Page 76 of Director's Cut
She nuzzles into me. “Val…”
“Nope, I love it. I love every infuriating thing about you too.”
“I love you.” She sighs, her body rising and falling against me. I swear I can feel her smile against my skin. “I love your charisma, the way you light up every room you’re in. Your suaveness, the nerdy way you share your passions. Your PhD, your mixed faith, your gayness. The friendship I see you give, how cute your dog is, how athletic you are, and…” She pauses. “How you understand the bad stuff in our pasts.”
I understand. God, it’s like the ten-thousand-pound weight that’s been on me for years is gone, those words have carried it away. Tears well and fall from my eyes. There’s a twist of embarrassment, but I can hardly feel it. It’s just me and Maeve, making heavy, intense, borderline religious-experience eye contact. A moment of perfect empathy.
I don’t know if the moment passes so much as at some point during our silent meditation, my stomach growls so loudly that we start giggling and decide it’s time to get out of bed.
“Wait, so are you off your celebrity diet?” Maeve asks as we head downstairs.
The smell of coffee has permeated the first floor. I wonder which beefcake Charlie has taken home this year. That’s the nice thing about Charlie—he picks out these really airheaded pretty boys for hookups, so conversation is always easy and amusing the morning after. Personally, I hope Charlie eventually marries someone with more substance, but I’m glad he hasn’t had to deal with the pain and anguish I’ve gone through with some of my partners.
“Yeah,” I reply. “And I’m kinda mad I gave you fridge leftovers between rounds instead of properly wining and dining you.”
She shrugs, smirking. “We were busy.” She licks her lips. “But assuming you didn’t throw away any of the groceries we bought last week, I can make us something special if you want.”
Seeing that playful smile on her face has mine lighting up. “Like what?”
“Bananas foster French toast is my specialty.”
I can’t thank Jewish God enough for giving me this woman who can make me orgasm in two distinctly different ways. “Please.”
Maeve goes into hyperfocus mode, gathering her cooking ingredients as I size up Charlie and Mr. Wonderful. Mr. Wonderful, who turns out to be…Jordan from last night. His light brown skin and perfect teeth glow in what I can only assume is happiness after a great night with my best friend. But one look at me and his joy turns to horror. He’s full-on avoiding eye contact with me as he squeaks out a greeting.
“Hey, Val,” he says.
“Hey, Jordan,” I reply. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. The last time I rode with Jordan, about a year ago, he told me he was driving rich people around while working on a master’s in social work. Definitely more substance than a Hollywood beefcake. I move my gaze to Charlie, who just seems…lighter. So much lighter than I’ve seen him in a long time. “How was the after-party?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Eh, like any after-party. Trish and I talked for a while.”
My heart leaps. “Is she thinking of poaching you?”
Technically, managers and agents aren’t supposed to start promising clients jobs until after they’ve formally left their other representation, but the industry is pretty cutthroat.
Charlie shrugs. “She seems more interested than she has before. She was genuinely angry that Star Trek got canceled too. She says there’s a slowly growing market for queer male lead roles in sci-fi, but that the reboot was the best there was.”
I frown. “Still, if she could get you on one of the new shows. Where they don’t dick around for two seasons before letting you kiss Casey…”
But it is interesting that Trish is angry about Star Trek. She doesn’t get angry about anything getting canceled or dying in development hell. It’s all business to her.
“Thank god there’s even an option for you to take a role like that,” Maeve says as she combines a bunch of spices, sugars, and rum into a pan. It sizzles and smells fucking amazing. I swallow as my mouth waters.
Charlie groans. “Ugh, tell me about it.” He turns to me. “Did you talk to Trish last night?”
My heartbeat speeds up. I vaguely remember my phone ringing, but without any follow-up, I figured it wasn’t a big deal. Was it? “No, why?”
“She just seemed eager to talk to you. I dunno, maybe call her back after breakfast?”
I clear my throat. “Do you think I fucked up the Oscars?”
Maeve sets down her wooden spoon to look at her phone. “According to the internet, you put Charlie back on the map and are now the savior of the gays.”
Charlie and Jordan laugh.
I glance at Maeve and smile. “Hardly,” I say.
“Well, you’re the savior of”—he puts his arm around Jordan; oh my god—“these gays.” He motions to Maeve with his chin. “Because whatever she’s cooking smells amazing.”