When had he become so pathetic around women? Or more accurately, one specific woman? Unexpectedly coming face-to-face with his twenty-one-year-old self had been jarring, to say the least. He’d forgotten that he’d slept with both his costars in What’s Your Deal? (and several extras) and somehow managed to keep them from finding out until the wrap party, when all hell broke loose. He didn’t miss the callous asshole he’d been in those days, and certainly didn’t miss the drama that inevitably ensued. However, that Ethan would have had Grey naked and screaming his name at the first hint of an opportunity, so maybe he could learn a thing or two from his younger self.
He could already feel himself getting hard at the thought. This was fucking ridiculous. The more he told himself that he needed to leave her alone, the more his body rebelled. It didn’t help that now he knew exactly how soft her skin was, how responsive she was to his touch, how her moans felt in his mouth. He was going to pay for that moment of weakness forever, probably; tormented by the intimate knowledge he had of her, tempted by the prospect of what was still left to discover.
For her sake, he hoped to never find out.
“SO, WHAT ABOUT THOSE QUESTIONS?”
Grey peered over her sunglasses, sure she’d misheard. She’d thought Ethan was asleep: he’d been reclined on the lounge chair next to her with a towel covering his head for the past twenty minutes, still as a corpse.
When she’d come out to the pool late that morning, he’d been swimming laps, his form cutting a powerful swath through the water. She’d originally envisioned herself swanning around their villa in her new bikini, flowy cover-up, and giant hat like a sixties Italian film star. Those same items of clothing felt decidedly less glamorous as she hobbled out on her crutches, trying to juggle her coffee and a pile of scripts. She was thankful his head was mostly underwater as she clumsily arranged herself in her seat.
The scripts were mainly just to kill time; Renata had assured her that she would be getting the offer for Golden City any day now. She was ten pages into the one in her lap and was already about to give up. How was she being sent both “middle-aged suburban mom” and “teenage babysitter” roles?
“What?” she asked, flipping the script shut and tossing it back onto the pile. Ethan pulled the towel off his face and rose up on his elbows next to her.
“Those questions. The love questions. Should we try it?” Her stomach flip-flopped. He was wearing sunglasses, too, so his face was impossible to read.
“You’re not worried?” She felt so ridiculous asking that she couldn’t even fully finish the thought.
He shrugged. “We could come up with a safe word. If we start experiencing any confusing sensations, just say ‘shiitake burger’ and the whole thing’s off.”
She grinned, despite herself. “Maybe we can get one of those spray bottles, like when you’re trying to keep a cat off the furniture. Just a little spritz to the face.”
“Did you pack your electric nipple clamps? That might be a good punishment.”
“Yeah, they’re right next to your fake mustache.”
Ethan laughed and flipped over onto his stomach.
“Is that question thirty-seven? Nipple clamps, yea or nay?” he asked, turning his face toward her and resting his cheek on his folded forearms.
“I think they’re supposed to dig a little deeper than that.”
“Bring ’em on.”
Grey pulled out her phone and searched for the website, a little surprised that he was so into the idea. “We can skip around and do them out of order; maybe the cumulative effect is what leads to love.”
“Whatever feels right.”
She suspected what felt right would be to sink her teeth into the muscles of his naked back, but that probably wasn’t what he meant. She started to scroll, an involuntary chuckle escaping her lips.
“What?” Ethan said.
She shook her head. “I think I already know the answer to this one.” She read in a singsong tone: “?‘Would you like to be famous?’?”
She lowered the phone, expecting him to laugh, too, but he seemed to be taking the question seriously. He propped himself up on his elbows.
“You think I’ll say no, I wish I wasn’t?”
She shrugged. “You don’t?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s easy to say I’d give it all up, but I was never able to when it came down to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I thought a million times about selling everything and moving to a ranch in Montana or something. Never could pull the trigger. And now…” He trailed off, pushing his sunglasses onto his forehead and piercing her with a thoughtful look. “Now, with you, with everything—I guess I’m asking for it again. I can’t stay away. I’m not good for anything else.” He tossed the last sentence off almost as an afterthought, but there was an acerbic undertone beneath it.
She bent her good leg and rested her head on her knee. “Do you even want to work again?”
He was silent for a long moment. “I want to want to,” he said finally.
“You know there are a lot of people who’d kill to be in your shoes.” She hadn’t meant to chastise him, especially in such a trite way, but it just slipped out. By this point, she could sense when he was on the cusp of sinking into self-pity.
He glanced at her. “Including you?”
“Sorry, but nothing in your wardrobe is worth killing for.” He snickered at that. She leaned back in her chair, stretching both legs straight again. “I already told you, I don’t want to be you-famous.”
“Right, right, of course. Control. I remember.” He rolled onto his side. “Have you been enjoying the perks of being you-famous yet, at least?”
She cast her eyes around their decadent surroundings, then hesitated. “Well…” She thought about her encounter with the woman in the grocery store, the invasive Instagram photos. A photo of him carrying her back to their villa had already been posted on @grethan_updates, sourced from god knows where. He seemed to sense the unease lurking behind her expression.
“What? What is it?”
As she filled him in on the details of the last few weeks, his face clouded. He pushed himself to a seated position, facing her, his brow furrowing.
“That’s not okay. We need to do something. Did you tell Audrey?”
“Tell her what? What is she going to do?”
Ethan ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Grey forced herself to drag her eyes away from his bare bicep as it flexed with the motion.
“It’s so fucked. All this social media bullshit. I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with it when I was coming up. Everyone feels entitled to complete access to every part of you, all the time. It’s insane.”
Grey sighed. “It’s not all bad.”
He half smiled. “That was your worst read yet.”
* * *
—
THEY ATE LUNCH out on the patio; room service again. Ethan would’ve been happy to spend the whole weekend hiding out there, but he knew Audrey would have their heads on a platter. The resort had offered them use of a chauffeured golf cart to transport Grey from place to place; they would be expected to make an appearance at the Oasis Lounge that evening. The clock was rapidly running down on their time-out due to injury.
Grey swallowed a bite of her blackened shrimp salad. “Ready for another question?” She seemed as grateful as he was to have a roster of conversation starters on deck.
“Hit me.”
She glanced down at her phone. “?‘Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.’?”
“That’s not a question.”
“You can email them to complain later.”
He put down his caprese panini and rubbed his jaw.
“We’re both actors,” he said, counting off on his fingers, one by one. “We both live in L.A., and…we’re both in a fake relationship.”
“Boooo.” Grey cupped her hand around her mouth to heckle him, but she was smiling.
“Top that.”
Grey popped another piece of shrimp into her mouth and leaned back in her chair, thinking.
“Well, we’re both unemployed layabouts,” she began. He laughed. She continued. “We both like to run away from our problems…”
He wasn’t laughing anymore. Her eyes met his, gauging if she was going too far. He inclined his head, indicating that she should keep going. “And…we both have a hard time letting new people into our lives. Trusting people.”
He looked down at his sandwich. She wasn’t wrong.
“We sound fun.”
She smiled wryly. “Hey, the whole point of this is to get a little uncomfortable. We can stop anytime you want, just say the word.”
“I’m not uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Should I get the nipple clamps?”
He burst out laughing again.
* * *