Coming Swoon (Brunch Bros #4)

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

It was the curse of his life to always be a few minutes behind Sybil.

Peter had wanted to climb into the van Sybil got in to leave the set in the woods. He’d have double buckled with her if he needed to. But his mother had requested he and Madelyn hang back and ride with her to the hotel so they could go over some notes and talk about the next day’s schedule. Which was fine, the movie was his job—but it was hard not to feel like a dog watching from the window as its owner pulled out of the driveway.

When they finally got to the hotel, he hustled to wardrobe because he hoped to catch her there. But her costume had already been checked in for the day.

Her next logical destination was the production office to pick up her call sheet. So he speed-walked through the halls to see Velda and Verna, but she wasn’t there. And the twist of the knife in his heart was that she’d already picked up her call sheet. Dejected and disappointed, he accepted his with a mumbled thank you and shuffled out the door.

At least they had the same call time in the morning. That was worth the horrendously early wake-up call he’d need to schedule.

“I was just coming to get that.” Dempsey walked down the hall toward him. “I didn’t think you knew where the production office was.”

“You did leave me to my own devices for a week,” Peter reminded them, handing over the call sheet for safe keeping. “I came dangerously close to becoming a responsible adult.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. I’ve got your book.” They held out the copy of Night Watch he’d loaned Sybil. “I’m supposed to tell you she’s enjoyed the annotations.”

He took the book, turning it over in his hands. “When did you get this?”

“A couple of minutes ago? Sybil was on her way out the door.”

Peter held in a sigh. He hadn’t expected her to hang around and wait for him, but hope caused heartache.

“Do you have anything else for me?” he asked.

“Nope. You are free and clear until tomorrow. Did you want to figure out your own dinner or have me send something up?”

“Could you send something up? I’m going to go sit in silence for a while.”

Peter took the stairs, not in much of a mood to chat at the elevators. The book was heavy in his hand. He’d seen her reading it, but the last time he’d caught a glimpse of her, it didn’t look like she was very far into the story. Why had she given it back so quickly?

He patted himself down until he found his room key, and then once he was in his room, tossed it onto the nightstand. Peter turned the water on hot, stripped down, then took an efficient shower to warm himself up and tried not to think about how much colder those outside shoots would be.

His cozy clothes, a pair of sweatpants, and a T-shirt were still on the floor where he’d left them, and he put them back on before falling into bed.

A series of polite knocks on his door woke him up. Peter frowned, unable to remember nodding off, and groaned when the clock on the nightstand told him he’d have a very hard time falling asleep at bedtime.

He stumbled to the door, still getting his bearings back, and opened it. A uniformed hotel staff member was there.

“Room service,” he said, holding out a tray.

Peter took it, thanked him, and shut the door. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he knew if he didn’t eat now, his food would be cold when he was starving, and then he wouldn’t want it because it was cold. So, he sat down at the desk and removed the lid.

Salmon, roasted root vegetables, and a side salad.

Very healthy, and nothing like the greasy cheeseburger and French fries he would have ordered for himself. He stabbed a few vegetables, skewered some salad, and took a bite. Absolutely delicious, and it probably wouldn’t give him the same tummy trouble the cheeseburger and fries would have. This was exactly why he let Dempsey do things the way they saw fit.

As his grogginess wore off like a morning fog, the boredom crept in. He shifted in his chair. He made every possible combination of bites from the food available on his plate. He leaned back in his chair until it almost tipped over and he caught himself by the slimmest of margins. Peter looked around for something to occupy his mind before he accidentally hurt himself in his quest for stimulation.

The book he’d loaned Sybil piqued his curiosity. Why had she returned it so fast? She couldn’t possibly be done, could she? When had she had time to read it all? Had she stayed up late reading in her bed, fingers lovingly caressing his scribbles in the margins?

That might be a stretch.

Peter noticed the faintest edge of something peeking out from the bottom of the book, about a quarter of the way through. Gingerly, he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and drew it out the tiniest bit. Receipt paper. He flipped through the pages until he found the receipt.

It was an old grocery store receipt, slightly crumbled and worn, like it had taken a long ride in her purse before being repurposed as a bookmark. He studied it like an archeologist would look at a piece of pottery, searching for clues about an ancient civilization. A frozen pizza, a bag of salad, a few apples, Fresca, and, surprisingly, salt and vinegar potato chips. She hadn’t liked those twelve years ago. The memory of her scrunched nose and puckered lips still popped up every time he grabbed himself a bag.

Peter was about to shut the book with more questions than answers when an annotation caught his eye. It wasn’t one of his. For starters, it was in blue ink instead of black.

You would think this was funny

Heart racing, he thumbed through the earlier pages. She’d been responding to his annotations. And Dempsey had said something about the annotations when they’d handed him the book. What clue was he supposed to be finding?

Dinner forgotten, Peter poured over small notes in the margins, desperately searching for whatever it was Sybil wanted him to find. There were no randomly capitalized letters, no single words underlined. For a woman who’d torn through detective novels by the bucketful, she wasn’t giving him anything to go on.

“Blast and damn,” he muttered when he reached the first page. Maybe there wasn’t anything to find.

Pages slipped from under his thumb and there it was, written in blue ink on the title page:

(541)555-3167

Tonight?

Peter jumped up. Somewhere in the world, someone had just won a life-changing sum of money, and they weren’t even half as elated as he was to see those ten numbers and seven letters.

His feet had him to the door before his brain chimed in that shoes were a necessity, as were car keys and maybe a jacket. And while his brain had control, it took the opportunity to remind him that it had been twelve long years since he’d been intimate with someone in a non-simulated situation, and that he’d come in his pants just from kissing her.

He sat on the foot of his bed, overwhelmed with thoughts and scenarios, all of them ending in horrifically embarrassing ways where Sybil never wanted to see him again, let alone let him worship her body. He didn’t know if he wanted to talk to empty his brain or if he wanted advice, but he needed someone who was a good listener and knew a lot about sex.

He needed Sam.

Sam picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey, what’s up?”

Peter took a deep breath and forced himself to speak calmly. “Remember last year when we were having brunch and I told you that thing?”

Silence resonated on the other end of the call, and then, “Peter, you tell me a lot of things. You’re going to need to be way more specific.”

He cringed. “About how I haven’t had sex in a really long time and I’m worried I’ll be awful at it. ”

“Oh! That.” Sam chuckled in a relaxed, good-natured way that put Peter’s teeth on edge. “Are you still working on reconnecting?”

“She invited me over and I have no idea what she’s expecting. The last time we kissed I might have gotten a little overexcited and…” He trailed off, unable to bring himself to admit what had happened.

Unfortunately, Sam could fill in the blanks. “Oh no. How did she react?”

“I don’t think she noticed. She left shortly after it happened.”

“So what kind of advice are you looking for? Because if you’re worried about finishing before the party starts, you’ve got options,” Sam said. “You could jack off before you go over there, recite one of your plays in your head, relive all of your cringiest moments, but my personal favorite when I’m concerned about premature ejaculation is to focus a lot on my partner and make sure they’ve gotten off at least once before they reciprocate. Is that what you’re worried about?”

Peter flopped back on the bed and ran a hand down his face. “Kind of? I’m worried if I disappoint her, she’ll never give me another chance.”

Another moment of silence, and then Sam asked, “Is she, by any chance, a certain redhead we both know and slightly fear?”

“I’m not afraid of her and I don’t see how that’s relevant to this conversation,” Peter answered.

Sam snorted. “Look, whoever she is, you didn’t disappoint her before. Allegedly. So there’s no reason to believe that you’re going to disappoint her this time. And, unfortunately, you’re never going to know unless you get off your ass and go over there. If you were giving me advice, what would you say?”

“That the kind of chemistry you shared doesn’t diminish over time,” Peter grumbled. “That if she’s worth having, she’ll be understanding if things don’t go perfectly.”

“Do you feel any better?”

“No.”

“Great. Go get her, champ.”

Peter frowned. “What an inspiring pep talk.”

“You don’t need a pep talk. You need to get your ass over to her house before she thinks you’re not coming,” Sam said.

They said their usual goodbye, with Peter requesting his love be passed along to Sam’s wife Lacey and their dog Daisy, and then he was alone with his thoughts again. He didn’t feel particularly lighter, happier, or more confident, but Sam was right: he needed to get over there before Sybil thought he wasn’t coming.

With clumsy thumbs he added her number to his contacts. It was strange to finally see her name in his phone after all these years. He’d wanted it there for so long, and there it was, waiting for him to use it.

Peter

I found your number, clever girl. If you still want me, I can be over any time.

A watched pot never boiled, but that didn’t stop him from staring at his phone until those three dots appeared, signaling that she was typing.

Sybil

You’re a terrible detective. I thought you would have figured it out hours ago.

I’m leaving Stardust. Be at my house in fifteen minutes? Park down the street so no one sees your car.

Putting on my shoes. See you soon .

Reinvigorated, Peter sprung out of bed and wandered around his room to find where he’d taken off his shoes. There was no point in changing out of his sweats; it was late and his clothes weren’t going to impress her anyway. But if they were really going to sneak around, a dark hoodie and a hat wouldn’t be out of place. The less recognizable he was, the better.

How long did it take to get to Sybil’s house from the hotel? More than fifteen minutes? Less than fifteen minutes? If he left now and it only took ten minutes, would she be mad that he was early?

All of his worrying was moot because first he needed to find his keys.