Page 52 of Not You Again
KIT:
You’ve seen her steam my clothes in the morning.
PRODUCER:
Is that it?
KIT:
No. She … [runs his hands through his hair] Have you ever watched a TED Talk or had a conversation with a friend that left you so fired up, you knew you could conquer anything?
PRODUCER:
Yeah, I think I know what you mean.
KIT:
Being with Andie is like that. All the time. I can’t help but want to do more and be better.
PRODUCER:
It sounds like you have feelings for her.
KIT:
[Smiles.] Maybe I do. That’s the whole point of this damn thing, isn’t it?
[Crew laughs off camera.]
AUGUST
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOKIT
It’s a beautiful day. Sunny and not too hot yet, dew clinging to the blades of grass and summer flowers. On top of that, we won’t have to film until this evening. Cassidy probably has enough footage of us on quiet mornings and cleaning up before bed. I’m so distracted by how nice the day is, I make it all the way to the parking lot before I realize I forgot my fucking headphones.
I let out a silent curse to myself and pause in the sunshine while I debate running without music today or going back upstairs. If I was living alone, I’d run back upstairs, no question. But Andie’s up there. In our bed. Maybe in the shower.
After the last few weeks of us acting like a married couple, it feels so natural to touch her. Dangerous. I don’t trust myself to go back up there to see her in our bed, looking like a dream come true.
I’ve been sneaking into work later and later every morning, just to catch Andie in her robe as she steams my clothes. It’s not some 1950s fantasy I have—I’ve made it this long without a woman fussing over my laundry—but it’s Andie. In the morning. Undone. Soft. Her smiles when she’s like that make me lightheaded.
It’s worth every ounce of flak I catch from my bosses for “losing focus.” Apparently staring off into space during a meeting, requiring everyone to repeat what they said has me on even thinner ice than showing up late and slipping out the door early to film.
A large semi drives by; the roar of the engine and stench of diesel make me grit my teeth. Fuck it; I’ll go back upstairs, and if I’m lucky, she’ll still be asleep, and I can sneak out without being tempted to cross the line between us that’s looking flimsier by the day.
I head back inside, up the elevator, and pause to take a deep breath before opening the apartment door like it isn’t also my home. My headphones are charging on my nightstand, so I tiptoe through the living room and nudge open the bedroom door.
Andie gasps, eyes wide. We both freeze.
My brain short-circuits when I see what she’s doing.
Her legs are wide open on the sheets, and she’s holding a purple vibrator in one hand. Caught red-handed. She curls her free hand around the T-shirt she’s still wearing, her knuckles blanching.
My dick likes that very, very much. I’m only in running shorts, so there’s no way Andie’s missed it either. Goddammit. These days I’ve been getting by with fucking my own fist in the shower.
Apparently, she’s been helping herself out during my runs.
Adding that knowledge to the image of her morning softness—I am so far gone for this woman. And we are officially on dangerous ground.