31. Slow, Particularly Pleasant Mornings
Ron
"It's weird seeing you on your laptop."
Her sleep-heavy voice cuts through the quiet silence of the bedroom.
I look up from the glowing screen of my laptop and... Selene is a vision. A fucking vision.
I love her sleepy morning bedhead look. Her raven hair is a delicious tangle falling past her shoulders, her cheeks are still warm from sleep, and her dark eyes are struggling to adjust to the sunlight filtering through the parted curtains.
And then, I absolutely love her little pajama.
She has a collection that drives me crazy, but today's is objectively fantastic: a pair of black cotton shorts and a soft, white t-shirt with a print of two skeleton hands placed exactly... right over her boobs.
I frown, staring at the print. Now that I think about it, those bony fingers annoy me for absolutely no rational reason. I'm fucking jealous of those skeleton hands. Maybe I'll have to take her shirt off very, very fast to rectify this offense.
"I'm editing some footage," I answer her.
She rubs an eye with the back of her hand and, curious, steps closer to me, leaning over my shoulder.
"What footage?" she asks, peeking at the screen where clips of the estate are playing.
I love these moments of normalcy between us. The morning calm, our breaths close together, the total absence of cameras or challenges.
And... suddenly, as I feel her lean lightly against my shoulder, I have another one of those terrifying thoughts.
I think about my future.
It's something I usually don't allow myself to do.
I learned to manage my life, ever since I was a kid, strictly living only in the present.
It was much easier that way: no mental projections, no expectations of an adoption that never came, no expectations about friends going their own way, no overly permanent bonds that could break and leave me shattered.
But now... the thought that violently carves out space in my heart is a clear, devastating image.
I see myself in a few years.
In this house.
With Ollie.
With a raven-haired woman.
With dark eyes.
With her fake grumpy huffs, while she calls me new-cowboy.
Oh, holy shit.
My heart skips a beat. I feel dizzy. I look away from the screen. I need to distract myself. Right now.
"I really want to make a serious documentary," I answer her question, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It's... a new project I've been thinking about for a while. I'd like to get into filmmaking and production."
Selene straightens up. I look at her out of the corner of my eye and see she's smiling. It's a soft, proud smile. She's given me more smiles in the last week.
"That sounds really interesting, Ron," she murmurs sincerely.
Another intense week has passed since the last challenge we faced.
The trial: "Walk Among the Snakes." It was a slithering hell.
Sam and Katherine were officially eliminated.
Turns out the archaeologist has a phobia of snakes.
Even though production swore they weren't real snakes and there were only a few harmless corn snakes among them.
I wonder if all archaeologists are scared of snakes.
"What are you working on, by the way?" I ask her. "You still haven't told me about your latest project."
She freezes. Her cheeks, already pink from sleep, flare with a furious blush.
Over this past week, I've discovered a ton of things about her. Tiny but massive things. I found out her absolute favorite food is pizza. That she loves watching the rain, but actually prefers living in a warm climate. That she really likes sports.
"No one... no one has ever asked me what I'm working on," she says, her voice so quiet I struggle to hear it. She looks down, twisting the hem of her shirt with her fingers. "Except Jessica... but she's my agent."
The sadness in that confession hits me right in the chest like a punch.
I rest my hand over hers. I start gently stroking her knuckles with my thumb.
Selene doesn't pull away. Her fingers relax against my palm, and my bastard of a heart jumps for joy, Olympic backflips included.
"Well, I'd really love to know," I tell her, my voice steady. "Only if you want to talk about it, obviously. I'm incredibly curious, but... fair warning, no spoilers. I fully intend to read it."
She blushes again, a deep color that travels all the way down her neck.
I get the feeling she is a truly lonely person. Not just solitary by choice, but lonely deep down.
My heart aches for her. She deserves so much more. She deserves someone who sees, every single day, what a wonderful, complex, talented woman she really is.
Selene clears her throat, trying to compose herself.
"This whole thing with you reading my books is really absurd," she mumbles, even though the corner of her mouth twitches into a half-smile.
She lifts her big dark eyes to me, maybe to gauge my reaction, searching for any trace of mockery.
She doesn't find any. Then she drops her gaze back down to our joined hands.
My hand is still over hers. I keep stroking it with my thumb in a slow, steady rhythm, silently telling her: I'm here, I'm listening.
"It's..." she hesitates for a second, taking a breath. "It's a dark western. With a phantom cowboy."
My eyes go wide, my mouth curving into a brazen smirk. I wink, waggling my eyebrows up and down when she looks back up at me.
"Seriously?" I ask, puffing out my chest. "Tell me... does this male lead look anything like me?"
Selene stares at me in pure shock for a second, then the tension melts away and she bursts out laughing.
"Keep dreaming, new-cowboy," she dismisses me, and with her free hand, she gives my arm a light, almost affectionate swat.