Chapter 6
Six
Sterling
Lisa had me redo the same scene three times today.
It wasn’t because the knife turned out to be real either.
I noticed the weight before the sharp tip could pierce skin and said something immediately even though a voice inside me said not to.
My fingers tightened around the handle, and as I sat it down, the emptiness it left behind in my palm felt wrong.
I want to make sense of it, but lately it’s been easier to forget it keeps happening.
To brush it off as me getting too wrapped up in my role so that the audience believes what I’m selling.
It doesn’t matter how perfectly I portray a psychopath, I’m still struggling to sell it to myself and there’s a nudge in me to take a step further.
To make it more real. Is someone out there telling me to do the same thing by swapping out all the fake weapons?
I squeeze my eyes shut and go back to focusing on what’s supposed to matter. On the actual problem, the real reason I should be feeling off. The one that makes sense.
Me mixing up my lines has never happened before, and I don’t know if it’s because of how tired I got halfway through filming or if it was because I couldn’t stop looking at the man zooming in on me.
It was his job to film me, but it also felt like more than that.
It felt . . . yeah, I’m letting my crazy thoughts get away from me again.
He’s a nice guy. That’s all. Everything else that’s happened is pure coincidence. Him driving by while I was running, him ordering pizza when I was looking for something better to eat, and him buying those pop tarts.
He wouldn’t have come to my trailer if I hadn’t made him feel bad about buying them all.
His hand wouldn’t have touched mine if he wasn’t trying to stop me from backing myself into a corner the way I do when I accidentally say the wrong thing.
I sit back in my bed, resting my face in my hands.
Why did his skin feel so good on mine, though?
Why did he have to smile so big that it felt like it was reaching my soul?
And why did I want so badly to bring our hands back together the moment he pulled away?
I look at my phone, trying to remember if I’ve saved one of my old fuck buddy’s numbers in my contacts.
Melanie was only ten minutes away from here.
I might be able to sneak off for an hour and be back before anyone notices.
Lisa didn’t say I couldn’t leave. She only said she wanted me sleeping on site, and I would be.
Swiping through my contacts, I stop when I land on the right name, and my hand feels stuck when I try to select it.
I can’t move. It’s like I’m temporarily paralyzed.
But then I go back to thinking about Hayden and suddenly my legs work.
They’re heading toward the door as I look out the nearby window, wondering if he’s out there now and if he’s working late again.
I open the door and then slam it shut, trying to knock some sense into myself.
I need to call Melanie, and once I’m in her bed, I’ll feel more like myself again.
Except I’m not even sure what that is anymore.
But when I think about the way Hayden looked at me, I swear his eyes were promising to help show me how to get there.
No. I’ve done a good job all this time with ignoring those kinds of desires. I’ve never felt them so strongly as I have with him, though. They’re burning inside me and curling low in my stomach. Something festers there when he’s touching me. It’s hot and has me in a fucking chokehold.
We work together, and I don’t know if he feels the same way. I don’t even know how I feel.
What is it about him?
It’s not him. It’s me. What if it’s some weird side effect of my sleep meds?
I press my back to the door, my hand twisting the handle, and I think about Melanie.
I think about her perfect, round, petite ass, and then an image of Hayden’s thick thighs rubbing together in his jeans push the thought to the side.
I picture Melanie in one of her sexy bralettes.
How delicate the pink color looked against her blemish-free skin, and then Hayden’s muscular pecs that are outlined by each snug-fitting, light-colored shirt he wears take precedence in my mind.
I sink to the floor, tugging at my hair, and say Melanie’s name out loud while touching myself through my sweatpants.
It’s not her I see. My muscles tighten, my mind disengaging from everywhere I try to make it go. It fights me hard, and while I’m remembering how hard Melanie’s nipples got when she rubbed her chest against me, I think about the time she shoved her finger in my ass.
I wanted to tell her to stop, but then she twisted it inside me, the tip brushing over what felt like a fucking magic button. I nearly exploded right there.
Yeah, I can think about that. It’s not him, so it’s still safe. I shove my pants down my hips and my erection springs free. I moan as my fingers roll over the bare, sensitive skin of my cock. I pretend my hand is Melanie’s mouth, and when she says to come for me, it’s not her voice I hear.
Her blue eyes turn brown and facial hair rubs over my thighs, and her fingers around my balls are rough and thick.
It’s not her anymore, and I don’t want it to be.
She’s not the one making me slip off the edge.
It’s not her causing the explosion of arousal that shakes me from the inside out, or the twitching in my hole from being so fucking empty.
If her fingers felt good, what would his feel like?
They’re so big and his hands are covered in tattoos.
They don’t look like they’d be gentle, and I wouldn’t want them to be, would I?
I tug harder on my cock, putting more pressure on my balls with my other fingers, and I’m so drunk from being close to my orgasm, my eyes are playing tricks on me.
I’m seeing the black hood of a camera lens through the glass window across the way.
I come so hard, I feel like I’m losing my grip on earth and floating off the fucking ground. I’m seeing stars and moons, traveling to a different planet. My breaths stutter and my vision is fuzzy. I laugh, shaking my head.
I needed to get the curiosity about him out of my system, and I hope this was all I had to do to make that happen.
I open my eyes wider and wait until I can see clearly again before pulling myself up from the floor.
Looking down at the mess I made all over myself, I grab some napkins from the kitchenette area and clean myself off.
My whole body freezes when there’s a knock at the door.
There’s only one. I look back, quickly pull my pants up, and check out my reflection in the metal toaster before opening the door.
No one is there, only the building sitting empty in the dark night.
All the lights are out and there’s not so much as a single whisper.
Everyone appears to be gone for the night.
If that’s the case, then who the hell knocked?
The other trailers’ windows are dark too. I must have been hearing things? I let out a drawn-out breath, and as I turn around to retreat back inside, a white piece of paper with green writing taped to the side of the door catches my attention.
Sterling,
I’m heading out but was thinking about when we ran into each other earlier and I told you to let me know if you go jogging again.
I’ll be going first thing when I wake up at six a.m. You’re welcome to come along.
I’ll wait ten minutes before I take off.
No need to feel bad if you’re not feeling up to it, but if you are, then make sure to bring your best running shoes, otherwise you might struggle to keep up with me.
Cameraman Hayden.
I laugh at the mention of the name I gave him the first night we properly met. I snatch the paper and go back inside, reading his letter three more times. Could I really be alone with him again after what I just did in my trailer while thinking about him sucking my cock?
I sit at the edge of the full-size bed and run a finger over the silly nickname, knowing damn well I’m going to meet up with him tomorrow so that I can at least try.
How else will I know if what I did tonight really worked?