Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
MOLLY
Iwon’t look, I won’t look, I won’t—
God damn.
Josh strokes through the water, steady and sure.
He wanted to do laps, get some exercise in before the weekend of debauchery the wedding party has planned.
Within twenty-four hours, they’ve managed to rope in everyone and their stripper.
Someone knows someone who knows someone, and now every house on the street will be packed for this insane, combined bachelorette/bachelor party.
Because of course they decided to combine them.
Despite the overwhelming sense of impending chaos, I can’t help but be impressed.
The strippers are booked, the caterers will arrive tomorrow morning, a cleaning service is scheduled for the aftermath, and there’s a DJ, massage therapists, a full bar, and even a driver on call to take people wherever they want to go.
Money talks, and power delivers.
Josh finishes his laps, leaning against the far end of the pool. The late afternoon light casts long, golden shadows across the water, and for a moment, the whole scene looks like something out of a magazine.
I stretch on my sunbed, trying to distract myself. We arrived after lunch, and I have no regrets. We swam for an hour, then I camped out here, soaking up the sun while juggling wedding and work tasks.
Josh alternates between scribbling in his notebook and swimming. Now, he pulls himself out of the pool, water streaming down his chest and legs. He shakes his head, sending droplets flying.
This is pure pool porn.
Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy, Jason Momoa’s Aquaman, or any Hemsworth brother couldn’t turn me on more than this man does in this moment. His tanned skin gleams in the light, muscles flexing with every movement. His full mouth, his toned torso, his broad shoulders…
I won’t fuck Josh, I won’t fuck Josh, I won’t—
“You better stop looking at me like that,” he says, his voice low and teasing. He grabs a towel and runs it over his chest, but his eyes never leave mine.
I know he sees everything—the desire blazing in my eyes, the flush creeping up my cheeks, the way my breath hitches. My breasts grow heavy and sensitive, thighs clenching as heat pools low in my core.
“Or what?” I challenge, my voice coming out softer than I intend.
Josh tosses the towel aside and stalks toward me, his movements slow and deliberate. My pulse quickens with every step.
He drops down, his hands bracing on either side of me, just inches above my sunbed. Water drips from his hair onto my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Or I’ll fuck you out here where anyone could see,” he growls, his lips quirking into a wicked smile. “And I wouldn’t stop if someone interrupted. They’d quickly learn that you’re mine.”
I shouldn’t react the way I do. I shouldn’t feel this rush of heat, this overwhelming need. I shouldn’t get wetter, shouldn’t feel my pussy throb at his possessive words.
But I do.
Fuck.
He presses his hips against mine, grinding just enough to make me gasp. His cock is hard, thick and insistent even through the fabric of his swim shorts.
“That turned you on, didn’t it?” His voice drops lower, rough and full of heat.
I nod, unable to form words.
Josh groans, his forehead dropping briefly to mine. “Ahlemna, you’re dangerous.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me, spilling free. “How?”
He pulls back, standing and taking a step away as if he needs the distance to keep himself in check. “Far too tempting,” he mutters, shaking his head. Then he holds out a hand to me, his lips curving into a soft smile.
“Come, oeh’ sahoehuke,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Let’s order pizza and find those tapes.”
“God bless Ma. She never throws anything away,” Josh says, opening a box and blowing a layer of dust off the top tape.
We’ve spent the last two hours combing through bedrooms, closets, and the attic, and finally, we’ve hit the jackpot—three large boxes stuffed with old VHS tapes.
“Do you even have a VHS player?” I ask, trailing behind him as he carries a box down the hall.
“Oh, ye of little faith.” He drops the box in front of an elaborate entertainment unit in the den and flings the cabinet doors open with a dramatic flourish. Inside, sitting proudly among a mess of wires, is an ancient VHS player. “Ta-dah!” he announces.
“God, this is going to be an experience,” I say, laughing as I place the pizza and six-pack of beer on the coffee table. I sink cross-legged onto the floor.
“This,” Josh says, tapping the box, “is some of my best work.”
“I highly doubt that.” I grin, leaning forward to open the nearest box. “But it is your origin story.”
“And Sam’s.”
“And Sam’s,” I agree, pulling open the lid. “Quick, grab the other boxes. I’m starving, and the pizza’s getting cold.”
We eat and drink, trading jabs while sorting through the tapes.
“Do you remember when you first started filming?” I ask, taking a long pull from my beer.
Josh tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. “Maybe fifth grade? I got a camcorder for Christmas. I think my parents wanted me to record the family, but then I met Sam and I started directing movies, and….” He shrugs, trailing off with a small smile.
I dig through the box and pull out a tape at random. “Oh God.” I start cackling, holding it up triumphantly. “It’s Dragon Slayers!”
Josh groans, reaching for it. “No! Let my failures die.”
“Hell no.” I shake my head, keeping the tape out of his grasp. “We are absolutely watching this.”
I push up from the floor, crawling on my knees toward the VHS player. Sliding the tape into the machine, I rock back onto my heels and pick up the remote, hitting rewind.
“You know it’s probably corroded or—”
I hit play, cutting off his excuses, and laugh in delight as the video flickers to life. The image is grainy and unstable at first, but it steadies after a moment.
On the screen, I’m about thirteen—no, fourteen—dressed in a sheet-toga, holding a sword and shield. Sam, covered in green gunk and wearing fairy wings, stalks toward me, flapping his “dragon wings” menacingly.
“I’m here to rescue the prince!” my younger self yells, thrusting the sword into the air with dramatic flair.
Sam rears back on his legs, his front arms windmilling wildly as he attempts to bark threateningly. Behind him, George and Thomas—dressed as sheep—run around, smacking into each other and bleating in terror.
I fall back, laughing so hard I can’t breathe. Josh’s arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest as he roars with laughter too.
“Oh my God.” I wipe a tear from my eye. “I am one wicked actress.”
We lie on the floor together, watching as the story progresses, diverges, and reforms into a tangled mess of plot holes and childhood brilliance.
Interwoven with the story are bits of behind-the-scenes footage—Sam and Josh calling “cut,” repositioning us, coaching our lines, and arguing about the motivation of the characters. It’s ridiculous, chaotic, and perfect.
“I love this,” I sigh, leaning back into Josh’s chest. He runs his fingers over my palm, teasing the sensitive skin while we watch scene twenty-nine play out. The dragon sobs because his sheep have run off, and the shield-maiden comforts him with a pat on the back.
“It’s your beginning,” I say softly. “These videos capture you doing what you love.”
Josh’s fingers still for a moment before resuming their gentle tracing. He doesn’t say anything.
I tilt my head back to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t see it like that?”
He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. We’re lounging against the couch, me leaning into him, his back propped against the cushions. His free arm is tucked behind his head, casual and relaxed.
“My favorite part is coming up,” he replies, nodding toward the screen.
We watch as the shield-maiden helps the dragon round up his sheep.
“And here!” Sam’s voice booms as he gallantly gestures toward the bound prince. “Your reward!”
On the screen, fourteen-year-old me unties a youthful Pete from his bonds.
I bite my lip, the color draining from my face.
The ending. How did I forget the ending?
“Kiss!” Sam directs from behind the camera. “It’s only an ending if you have a kiss.”
On the screen, young me blushes furiously while Pete glances nervously at the camera. There’s an awkward pause as we both look to Sam for guidance.
“I’ve never—” young me starts.
“I’ll show you,” comes the voice from behind the camera. The image dips and shakes as the camera fumbles, then steadies again, this time capturing fifteen-year-old Josh stalking over to me.
He positions me side-on to the camera and says, “Now. Like this.”
It’s not a peck—it’s a real kiss. His hands gently smooth my hair back as he pulls away, stepping back with a satisfied grin.
On the screen, young Pete frowns. “I have to do that? But she’s….”
“Or a peck. Whatever,” Sam calls from behind the camera. “Action!”
No one moves at first. Then Josh turns back toward the camera and claps his hands. “One kiss, and we’re done.”
The camera twists and straightens again, focusing on me.
“Action!” Josh calls again.
Pete looks at me. I look at him. But I’m not looking at the lens—I’m looking above it.
I’m looking at Josh.
I remember the confusing twist of emotions I felt. The budding desire, the uncertainty, the thrill of what had just happened.
Finally, young Pete reaches out, pulls me closer, and presses a quick kiss to my cheek before dropping my hands like they’re on fire.
“Cut!” Sam yells. “That’s a wrap!”
The screen fades to black.
I reach for the remote, but before I can grab it, new footage flickers to life. The camera shakes, feet stamping around in the frame.
Josh moves behind me, his hand brushing mine as he reaches for the remote. “We don’t have to watch this.”
“Uh-uh.” I twist away, shooting him a playful smile. “It might be something I can use for the wedd—”
“You love Molly,” Sam’s voice cuts through the static, sharp and accusing.
I freeze, my heart skipping a beat as I turn to face the screen.