“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocked. “Is that too racy for you Southern belles?” He laughed away my glare. “Jesus, Summer, it’s a prank. Think of it as your initiation.”
“It’s an expensive prank,” Don said with a hard look at Cole. “Don’t forget that you’re footing the bills for every take now.”
“And it was worth it to see her face. Never seen a condom before, Summer?”
I hate that we didn’t use a condom. I hate that I let him push inside of me without any barrier. Forget pregnancy, how many women had he been with? And how little did it say of me that protection was the last thought in my mind? It had been too long since I’d been touched, my only sexual experiences prior to him with Scott, and we’d never used anything. My on-camera dig through Condom Mountain to reach the cash was the first time I’d ever touched one of the damn things, my recent purchase still sitting inside their box. But I’d be damned if Cole knew that. I stared at his perfect nose and pictured it cracking beneath my fist.
Don let out a barely controlled breath, followed up by a curse. “You two, stop it. I didn’t sign on to referee. Summer, let’s get you back in Hair and Makeup to freshen up, then we’ll shoot scene twelve right back here. Cole, you’re off for a bit. I’ll have Jack send you a new call schedule in fifteen.”
My eyes moved from Cole’s untouched nose to his eyes, which held mine. I could see, in my peripheral vision, his smile. I hated that smile. I hated his ease in this environment. I hated his confidence.
I hated, most of all, that I wanted his hand back, his brush against my shirt to dip underneath the waist. I wanted him to lift me up onto this desk, for his hands to push up my skirt, and for his fingers to discover that these pantyhose only reached my upper thighs. I hated that, right there, with Don in between us, I was wet for him. And I was terrified, glaring in his eyes, that he knew it.
“Summer,” Don said, gently tapping my arm. “Hair and Makeup.”
I met Don’s eyes and smiled. “Of course. Thank you, Don.” I turned away from the two of them and headed for the exit, the crowd parting before me without a word.
CHAPTER 64
Cole sat in a screening room, his tennis shoes propped against the edge of the board, an expensive array of buttons and sliders spread out before them, underneath the three television screens. A different video played on each, his and Summer’s faces presented at different angles.
“Did we get it or not?” Cole rolled his neck and glanced at his watch. 11:15 p.m. He looked for the closest PA and snapped his fingers. “Find a catering truck and get me a sandwich. Ham and swiss on wheat.”
“Catering trucks closed up at ten,” Don said dismissively, skimming through a reel.
“Then find me one somewhere else,” Cole snapped. “Why the hell are the catering trucks closing up early?”
“Look around. Everyone’s gone.” Don glanced up at the production assistant. “Ignore him, he’ll be fine.”
“Fuck that.” Cole fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Sandwich. Find one or make one, I don’t give a damn. And a Pepsi.”
“Coke,” Don corrected.
“Right. Whatever. Anyone else need something?” Cole glanced over at the other bodies in the booth, a collection of sound and video mixers. No one spoke, and Cole passed the cash to the PA, then dropped his leg, sitting forward. “So show me. Did we get it?”
“I think so, despite your best efforts.”
“She needed her feathers ruffled a little. She was getting too tense.” Cole grinned at the memory of her face, the widening of her eyes, the way they had burned at him across the room. He probably shouldn’t have done it, but she’d handled it well, not stopping, not reacting. It’d been a test of sorts, but also pure entertainment on his part. Ever since they’d had sex, Summer had more or less ignored him, her attitude increasingly more indifferent as time went on. He had needed that fire, that attention from her, that spark that seemed to grow stronger the more anger that blew between them. So he’d lit a match. And he’d enjoyed every bit of the result.
Don mumbled something in response, pressed a button, and the short clip played seamlessly, the transition between Cole and Summer spliced from over a dozen takes. Less than a moment of footage, everything from Cole’s ad lib deleted.
“It’s good,” Cole said, nodding, his eyes trained on Summer’s face, the defiance in every part of her features. Her beauty changed when she was mad. Just another reason to push her buttons.
“I agree,” Don said, and one of the mixers, two bodies over, spoke up.
“Do you want to show him the other cut?”
Don ran a hand over the back of his head and said nothing.
“What cut?” Cole asked, looking over at the director. “Don?” he pushed.
“Yeah,” Don said, the word clipped. “Roll it.” He lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his forehead.
Cole glanced at the screen, a new clip playing. It was from after the prank. When he’d stood up and walked over to Summer. Someone had spliced the scenes together, layering the camera angles to record the moment in one concise, smooth take. He shifted in his seat and watched a close up of his hand running, slower than possible, down her shirt. Saw in high definition the swallow of her throat, the burn of her cheeks, the slight curve of her back as she, in the moment before her slap, arched into his touch. A hundred details he had missed, his mind too focused on one thing, the burning need to have her white button-down ripped off, his hands exploring the skin underneath. There was the slap, the violence of it more pronounced on screen, the darkening of Cole’s eyes, his start forward… Cole looked into his own eyes, on screen, and saw what anyone would be able to see. Lust. Raw animal lust. The clip ended, and the room went dark for a moment before the next screen came on.