Sweet Cheeks(42)

“I never erased you!” he shouts with shoulders squared and eyes alive. We stare at each other for a beat before his defensive posture slips away. His shoulders slump, head drops, and voice lowers so I can barely hear him. “I could never erase you, Gabby.”

“Don’t do this to me. Don’t waltz back into town like you own this place with that chip on your shoulder. I’ve moved on, Noah. I’ve made my own life. One that has no place for you in it.”

He lifts his head, strides across the patio with determination, and slams his hands onto both sides of my chair. I jolt at the sound, at the force that moves my seat, at the unmistakable virility of both Noah and Hayes combined in the eyes of the man looking at me. “Anywhere you are is my place, Gabriella.”

I snort. Know Gabby would do just the same and catch the flicker of surprise in Hayes’s reaction. “No. It’s not.” I can barely speak the words. Hate the pang I feel in saying them. Shit. Shit. Double shit. Do I feel the same way about him in real life?

“Tell me you don’t love me.” His hands are on my chin directing my face up. His eyes are so honest, so true, that I almost forget I have a script in my hand. Silence stretches between us and I convince myself I need to look down at the lines. Yet I can’t find it within me to break the hold he has on me, let alone breathe.

Script, Saylor. The script.

I force myself to look down to the papers. To the words I need to say. I exhale unsteadily when I read them and then look up to meet Hayes’s eyes. “I don’t love you, Noah. I’ve met someone else. Another man who I know won’t leave.” I avert my gaze. Push down the emotions rioting through me. How funny. I thought I was going to feel so silly doing this and yet everything I am is in the tone of my voice right now. “Like I said before, it’s over. It’s best that you leave.”

“You’re lying,” he grits out between clenched teeth as he pounds a fist on the arm of the chair again. “Lying! Did you really think I’d give in so easily? Walk away without a fight?”

I’m mesmerized. Can’t take my eyes off him. “You did before.” My voice is a whisper of sound. My emotions raw in a scene that has nothing to do with me.

This is Noah and Gabby. Noah. And. Gabby.

Not Hayes and Saylor.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He’s exasperated. Frustrated. Pleading. He reaches out and tilts my face back up to his again. I hold my breath as he leans forward ever so slowly and puts his lips right to my ear. I smell the signature Hayes Whitley clean scent of soap and shampoo. Feel the heat of his breath. Warm under the touch of his hand. “It’s you. It’s only ever been you. I begged, borrowed, and lied to get this chance. To stand here in front of you again. To right my wrongs. To make you see why I am . . . why I can’t just walk away this time without knowing, Gabby.”

“Without knowing what?” I’m glad I remember the line because if I lean forward to look, I’ll come face first with his chest and that’s not something I need right now. The situation, the lines we’re rehearsing, the man before me—all three are powerful enough, and I don’t need the physical aspect of him to intoxicate me even more.

Hayes leans back so that our lips are inches apart. “Knowing what my forever tastes like.”

Neither of us move. Or breathe. And when he finally takes a step back, his mouth slides into a satisfied grin.

“You’re good, Say. Gotta hand it to you.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “I’ve been running that line all morning and hadn’t figured it out. I was going in too hard, too angry. Having you to bounce it off made it easier. Let me see I needed to be softer with the delivery. Thank you.”

I remain motionless in the chair, completely affected and unsure how he can go from the exchange we just had to, well, to him being him. And I’m reminded of his cryptic smile when I offered to run the lines. Wonder if he thought I would find this scene ironic, considering the history between us. And ironic is definitely one way to describe it.

Hitting too close to home is another way.

“I’m glad I could help,” I say when I find my voice again.

“Do you mind if we run through it a few more times so I can tweak a few more things?”

Oh, hell.

And so we do. Each time through, my own emotion becomes more transparent. More vulnerable.

My body more turned on.

The constant repeat of the scene, in the intimacy of the words between two characters longing for each other is almost like foreplay in its own right. The emotion in his voice and reflected in his posture feels so real. So tangible. That with each take I forget he is acting.

But he is acting, Saylor. There is no hidden message he is trying to convey about how he feels about you. And soon he will be running through this scene with another actor. Another woman. Not you. It’s just a role to him. Watch how easily he bounces back when the scene’s over and he steps out of character.

And so when he finally feels satisfied with the delivery of his lines, I need a break from his presence. From the thoughts this entire scene has evoked. From the sexual tension that coats my skin so thick I almost feel it. From the pressure in my chest making it painful to draw in air despite being out in the open.

I opt to go for a walk on the beach to gain some physical distance from him and to quiet the unexpected emotions of the morning.