away from mine, and I thought I felt the hard press of his cock against my ass. I couldn’t be sure, though, and wasn’t about to check, no matter how badly I wanted to. His full lips were so close to mine, and the memory of his sweet taste came rushing back to me. I tightened my grip on his shoulders, smiling, and tried pushing him back, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Too weak, sorry, dots,” he said.

“We both know I’m stronger than you are.”

He laughed. “I could throw you around if I wanted to.”

My pulse began to hammer in my throat and I wanted him to show me how easily he could handle me.

“What are you staring at?” he asked, still grinning at me.

I looked away. I wanted to tell him exactly what I was thinking about, how he made my body feel when he was around me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I turned back and started to say something, but my phone began to ring, cutting me off.

“Better get that,” he said softly.

I nodded and climbed off his lap, walking across the room and into the kitchen where my phone was plugged in. I picked it up and saw that it was Chris. I swiped right and answered.

“Hey, Chris,” I said.

“What’s up?”

“Not much. I’m at the apartment with Noah.” I looked back out into the living room and watched as he went back to sorting the pictures.

“You’re home alone with him?”

I made a face, not sure what she meant. “Yeah, we’re working on the movie.”

“Yeah, I figured. I just mean, is that a great idea?”

“Why not?”

She let out an exasperated breath. “Never mind. I’m sorry I said anything.”

“No, what did you mean?”

“It’s just that, he fucked you over, remember? I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

I turned my back to Noah, speaking softly. “It’s okay, Chris. Don’t worry about it.”

“I know you’re a big girl. I just worry.”

“We’re keeping it PG, I promise.”

“Hey, if you wanted to film a porno with him right now, I wouldn’t be mad at you. I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m fine. Really. But thanks for checking in.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll be home in like an hour.”

“Sounds good.”

“Bye.”

We hung up. I stood there in the kitchen for a second, breathing deeply. If she hadn’t called right at that moment, I don’t know what I would have done. I still felt flustered from the easy way he flirted with me, and from the physical contact. I wanted to climb back into his lap and run my fingers through his hair, but it was too soon.

“Hey, you okay?”

I practically jumped. I turned around and he was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the wall. His face looked concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

He shrugged. “Nothing, just seemed like you were upset.”

I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face. “Nope. Now back to work, slave boy.”

He grinned. “Yes mistress.”

He turned and walked back out into the living room, sitting back down in his spot. I followed, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions. I was surprised that he was able to read my emotions so easily from across the apartment, but I shouldn’t have been. Noah seemed to be incredibly intuitive about me, even if he seemed to make all the wrong decisions anyway.

We went back to work, sorting box after box, but I kept my distance. I didn’t want to risk getting pulled back against his body. I didn’t trust myself enough to touch him again; I had no clue what I would do. He hadn’t done enough to earn back my trust yet.

But he had definitely earned back my desire.

T
he weeks seemed to fly by. Between class, work, and the movie, I was the busiest I had ever been. More than that, I was the happiest, and I looked forward to every hour I spent shooting the movie, interviewing people, and editing the footage with Noah. In just three weeks, we shot ten hours of interviews with Miss H, plus another ten split between a few of her life long acquaintances. I had gone through and catalogued hundreds of photographs, plus loose pieces of paper, ticket stubs, Playbills, and other souvenirs from her years in show business.

I kept my distance when I was around him, but only with a lot of effort. He was magnetic, the way he effortlessly made me laugh and made my heart pound with excitement. Noah had come back to work at the theater two weeks after we started the movie, and we were around each other more or less all day every day, minus class time.

Even Chris began to come around on him. She was skeptical, but he showed no signs of flaking out again, and things were healthier than ever between us. She wasn’t happy about it, but she eventually stopped asking if I knew what I was doing and accepted that he would be around.

But things couldn’t keep going that way, even if I wanted them to.

––––––––

I
looked over his shoulder at Miss H’s smiling face as he replayed the same clip over and over again, frowning.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I don’t know, the cut seems too abrupt.”

He played the clip for me, which featured a long panning shot of a photograph of Miss H as a young child. The shot cut to the primary interview with her, smiling and saying something about her mother. I had to admit, it looked a lot like a Ken Burns documentary, which was what we were going for.

I shrugged. “Seemed okay to me.”

He gave me a look. “Maybe to the untrained eye.”

“Don’t start with me.”

I collapsed into a heavily padded black armchair and crossed one leg underneath me. Noah bit his lip, which was a look that I knew meant he was frustrated. It was one of my favorite looks of his, one among the many of the enigmatic Noah Carterson. I looked around at the room and shook my head, still amazed at how strange it felt to be in his apartment for the first time.

He lived a few blocks to the north of campus, but still close to the athletic fields, in a totally renovated brick-fronted building. His place was a duplex, with two bedrooms upstairs, and a kitchen and a living room downstairs. His whole first floor was the size of my entire apartment, not to mention it was all modern architecture and clean lines, plus brand new stainless steel appliances. It was comfortably furnished but still tasteful, and when I asked him about it, he laughed and admitted that he had a decorator.

We were working in his second bedroom, which he had converted into an office with a nice, large black desk, multiple expensive computers and monitors, plus a nice leather couch and the armchair I was sitting on. Usually we met in the computer center on campus, but it had been packed earlier, and we decided just to work at his place.

And I’m glad we did. I was learning so much about him just by being around his stuff. Apparently, he had a thing for the movie Blade Runner, based on the huge poster on the wall. There were a few pictures from his childhood scattered around the place, too, which I had never seen before. I wanted to explore his place so badly, but I didn’t want to violate his privacy, either.