Maladaptive

Chapter 17

CHRIS

We sat in silence, just the sound of our heavy breathing, while we fixed our clothes.

My body and mind were still trying to catch up—coming down from the rush of our backseat adventure wasn’t easy—but the real reason my heart was pounding had less to do with the physical and everything to do with how freely I’d let my emotions spill out tonight.

Like some love-struck teenager on a second date. Jesus.

Jules reached for the door briskly, but I wasn’t ready to burst out of our bubble yet.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“It’s late. Some of us actually have to be on time for work tomorrow.” Sharp. I could practically see her walls coming back up, brick by brick.

“Ouch…” I pressed a hand to my chest like she’d stabbed me. “You’re making me feel used,” I continued, grinning enough to make it clear I wasn’t serious. Well… not entirely.

I got a perfectly executed eye roll in return before she opened the door and climbed out like she was immune to me.

Who was she trying to fool? She clearly wasn’t.

I stayed in the car a little longer, watching her walk away.

The way her skirt hugged her ass. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

If I wasn’t careful, I was going to get hard all over again.

I could feel myself grinning like an idiot as I finally stepped out of the car. She turned to look at me, smoothing her skirt. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips a little swollen, and it hit me all over again how she managed to be so many women at once.

We’d known each other less than forty-eight hours, and I’d already seen so many sides of her.

The fierce, protective mom. The quirky, funny date.

The uninhibited, phenomenal lover. The sweet, lovable granddaughter.

And now this—something soft and hesitant, like she was trying to avoid meeting my eyes.

When her gaze finally lifted to mine, those hazel eyes of hers were different.

Gentle. A little vulnerable. Like she was shy about something, but fighting it.

Fighting falling. I secretly hoped that’s what it was because I was already there.

30,000 feet down and no way back up. Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite get the words out. So, I did.

“So, are we all set for tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she nodded, but I could see the doubt in her eyes.

Fair. I wasn’t exactly the type of guy you introduced to Grandma or any family member. Hell, I was barely the guy you introduced to your coworkers. Unless you wanted to hear the He’s not boyfriend material speech.

“Text me the address. I’ll be there,” I said, flashing her a smile.

Her poorly buttoned shirt shifted, and I caught a glimpse of her bra.

Jesus.

A quickie in the back of the car was nowhere near enough. My body was already thinking about how to fix that, and my mouth had no filter.

“Or…” I leaned in, hands sliding to her waist to bring her closer, and my lips brushing her ear.

“I could sleep here tonight, and we’ll go together tomorrow.

” I felt her shiver under my hands. “You know… there’s a lot more we can do in a room than we can in the back of a car,” I whispered.

She didn’t say anything. There was a little hitch in her breathing.

Okay. My self-control was barely hanging on, but I’d promised to keep my asshole tendencies low. So maybe I shouldn’t push that particular boundary.

“We could go to my place. Maybe you would feel more comfortable there. I know how loud you like to be.” I added.

My hands slid a little further along her sides, soft and slow, without completely giving in to my want to press her against me.

Because, let’s be real, if I gave in completely, we weren’t making it anywhere near a bed.

And my forty-something back was not doing the backseat again.

I spotted those three little freckles near her collarbone. Three tiny brown dots that almost formed a triangle. God, those freckles. I’d kissed them a hundred times in my dreams. Hell, probably more.

It hit me. Hard. How weird this all was.

I couldn’t remember a single detail about the other women I’d been with.

Not the smell of their perfume, not the shape of their smile.

Nothing. But with Jules, every part of her was burned into my brain.

It wasn’t just her face or the sound of her laugh.

It was those tiny freckles. Her butterfly-shaped scar.

The faint smell of chamomile in her hair.

The sound she made when I kissed her freckles right there.

So, I kissed them. One at a time. Slowly. I saved the one closest to her neck for last.

She let out a shaky breath, and her hand pressed against my chest, gently pushing me back.

“I need to go,” she said, but her voice was anything but convincing. I locked eyes with her, giving my full attention. Control yourself, Chris. “I’ll see you… Tomorrow?” she asked because she still didn’t believe I’d show up.

“Tomorrow,” I said, my tone steady, making damn sure she knew I meant it. Her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

The thought of seeing her again tomorrow, and maybe every day after that, lit something up inside me.

I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that far ahead—it had been two days, for fuck’s sake.

But how could I not? She wasn’t someone I’d just met.

She was someone I’d known in a hundred lifetimes, someone who’d been in my head for twelve damn years.

Twelve years.

Twelve years of dreaming about her.

Twelve years of her being the one steady thing in my chaotic life in LA.

Agents screaming, deals falling apart, Vanessa scheming.

Those dreams had been my constant. My comfort.

Going to bed was my favorite part of the day, not because I was exhausted, but because that’s where she was.

And now she was here. Real. Right in front of me.

I leaned in and gave her a soft kiss, letting it linger a little longer.

She smiled and finally turned to walk toward her front door.

I stayed there, my eyes glued to her. The glow of the porch light caught in her red hair.

Blaze. The nickname made perfect sense. Looking at her was like looking at a wild flame—impossible to look away from.

“Sleep well…. and dream of me!” I called out. She paused at her door, glancing back with a smile that nearly made my heart stop. Then she stepped inside and disappeared from view.

I didn’t move right away. I stayed there, staring at her closed door like some lovesick idiot.

Whatever this was—psychic connection, multiverse weirdness, magic—I didn’t care.

All I knew was that it had brought her out of my head and into my life.

And now I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about the fact that all I wanted was to stay with her.

I slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and drove away, grinning the whole damn way home.

I sat in one of those uncomfortable folding chairs they always had on set, in the corner of the studio.

Crew members adjusted the lights, wrangled cables, and called out orders in that frantic, “organized chaos” that photo shoots always seemed to go.

It was all background noise to me at this point.

I focused on my phone, anyway, typing out a message to Jules:

What time lunch today?

We gotta do late lunch. I’m stuck redoing freaking David’s presentation.

Why?

Because it’s ridiculous, that’s why.

I mean, why are you doing it? Make him redo it.

I can do it faster.

I’m sure you can. But why would you? It’s his job.

You sound like my therapist…

Just saying. You don’t have to do everybody’s job.

Ha.

Is this the part where you open up about your eldest daughter's trauma, realize you can’t shake me from your mind, and fall in love?

Don’t steal my move.

Come on, trauma dump on me. It’s so sexy finding a fellow traumatized perfectionist.

You first.

How is that fair?

I’m already introducing you to my grandma. That’s enough for one day.

Fair.

Send me the address, btw.

I felt like a goddamn teenager, staring at the screen, waiting for those three little dots to pop up.

If she continued to answer, maybe I’d let myself be a little late for the shoot.

I was a world-class asshole, after all. But the dots didn’t appear.

She was probably back to fixing David’s presentation.

Fine. Work it is.

Vanessa materialized out of nowhere, ready to start a full day of pissing me off.

“If someone could only pay you to drop the phone for a few hours… Oh, wait! You are being paid. And very well, I might add. Can we go?”

“I’ll be right there,” I muttered, not looking up.

My thumb hovered over the screen, still holding onto the hope Jules would respond.

I felt a mix of hope and fear. Yesterday, I had laid it all out for her—words I hadn’t even said to my ex of two years, but I had told Jules.

Now, I was dealing with the anxiety of her not sending me the address for our lunch date.

Vanessa let out a loud sigh. “I’d like to have dinner at home tonight, so if you could hurry up, I’d appreciate it.”

“I have to be out by lunch.” My tone was firm. Non-negotiable.

Her eyes widened like I’d said I planned to set the studio on fire.

“Are you kidding me? I don’t think we’ll be done by then. I told you to clear your schedule for the day.”

I met her gaze without blinking. “I have to meet a friend. I didn’t think a photo shoot would take so long.

” The words came out calmer than I felt.

I hated these things. I always had. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate what I had.

I knew how lucky I was. Still, this wasn’t why I became an actor.

I was a theater kid. I loved acting. The photo shoots, the interviews, the endless parade of appearances—it was the price of admission, and I’d accepted it.

I owed it to a lot of people to suck it up.

My younger self, for one. The awkward, weird kid who dreamed big enough to get here in the first place.

And my mom. She’d fought for me many times, especially against my dad, who thought my dreams were ridiculous and embarrassing.

So yeah, I’d do the shoot. But today? I wasn’t staying longer than I had to. Not when Jules was waiting.

“Tell your new piece you can meet her tomorrow. Or at night. Since when do you meet women for lunch?”

My patience snapped. “Fuck off.”

“You have to be careful now, Mr. Jones. You’ll be a married man soon,” Vanessa said with that fake sweet tone she loved to use when she was really delivering a punch.

I didn’t answer. I turned my attention to straightening my clothes.

I wasn’t about to get into it again. She damn well knew the whole engagement was a PR stunt. Her idea, no less.

The fact that I had slept with Anna didn’t change a thing.

It had been meaningless, and Vanessa knew it.

She had been with me from the start, long enough to understand a night or two with another actress wasn’t anything more than sex.

We headed toward the photo shoot setup, but of course, she couldn’t resist one last dig.

“I hope she’s worth it!”

I stopped, shot her a sarcastic smirk, and handed her my phone.

“Come on, Vanessa, are you jealous?” I gave her a slow once-over, “I’m sorry you’re not hot enough to cancel out your disgusting personality, but some of us have a chance at love.”

“Love? Please.” She scoffed, unimpressed. “We had to spend millions getting you a fake future wife. You’re not really ‘love material,’ are you?”

The words hit a nerve.

I clenched my jaw but said nothing. She knew exactly how to mess with me and had years of practice to back it up.

But at the end of the day, I couldn’t deny what she’d done for me.

Vanessa was the one who built my career.

Every big opportunity I’d gotten? It had been her dealmaking behind the scenes.

She turned me into a brand, a character that women loved, and men wanted to copy.

She kept me out of scandals that should’ve sunk my career. God knows there were enough of them.

I owed her a lot. And she was right about one thing: I wasn’t perfect.

Not even close. The whole misunderstood and charming bachelor image she’d crafted?

That wasn’t me. Not really. But it worked, and I played along because it got me everything I wanted.

Still, there was no way I was letting her ruin my mood today.

Instead of firing back, I turned and walked away, heading straight for the photographer, letting her stew in her own bullshit.