22. Cole
Chapter twenty-two
Cole
“You’ve been on fucking fire this last week, bro,” Tate says to me as we walk side by side toward my trailer. Mara and I just finished shooting an intimate scene, and we had the attention of everybody in the room.
Well, everyone, aside from Jenna. She had her back to us while sweeping up hair clippings from off the ground.
If she’d been watching, she would have seen that Mara’s and my lips never touched—not even a slight graze.
I guess that’s the beauty of acting and working different camera angles. They can make shit look real without you actually needing to perform.
“I guess I have a good co-star,” I tell him with a shrug. Mara is fantastic at her job. There’s no denying that. But it’s also very obvious that she’s trying to do everything in her power to force my attention onto her. And while Jenna and I aren’t really anything, Mara thinks we’re together.
The whole set does.
Still, she’s adamant on claiming me as her own. It tells me everything I need to know about the type of person she is.
She tried to turn our intimate scene real, attempting to reach for me in places that she had no business reaching for, but my cock doesn’t want her.
He remained limp with each and every attempt.
“Good is an understatement. That woman is a fucking goddess.” His phone beeps in his hand, and he opens the notification while still deep in conversation with me. “I have a feeling her management is going to want you guys to put on a little show for the press. So whatever you have going on with the hairstylist, shut it down.” He shoves his phone into his pocket and rips open my mini fridge. Taking a bottle of water out, he drinks it all in one go.
I shake my head. “I’m not doing that.” I fetch my own bottle of water before I take a seat on the black, leather couch next to my fridge.
“I thought it was all a ruse? A little joke between the two of you? What would it matter if you switch it up a little, go for the girl the entire country is expecting you to fall for?” he says, taking a seat beside me.
“What does it matter? Fake or not, I don’t want to pretend to be with Mara. She already tries to fuck me when she thinks I’m dating someone else. I’m not interested in pretending to want someone like that.” I screw the cap back on my water bottle, scrunching it between my hands and throwing it into the bin. “This film is the most talked about movie of the year, it doesn’t need anymore hype.”
“Leave it with me,” he says, pulling his ringing phone out of his pocket before he walks out of my trailer, the door just missing him as it slams shut.
I told my brother that Mara was the reason I was hitting all my scenes in one take. That having an excellent co-star was the reason I was doing everything exactly how it was expected of me, but that’s not at all true.
Something I’ve realized about myself this week is that I thrive while watching people squirm. And Jenna Rogers has done nothing but that every single time she’s in my presence.
When I deliver a flirty line from the script, my eyes immediately flash to her, and she blushes.
Whenever my character compliments Mara’s character, I wink at Jenna when the camera isn’t on me.
I’ve found her constantly nibbling or licking her bottom lip, and it feels like she’s on the verge of breaking, of finally giving in.
But she’s so fucking stubborn and unpredictable that I could be way off.
One moment she’s looking at me in a way that screams ‘I’m begging you to do whatever you want to me,’ and the next, she’s biting Tahnee’s head off over something so minuscule, which leaves Tahnee pointing the finger at me. “This is your fault,” she mouthed at me this morning when Jenna took a sip of her too-hot coffee, and it burnt the roof of her mouth. “I don’t know how or why, but I know you’re behind this,” she said to me. “Fix it.”
“I’m trying,” I told her honestly. “But I don’t know if you’re aware, your boss is hard to read.” She rolled her eyes and stormed away from me, carrying Jenna’s scalding-hot coffee in the palm of her hands.
“Try harder.”
Call me crazy, but I loved that I could get under her skin so easily.
We’re both playing each other’s game. Only, she’s the one who has the ball firmly in her court.
She knows I want her. I’ve made it as obvious as I can without physically writing it across my damn forehead.
All I have to do is wait.
Stepping into my apartment after a long day on set, I claw my shirt off the second the door closes behind me, in desperate need of a cold shower to relieve the pent up tension I’ve had building inside of me.
Though, it’s a tension I’m able to lighten on my own every single night.
Lighten being the key word, because while it does the job temporarily, it doesn’t relieve me completely.
Letting the water run down my back, I follow the same process I have every single day for the last month.
My head rests against the white tiles, eyes squeezed firmly shut, while my hand grips the base of my cock.
Images of Jenna flash behind my eyelids.
Her lips wrapped around my cock, staining it red on the night we met.
Her long, blonde hair wrapped around my knuckles while I fucked her mercilessly in my hotel room, making her come around my cock, and on my tongue a total of fourteen times.
Bent over the sink during games night with her dress hiked over her perfectly round ass.
Her dress pulled down to reveal her tits while I slammed inside of her as she sat on the bathroom vanity.
It’s the same images repeatedly, yet I never tire of them.
They’re all I need to chase my release, time after time, night after night.
It’s not the same as the real thing, though.
Not even close.
But it’s the best I have right now, so I’ll take what I can get.