Reel: A Forbidden Hollywood Romance

There’s a feeling I get before a performance.

It vacillates between trepidation and almost unbearable excitement. I run the lines in my head and can barely sit still I’m so ready to get on that stage, or lately, on set.

The time Canon and I will spend together over the next few days is not a performance. I know that, but I feel the same things. Breathless, like a moth got loose in my rib cage, the wings fluttering over my heart. I understand why Canon’s been cautious, but I’m glad he wants this, too.

Now.

When my phone rings, I’m in the bathroom packing toiletries. He’s due here soon, and I hope that’s not him saying he’ll be any earlier.

It’s not.

“Hey, honey,” Takira says.

“Hey. Let me put my headphones in so I can keep packing.”

I slip in the headphones and return to the bathroom. “What’s up, T? How’s the break going?”

“Now, you know I did not call to talk about my boring Christmas break, though I did get some last night.”

“Oh?” I stop to lean one hip against the bathroom counter. “With who? How was it?”

“Girl, this guy who works with my sister. We all met up for drinks, and one thing led to another.”

One-night stands aren’t usually Takira’s bag, but we all do things out of character with the right dose of liquor.

“And?” I ask.

“Not worth it. He ain’t halfway know what he was doing.”

I reach under my sink for deodorant. “So it wasn’t good?”

“I described him to my sister as if please, God, make it stop was a person.”

I shake my head and chuckle, but keep it moving because Takira’s disappointing sex will not make me late getting mine.

“Not like make it stop consent,” she continues, “but like boredom. Like if I still wore a watch, I woulda been checking it. I mean, it’s a clit. Not a Venn Diagram.”

“Oh, my God, T.”

“And afterwards he had the nerve to be all . . . so how was it? Negro, it was two stars. I got your Yelp review right here. Would not recommend and glad I packed my vibrator. Shiiiiiit.”

“Why’d you even . . . well, you don’t usually go for flash bangs with guys you don’t know, so was he that fine? Or were you—”

“That desperate?” she cuts in, some of the humor fading from the other line. “The holidays are hell sometimes. I’m the only one in our family not married now, and you just feel it. Everybody’s booed up and got their kids and family pics on Instagram, and running around all elated. I felt like an extra trapped in one of those Hallmark Christmas movies.”

I pause, setting aside my packing and settling on the bed to really listen. Takira’s the best friend I have in the world. I’m used to her swagger, her unfaltering confidence, but I’m glad she’s trusting me with this, too.

“I just . . .” Takira stops and starts again. “. . . wanted some connection, I guess. Beyond the dick, I wanted to feel wanted and needed and all the things we dream about feeling, but don’t get enough.”

“I’m sorry it was such a letdown.”

“To be expected. You don’t walk in a bar, flirt with a frog, and think he’ll be a prince by the time you get him home. Though, after that fourth shot, he did start looking like royalty.”

She sounds more like herself, and we laugh, but I want to make sure she’s alright. “T, if you need—”

“I said I didn’t call to talk about me and I meant it. Now, is our esteemed director on his way?”

“Yeah.” Reminded of the time, I scoot off the bed and get back to packing. “He’ll be here soon. And don’t forget, deep vault on this one. We aren’t ready to go public until after the movie wraps. I mean, if there is a public to go after this. Who knows? We could have a bad Yelp review, too.”

“Not likely. Canon has some serious big dick energy, and I have no doubt he’ll back it up.”

I actually don’t either. Based on the chemistry we’ve had so far, I think we’ll be fine in bed.

Correction.

I think we’ll be fire in bed.

He’s worried about the movie. What people will think, how they’ll see me if they find out I slept with my director. I’m worried more about my heart. I’ve never met anyone like Canon, never felt anything like this. I know sex will only deepen this connection.

He thinks I can’t afford the press. What I can’t afford is heartbreak. Affairs like this in Hollywood don’t exactly have the best track record, and he may be used to negotiating relationships like contracts, dealing with the fallout of a breakup in a public forum like he had to with Camille, but I’m not.

I suspect Camille lashed out because she lost him. If she hadn’t been hurt, if her emotions hadn’t been so invested, she wouldn’t have sabotaged her movie that way. She got Canon fired and a movie that could have been great failed. Was it worth it? Was it just her wounded pride? I would never behave that way, but will I feel those things if Canon and I take this step and it doesn’t work out? We still have two months of shooting left. This is my first big break.

Is this wise?

These questions circle the drain in my head, over and over, but I keep coming back to a resounding YES.

“Are you there?” Takira nearly shouts. “I mentioned Canon’s big dick energy and you got mighty quiet. You better not be fantasizing about him with me on the phone. That’s creepy as hell.”

“Shut up,” I laugh. “No, I just . . . it’s a big step. You see how he is on set with me. Like he barely knows I’m alive.”

“Real talk? I see a man who doesn’t know what to do with what he’s feeling. That night at the Halloween party, I saw you on the balcony with him. Saw him laughing. This is Canon we’re talking about, whose smiles occur about as frequently as solar eclipses. I saw the way he looked at you. It’s so obvious to me he’s feeling you. I don’t know how everyone doesn’t see it. I don’t know how you don’t.”

“I do. It just feels like a mirage sometimes. One minute it’s there and it’s clear, but after a few days of silence and no contact, it wavers. It disappears.”

“Canon did not get where he is playing games on set and jeopardizing his paper. He is famous for his work ethic. For his obsessive focus. The fact that he’s breaking that, even for a few days with you, tells me all I need to know.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, me know so, guhl,” she says, slipping effortlessly into the islands. “Now, let’s talk logistics. You got condoms? Never rely on men, who barely remember to wash their hands after they pee, to handle your protection.”

I stuff the shiny gold squares in my overnight bag. “Got ’em.”

“Brazilian?”

“Waxed yesterday.”

“Lube?”

“Yep.”

“Star pupil,” she says. “Okay. I guess you’re set.”

“I need to go. Warmest regards,” I tell her, tapping into our Schitt’s Creek vernacular.

“Warmest regards, honey. Have fun.”

After we hang up, I finish packing and roll my overnight bag into the foyer with a few minutes to spare. When the doorbell rings, my heart skydives right into the pit of my stomach.

“Hey,” Canon says when I open the door.

He looks goooood. Like good good.

Who knew pink Lacoste polo shirts were my kink? Contrasting with the rich hue of his dark skin, his biceps straining at the short sleeves, we learned today. With his aviators pushed up, his “movie beard” well groomed, he has me immediately imagining how those bristles will scrape the inside of my thighs when he eats me out. I’m so ready for this.

“Hey,” I say, my voice husky, like I just smoked a cigarette after the fantasy in my head.

I devour him with my eyes and he must feel the nip of my teeth. Must sense the he can get it coming off me in ho-waves. He steps in, closes the door, and presses me into the nearest wall. There’s no preface to this kiss. No permission needed because my arms are already tangling around his neck and my tongue is aggressive, sparring with his. When his fingers brush over the skin at my waist, bared by my crop top, there’s reverence and urgency in his touch. His hands skid down to my ass and squeeze. He groans against my mouth and I moan into his. Desperation rises up and overtakes us. His hand slips beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, his fingers searching and unerring in my panties, caressing my clit for the first time.

“Shit,” I pant, breaking the kiss and dropping my head to his shoulder, sensation rocking me from the core. “Canon.”

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen.” He sucks at the curve of my neck. “I don’t want our first time to be in your foyer, but fuuuuuck, Neevah. I missed you. You look . . .”

He dips his head, disappearing beneath the cropped edge of my sweatshirt. His mouth opens over my breast and he takes me through the skimpy lace of my bra. His tongue is hot and wet and hungry on my nipple. He sucks hard, his teeth closing around the tight bud, sending a jolt through me that turns all the cartilage in my knees to mush. I reach between us and find his cock, hard, ready, huge in my palm. I tug once, twice, and again until he growls and straightens abruptly. He pulls my top down and into place, and much to my pussy’s dismay, withdraws from my panties.

“No.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I have plans.”

“But I have a bed.” I tip my head down the hall. “It’s a long drive to Santa Barbara. We could just take the edge off.”

“Neevah, no. I mean . . . yes. Hell, yes.” He drops a kiss on my forehead, wraps his palm around my nape. “But I didn’t wait this long for you to rush. I want this to be special.”

He angles his head so our gazes hold. “You are, special. You know that, right? I don’t do this. Everyone talks so much about Camille, but in my whole career, she’s the only actress I’ve ever dated.”

“She was special, too, then, huh?” I ask, holding my breath. Not that if he says yes it changes anything between us. I’m not above jealousy, though.

“Sure,” he says, nodding slowly. “But we weren’t right for each other. When I realized that, we’d already started. I had to shut it down. It was only going to get messier and more involved.”

“She loved you?”

His stare doesn’t falter, honesty on display. “She thought she did, yeah.”

“You thought you loved her?”

“I thought maybe I could, but I quickly realized I was wrong.” He takes a step back, giving me room to breathe. “If you have any reservations about this, I understand. I want you. I’m tired of fighting how much I want you, but I will respect your wishes, and it won’t affect anything in our working relationship. I promise you that.”

How could he think I could walk away now? I’m still wet from his touch. My heart is still thudding, scurrying around its little chamber like a trapped rabbit. And I still want him, not just the sex. Yes, oh my, yes. I want that, but I also want the secrets behind his guarded eyes; the sentiments locked away in his heart. And if I didn’t know before, I know now.

I’m willing to risk a lot to have it.