Page 75 of Director's Cut

“Better?” Maeve asks.

I grin. “The best I’ve ever had,” I take her hand, “I wouldn’t have wanted it with anyone else.”

“I’m so glad,” Maeve says.

I kiss the back of her neck one last time.

I hold her and savor the moment for a bit. The sharp floral scent of her perfume mixed with the subtle smell of sweat. How soft her skin is. How her hair is a little stiff from the hair spray my stylist used on her, but how it also smells like flowers as I dig my face into it.

Somewhere in the background, my phone’s ringing. But I don’t feel any particular need to answer it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

An alarm wakes me up at a time that I just know in my bones is much earlier than I want it to be. And true to form, my nervous system’s immediate response to such a surprise is to startle like a fish out of water. Complete with a sound that doesn’t quite form the word what as I move smack into Maeve. Our heads hit. Hopefully hers hurts less than mine does, but it’s not exactly what I was going for after the night we had.

I rub my forehead.

“I’m sorry! I forgot to turn off my alarm from yesterday,” she says as she turns to silence it. She rolls back over and surveys me. Then she starts laughing. “Babe, are you okay?”

I laugh. “You hit my ego harder.”

She pulls me in to a hug, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. “Your ego’s too big, so consider it a blessing.”

I kiss the crown of her head. “Says the fucking academic.” I glance over at the clock on my nightstand—7:00 a.m. “What were you doing at seven?”

We scoot back apart to talk. But I take her hand, running my thumb over the soft skin between each of her knuckles.

“I try to run and get some writing done before nine most mornings.”

I smile. “I learn something new about you every day. We should go running sometime.”

“Do you usually get up this early, though?”

“To see your face, I would wake up at any hour.” I pull her hand to my mouth and kiss it. My heart speeds up as she blushes. I make Maeve Arko blush. It still blows my mind every time it happens.

She scoots in a little closer, raising her free hand to run her thumb along my jawline. “Thank you for last night.”

I chuckle. The comment, despite everything, makes me blush. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Then she frowns. The smallest micro change in her expression and my chest tightens. “No, it’s—” She sighs. “It was one of the things Fiona did to me. I always leaned toward switch, went more back and forth with the girls I dated in high school. But when I tried to tell Fiona I didn’t want to bottom all the time, she’d just laugh and say bottoming was what I liked doing with men anyway.”

The ache tugs from deep inside me, pressing my heart against my ribs. The type of pain she’s describing can’t be soothed by massaging it the way you would with most parts of the body. It’s trapped behind her rib cage, deep in her heart. I settle for squeezing her hand tighter. “Maeve, I’m sorry—”

Maeve cocks her head at me. “What’re you apologizing for?” She pauses a moment. “You know, I’m not the only one who has some relationship trauma. If there’s ever anything I can do to make you feel better, please know I want to.”

“No, there’s—” I exhale. “Emily was a lot like Fiona. It wasn’t about sexuality, but there was a right and wrong way to be. I avoided bottoming for so long because when she would do it to me, it would be more about her doing something to me than me actually enjoying it. But you make me want to try new things again. I felt safe in what you were doing.”

“That’s awful that she let sex be something so selfish. You’re so generous in so much of your life. The least I can do is make you feel heard.”

There’s a moment of silence between us. “Do you hate that I’m a celebrity?”

She sits up, really staring at me a moment, the sleepiness gone from her eyes. “No, of course not. It goes hand in hand with the work you do. Work that is, by the way, incredible. I do, though, worry about the mental toll it must take on you. Anyone, really.”

“My loved ones?”

She kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll be fine,” she mutters, burying her face in my skin.

“I love you,” I say. “I love that you’re bisexual. I love that you’re a switch, that you have a PhD, that you’re Jewish and kind of tall and have really pretentious movie opinions.”