Chapter Bex
Bex
Theo is a cuddler.
He’s the last person in the world I’d have assumed was a cuddler. I would fully have expected him to complete coitus with whatever supermodel was in his bed and then voice-direct his phone to find her a ride home.
But I digress. My point is that when I wake just before dawn, Theo is curled up around me as if I’m his most beloved stuffed animal, if his beloved stuffed animal gave him a boner.
Because Theo definitely has one, and I’d relish ridiculing him for it later if he wasn’t in here out of the goodness of his heart.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m totally going to ridicule him for it later.
I don’t know what happened to the pillow that was between us, but it’s long gone. Or perhaps Theo’s massive penis pushed into it so hard it disintegrated.
I pull the collar of his T-shirt to my nose.
Though it was on me for the last few hours, hours during which I slept like the dead, I can still smell him on it.
Hotel soap, aftershave, salty skin. I take a deep inhale, wishing he’d let me hold on to the shirt.
Wishing I hadn’t worn it at all so the traces of my shampoo would be gone and it would be entirely him, six-foot-something and overly warm behind me.
With an absolutely staggering erection, one that is nestled against the crack of my ass, pressing a little tighter when he exhales, releasing when he inhales, with his large hand wrapped around my hip.
I picture raising my knee, slipping my panties to the side, letting him rub against me until it accidentally just…happened. Based on the size of that thing, it would take a little more effort than that, but I’m soaked and swollen at the image anyway.
His breathing changes, gets a little faster, and he presses harder against my ass, his hand tightening on my hip as he pulls me closer. Air pushes through my lips, a quiet huff of desperation.
“Fuck,” he whispers, removing himself, awake at last.
“Don’t stop now,” I tell him with a forced laugh. “I think you were close.”
“Jesus Christ, Bex,” he snaps, shoving another pillow between us and rolling in the other direction.
I think I like unconscious Theo better.
· · ·
We start shooting early, as Paris in July is approximately a million degrees, but even if we’re starting early…a twelve-mile run is still a twelve-mile run.
It’s also not a twenty-six-mile run, and I’m failing to see how one thing could ever lead to the other.
Theo is already up and about by the time my alarm goes off. I put on my workout clothes and walk out into the suite. “I need a nap, not a jog.”
“Me too,” he replies. “Someone kept me up all night with her chitchat.”
“Someone woke me early with his erection,” I reply, and he groans, shoving his hand through his hair.
“I knew that was coming,” he says. “Coffee first?”
I nod. “Sure. I can make more erection jokes in line.”
We go down to the kiosk in the lobby, where he buys me a latte and a chocolate croissant without being told to get them.
Increasingly, it doesn’t feel as if we’re pretending to be a couple but as if we actually are one.
Minus the orgasms, that is. And it would be an unbelievably terrible idea, but I think I’d really like him to give me a few of those too.
I’m ninety percent certain he’d shoot me down if I suggested it but… I wonder.
“Theo,” I whisper, grabbing his arm.
“Huh?” he asks.
“Come here,” I say, leading him by the hand through the black-and-white tiled lobby. “Grab that free chair.”
His mouth lilts upward on one side. “Which of us gets to sit? I assume you because your story is more tragic.”
I laugh. “It’s adorable how bad you are at this. Have you never tried to make someone insane with jealousy? Sit.”
He sits, and I immediately climb in his lap, curling up there like a child…or a very affectionate wife.
He stiffens for a half second, then relaxes. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer, before he takes a sip of his drink. “So, who are we making jealous?”
“No one, but someone over there was watching us and she just placed a call. A hundred bucks says Kylie or Jasper or both of them arrive in a few minutes. And they’re hoping for some proof that this is all bullshit, and we’re not going to give it to them.”
He smiles. “I’m not sure the two of us sitting down here early in the morning offers much proof. If we were actually married, we’d still be in bed.”
There he goes again, saying things that make me want to explore the possibilities.
“We are actually married,” I counter. “Kiss me.”
His gaze falls to my lips, a moment’s hesitation, before he tugs me closer and presses his mouth to mine. I suck the coffee off his lower lip and his quiet groan is a whisper against my mouth before he releases me.
I try to move so I can see to the right of us in the bar and his hand clamps down on my hip.
“Careful,” he warns.
I tug his earlobe between my teeth. “What happens if I’m not careful?”
His eyes fall closed. “Several things I’d rather not have occur in public,” he replies.
I grin. “Maybe this morning will get interesting after all.”
The words are barely out before he suddenly rises, lifting me as he goes and setting me on my feet. “Enough,” he says. “We need to get ready to go, and I don’t give a shit who’s down here watching.”
“You’re the least fun husband I’ve ever had,” I sigh.
· · ·
Our run begins down the Seine promenade, tree-lined and gorgeous.
Lars and Katrina are both absent—I insist it’s suspicious and Theo says I watch too much TV—so Paula is in charge of the shoot.
The first part of our loop would make any viewer want to take up running: the plant-covered houseboats and Bateaux Mouches floating to our right, while ahead of us lies the Pont Alexandre—one of the world’s most famous bridges—with the sun glancing off its Belle époque lamps and gold-leaf sculptures.
On the other bank stand the Invalides and the Orsay, and if I were with someone other than Theo, I might admit that I sort of enjoy doing this.
Alas, we still have eleven miles left to go.
We cross over to the Left Bank, and I’m still hanging in there despite the heat.
I can appreciate the beauty of nature as we take a loop through the Luxembourg Gardens (mile three) but by the time we’ve reached the Tuileries (mile six), I never want to see another garden again.
Paula decides this is a good time to pull the mics off and let us finish on our own, perhaps because I’m drenched in sweat and so repulsive viewers won’t be able to stomach the footage.
For our final loop we head up the Champs-élysées toward the Bois de Boulogne—basically Paris’s Central Park—at which point I hate nature, and lakes, and have completely lost my filter.
“Why haven’t you visited your nephew?” I blurt.
His surprise is visible—a jerk of his head, stiffening shoulders. “Meeting my nephew would mean being forced to talk to his whore of a mother, among other things. I put my entire fortune in a trust for him. He’ll never want for a thing.”
It’s such a Theo solution, one that hopes money will solve everything and ignores the fact that this kid needs family.
“Don’t you think maybe he needs more than money? I’d have killed to have someone from my mother’s side around when I was growing up. And I’d kill to have some tiny version of Bronwyn around, to see even a few hints of her in someone else.”
“All so I can get close to this kid and have Pen decide to cut us off? Or watch him turn into a troubled, suicidal teenager? I’ve warned my mother, and she just doesn’t listen.”
My heart aches for him, unexpectedly. I’d assumed he was just being thoughtless in not meeting his nephew. But that’s not it at all.
He just doesn’t want to love someone and lose them. He doesn’t want to love someone and have him jump off a balcony. He doesn’t want to love someone and discover she isn’t who he thought.
And that’s all too easy to understand. I don’t want to start caring for someone and discover it was a mistake either.
My dad adored Theo but thought he was a player, a guy having too much fun with a million different women to ever commit to just one. I’d thought it was douchiness. Maybe Theo was just scared, like me.
“Maybe it doesn’t always turn out badly,” I tell him, my voice soft.
His gaze brushes over me, hesitating. “Perhaps it doesn’t.”
We complete our twelfth mile—thank god—and walk back to the hotel. The sweat on my skin has dried down to literal salt—I’m actually brushing it off my skin. I want to eat sixteen cheeseburgers, and I would cut off my own foot for a cold drink.
We enter the hotel lobby and groan in relief as the cool air hits us.
By the time we’re on the elevator, my soaking wet running clothes are icy.
My teeth chatter as I hobble to the room.
Now I would cut off my own foot for a blanket.
I’d cut off the other foot for a nap. Ultimately, it’s for the best that no one especially wants my feet, because I’d regret those decisions later.
I shower and emerge from my bathroom just as he’s emerging from his—shirtless, in nothing but shorts. As exhausted as I am, the sight makes my stomach clench.
Other muscles clench too.
His sleepy gaze drops to the T-shirt I’m wearing—his—then jerks away. It definitely has not escaped his attention that I’ve skipped the bra.
“I’m desperate for a nap,” I tell him.
“Me too,” he says. “Unfortunately, housekeeping already stripped the bedding from the pull-out couch.”
“Just sleep in mine,” I tell him groggily. “How much damage could you do in two hours?”
He laughs under his breath. “A lot, but I’m too tired at present.”
A lot. As tired as I am, a thrill races up my spine at that.
We both stumble to the bedroom and pull the thick duvet down. I sigh as my bare legs slide against the cool sheets, and then I pull the blankets over me while he wedges another pillow between us.
“Worried you might just slip right in by accident?” I tease.