Chapter 33
Avery
Being with Nic is so easy, I haven’t had a chance to screw it up yet. She’s busy winding down her practice—for me—and I have my hands full with the seemingly never-ending press a big production like Deadline for Love demands. And thwarting questions about my unethical former shrink.
In the end, Leslie and I decided on a no-comment position.
I’m not denying it, although I have zero objections to lying to the so-called journalists that work for exploitative websites like TMZ.
But it would be difficult to deny my relationship with Nic, because my life—and my head—is full of her now.
We sleep together. We cook together. We eat together. We have a lot of hot sex together. We spend as much time together as possible and I haven’t felt the urge to run away yet.
Meanwhile, I’ve said yes to Mimi St. James’s new movie—working title: Double Exposure—for which I’m very excited. That project is only in the script phase though and I’ve worked in this business long enough to know that it could take years before the shoot actually begins—if it ever gets that far.
But Leslie’s phone’s been ringing off the hook since Queer Girl Summer and my next movie has been in the works for a while.
Rehearsals start in a few weeks. It’s a much-hyped movie adaptation of a best-selling psychological thriller in which I play the lead.
I’m studying the script when my phone rings.
“I still can’t believe you slept with my therapist, bitch,” Sienna says.
“Maybe you need to go back into therapy so you can get over it,” I reply.
“I can’t because my favorite shrink is about to lose her license.” Sienna gives as good as she gets, which is why she has become one of my best friends.
“Touché,” is all I can say. “My new one’s pretty good, though.”
“How hot is she?” Sienna asks.
I chuckle. “To be honest, I’ve barely noticed.”
“Coz you only have eyes for Dr. Nic now?”
“I guess so.” I welcome the distraction and we talk about Sienna’s current shoot, then try to agree on some timings for a triple-date with Stella and Kate.
I’ve barely hung up the phone when it rings again. This time, it’s Derek.
“Hi, Avery,” he says. “I’m calling on behalf of Ida and Faye.”
“Oooh.” I’m instantly giddy. Despite, as Derek called me once, being the hot-and-very-buttered toast of Tinseltown, some actors are so great that simply saying their name still has that effect on me. Both Ida Burton and Faye Fleming belong to that category. “How thrilling.”
“They would like to invite you to dinner.” He pauses. “This invitation also extends to your forbidden lover—and I’m not paraphrasing here.”
Ida wasn’t being phony when she said she wanted to invite me to hers and Faye’s. Another flash of giddiness shoots through me.
“No longer forbidden,” I say.
“Depends who you ask, I guess,” Derek says. “Ben and I will also be there. I’ll WhatsApp some options.” I can almost hear the smile in his voice. “How are you doing with all this?”
“I’m in love, so…”
“And Nic?”
Every time someone mentions her name, butterflies go wild in my belly. I’m so smitten, I barely recognize myself.
“I think Nic feels the same way,” I say.
“How is she handling the whole thing with the board? I’m asking you because it’s hard to get a straight answer out of her. She’s in love, like you, so…”
It surprises me that Nic hasn’t been open with her best friend about how losing her license makes her feel.
“She’s not talking to you?”
“She is, but it’s a lot, even for her.” He sounds a little worried, worrying me in return.
“I know.” I have no clue what else to say to that. “I think she’ll be okay, but it will be a huge change.”
“We’ll get her through it,” Derek says.
We chitchat a while longer and when the call is over, I no longer feel like learning lines.
I pace around my house restlessly, checking my watch every other minute. Nic is working late tonight, seeing clients until nine p.m., and we don’t have plans together. But my body doesn’t seem to agree. My body very much wants to be with her.
I walk into the kitchen, then forget why I’m there. I open the script again, but stare at the same line for five minutes. I check the time—only 8:45—like an impatient teenager who is waiting for a text from her first girlfriend.
Fuck it. I message Nic, because I miss her and I want to be with her. I know exactly what to say to have her rush over here as soon as she’s finished work.
Want to watch Queer Girl Summer together tonight?
My phone buzzes at exactly one minute past nine.
I’ll be there in half an hour.
“Instead of watching the movie,” I say after I’ve welcomed Nic to my house with a long, hot kiss, “how about we reenact that scene in the woods?”
“The threesome one?” Nic arches up her eyebrows. “Is someone else here?”
I chuckle. “No, the other scene in the woods.”
“I have to watch the movie again to remember,” Nic says, her hand trailing down my arm. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“If you think the movie is better than this.” I pull her close again for another kiss.
She moans into my mouth, but pulls away. “The movie was exceptionally good.” Nic grins at me. “Just give me a minute, okay? I’ve had a day and a half.”
“God, yes. I’m sorry.” Although I’ve been thinking about her all the time, she’s probably been through hell informing her clients she can no longer be their therapist. “Let me take care of you.”
It’s the least I can do for her. My career is barely going to suffer from this.
The studio executives grumbled at first, but as soon as it became obvious that the box office of Deadline for Love was not affected by the news of my affair with Nic—on the contrary—they soon turned their focus elsewhere.
“In this case,” Leslie said, “all publicity is good publicity.” She also admitted that she might have overreacted to that TMZ breaking-news article because it featured a picture of her sister, which was something very new in my agent’s life.
I can just ride out this storm, that has already turned into a mere gust of wind. It’s the opposite for Nic.
“Talk to me,” I say to Nic as I lead her to the couch—as though losing her license equals losing the ability to walk on her own.
Nic sighs as she puts her feet up. “I can’t go into personal details, obviously, but there’s someone that I’ve been counseling for more than a year and they took it really hard.
Then there’s the fact that I slept with you.
That I blurred that line with someone. It doesn’t help that it’s all over the internet. ”
“I’m sorry.” I hate having to apologize for how things started between us.
“It’s all well and good to make decisions after a mind-blowing climax, but the aftermath—the reality of it—is not easy.” She pinches the bridge of her nose.
I feel out of my depth. The reality is also that our affair has been a massive whirlwind—a tornado rushing through our lives, leaving very visible traces of destruction. On top of that, we’ve only seen certain sides of each other and are only at the early stages of getting to know each other.
“Come here.” I tug lightly at her hand until she stretches toward me and her head lands in my lap.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and try not to fill the silence for once, to just let her sit—or lie in my lap—with the difficult emotions she has to process. It’s not my usual way of doing things, but this time, I force myself, because it’s Nic—and she has done so much for me.
“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” I ask. “Then bring you up a soothing cup of tea? Or a nice glass of wine?” I don’t suggest joining her in the bath, which is what I would like to do. But this isn’t about me.
Nic looks up at me, a small smile on her lips.
“You’re very sweet.” Her hand finds mine and lingers, her fingers sliding between mine.
Our palms rest together for a beat, then our fingertips start tracing idle patterns, brushing and curling against each other’s skin like they have all the time in the world. “And very pretty.”
I smile down at her, resisting the overwhelming urge to kiss her. My only job right now is to be there for her—to follow her cues.
“I’ll take that bath,” she says, finally. “But only if you join me.”
Nic doesn’t have to ask me twice.