Chapter Ten

I wake up the next morning in bed with Charlie.

It's not even the kind of scene all the hets who shipped us during our fake relationship would've swooned over. Like his elbow is in my back and I can feel his morning wood on my leg and even after only two and a half drinks, I can already feel a headache coming on.

"Ugh, Charlie, please tell me I'm remembering last night wrong," I say as I disentangle myself from his overheated body.

Charlie rolls over and grins, looking all cute with his bedhead, ready to start the day. "Well, you walked in, told me that Maeve is wonderful, and then you went to bed. The next thing I know you've climbed into bed with me like a psycho and you start calling me"—he grabs my face with both hands—"your best friend and you give me a couple little face kisses—"

Oh god.

"And snuggle into me and fall asleep."

"Jesus Christ," I say, thrashing out of his grip to avoid eye contact.

"So I assume you were a hundred percent sober, you needy bitch."

I sit up as slowly as an eighty-year-old. "I won't be sober ever again."

"Hey, one time and it's like a fun sleepover," he says. "More than once and I'll become paranoid you're trying to seduce me."

I smile. "In your dreams, Charles."

"Only the magic mushroom–induced ones I had when we were twenty-five. And I unpacked those for, like, three years with a therapist." He sits up, stretching like Eustace. "Do you still go to Rosalie, by the way?"

"Yeah, every other week."

I have an appointment on Monday, in fact. I told her about the little masturbation incident last week and I cannot imagine what we're going to do with what happened yesterday. I've been seeing Rosalie since I was eighteen. I left for London telling her I thought I liked girls and returned seven years later with a broken engagement, telling her that I was gonna try fucking a bunch of girls as an exclusive top since I hated bottoming for Emily.

"Well, now you have something to talk about that isn't Hollywood," Charlie says as he steps into the bathroom.

"We'll never finish talking about Hollywood."

My phone, which is somehow also in Charlie's room, starts ringing.

It's Maeve.

My stomach drops. Why would she be calling me? And at—I glance at the clock on Charlie's nightstand—9:00 a.m. on a Saturday?

I pick up. "Hey." Easy, breezy, I didn't wake up a minute ago.

"Hey," she sounds a bit more nervous. Her voice seems deeper, but I shake the thought away as best I can. "So weird question, but can you see if my wallet is in your car?"

Right. We walked back to our cars, and Maeve said the beer was hitting her harder than she expected. I—god dammit, I called Charlie, he Ubered from a photo shoot in Downtown LA, and drove us and my car back home. Maeve told me I had a middle-aged straight man's car, and she was very enthusiastic when Beyoncé came on my shuffle.

"Lemme check."

I put the phone on speaker and walk out to the garage. Eustace squeezes out the door to join me. I pick him up, kiss the top of his head, and search the back seat.

Yep, there's a wallet in the floor space. It's soft red leather and has an Italian label on it. I imagine she got it abroad. It feels very sophisticated. She's certainly put more effort into choosing it than I did. My wallet is one Gucci sent me for free after the Goodbye, Richard!'s premiere. I use it for convenience's sake. Eustace leans over from my arm and licks the wallet.

"Eustace, the fuck," I say, pulling the wallet away and wiping it on my pajama shorts.

I hope she's not allergic to dogs.

"Who's Eustace?" Maeve says, still on speakerphone.

"My dog," I say. "Don't worry, a strange man doesn't live in my garage."

Just in my guest room.

"I'm relieved," she replies. "I don't want to inconvenience you. I can Uber and come by to get it. Will you be busy in like twenty minutes?"

My chest flutters. All this time, I still can't believe she lived twenty minutes from me. "No, that works." I give her my address.

"Cool. I'll see you in twenty. Thank you so much."

As soon as we hang up, I get a text from Trish. Perhaps related to that "CALL TRISH" alarm I set for myself last night.

Trish:Hey V - I'm in the middle of an emergency call with a client but once that's done, I'm gonna call you. We have news and I want to hear what you think of the scripts you've read.

Great. Love when managers say there's "news" and don't have the decency to specify whether it's good or bad. And as for the scripts, Charlie gave the HBO pilot a thumbs-up and has been reading the animated feature for two days now because he had to stop to "collect himself" halfway through. Once I'm back inside, I release Eustace and prepare his breakfast. Maeve didn't specify what she looks like right now, so what should I change into? Street clothes? Workout clothes? Remembering how close Maeve was to me last night still sets my heart hammering.

I go with workout clothes, back out of my bedroom as quickly as I can. Charlie comes into the kitchen, and I sigh, feeling vaguely guilty about being so needy the night before.

"What do you want for breakfast?" I ask.

"If you're scrambling eggs, that's fine with me."

I decide to add some sharp cheddar, my boy's favorite, into the scramble as a flimsy apology. While I sauté in peppers and spices, Charlie gets to work on a smoothie for us. God, we are ridiculous. Charlie pours me a glass as I cut up avocado.

"Did I actually inconvenience you last night?" I ask.

I think we've slept in the same bed one other time. Maybe twice? It's the type of thing that only happens in emergencies.

"Sully, shut up. You're my wife, even if the fake relationship is over. Also who's coming over? I heard you on the phone."

My face gets hot. "Maeve. She forgot her wallet in my car."

Charlie looks down at his uncovered chest. "Well, fuck, man, when's she—?"

And my doorbell rings. Eustace starts yapping. I take a deep breath, try to ignore my thrumming heart, and scoop him up. Open the door.

Maeve's in a T-shirt and shorts. Thank god, on level with what I have on.

Maeve smiles as she looks me up and down. "Stars really are just like us, huh?"

Charlie peeks in from the kitchen. "If you mean her clothes, she does half her Insta pictures looking like that!"

There's no way to properly capture the pure, unfiltered shock on Maeve's face as she makes eye contact with Charlie in all his shirtless glory. Her gaze flits between me and Charlie anxiously. She's probably processing a million things at once. And I shouldn't laugh…

"I have a live-in himbo," I blurt.

Charlie's mouth opens into a little insulted O, and Maeve bursts out laughing.

"I'm her best friend and a working actor," Charlie says. "And in case you were too drunk to remember, I drove you two home last night."

I hand Maeve her wallet. "His show got canceled, so we're doing some TLC. And also we fake dated for like three years to appease my old manager."

Charlie rolls his eyes. "She's sensationalizing it. We knew each other in high school."

Maeve still looks confused. "Oh. Okay, so he's not…"

Charlie and I exchange a look.

"Oh, no, I'm gay. We're totally platonic," he says. "We've only been naked together once."

All the blood in my body freezes. Maeve blinks a little more rapidly.

"No, like, we took a shower together once," Charlie says, which is really not helpful. "Because we had to. She was drunk and threw up on both of us."

His lease is ending. Right now.

"Thank you for driving us home, by the way," Maeve adds. "I wasn't that drunk last night. Like I—I recognize you. You just didn't mention you two lived together."

I turn to Maeve. I give up. I'm probably bright red right now. "Yeah, so if there isn't anything else you need…"

"No, wait!" Charlie says. "Val talks about you so much—"

CHARLIE!

"And I've been dying to actually talk to you." He looks down at his chest. "I can put a shirt on; hold on. Stay for breakfast."

Maeve looks between Charlie and me. Her gaze lingers on me, an eyebrow raised as if asking if he has any authority in this household.

"Yeah, why not," I say.

Charlie leans in to me as I brush past him. "I'll say I have a business call," he whispers.

We have breakfast out on the back patio. It's a high-visibility day, and I can show off the view I was bragging about last night. I catch Maeve's smirk as Charlie and I set down our health food.

"It's not vegan," I say.

Maeve is clearly not vegan; I watched her eat a burger last night.

Charlie lifts his smoothie glass. "The smoothie is, though."

Maeve isn't even paying attention to our banter. She puts the metal straw into her mouth without looking, gaze fixated on the view of LA. Those brown eyes are a little watery, her expression soft. Contemplative or in awe, I can't really decide. In movies, it's the kind of look we're supposed to give people we love.

The sun paints her features in its light. Her profile is silhouette-ready, and I can see the bumps of her knuckles as she holds up her chin, the blue of my pool reflecting in her eyes like a photo. And not that I love her, but I wouldn't mind spending a few hours capturing the way Maeve looks right now.

"Good?" I ask. It doesn't really matter what I mean.

Maeve shakes her head a little to break her trance. Her gaze turns to the smoothie, then back to the view. "Yeah, both are amazing."

Charlie looks between Maeve and me, grins at me, takes his plate, and leaves.

Maeve doesn't even notice. And as the screen door clicks shut, I'm alone with her again.

I wait maybe ten seconds, expecting Charlie to pop back up and save me. For Trish to call me. But it's silent out here other than the birds' chirping and the pool water lapping. Eustace pushes his way through the dog door and jumps onto Charlie's chair. Maeve notices, smiles, and holds out her hand for Eustace to sniff. He licks her without hesitation. It makes my insides melt more than I expected.

"He's really cute," she says. "What is he?"

"About last night," I say.

The smile my dog put on her face falls.

"I hope we didn't go too far off the rails. I was having so much fun just getting to know you, but I know we're coworkers. I respect your work so much. In fact, I…" I don't know if I've said this out loud. "I might want to teach more. Really, seriously make a career of it."

Eustace jumps into Maeve's lap, and she occupies her hands petting him. Homophobic prick. She smirks at me.

"I figured as much after I saw you after your first office hours. The other celeb guest professors never so much as look at papers. But that's quite the career change."

I flash back to last night, how Maeve described all the responsibilities she has years prior to achieving tenure. "I think it's the right move."

"Well, I'll keep my eyes open for you."

Oh my god."Really? Even after last night?"

"If anything, I was inappropriate." She blushes. "You were perfectly wonderful, as usual. If you're fine with what happened, I think we can keep getting to know each other." She takes my hand. Under the table, like a secret even we aren't supposed to know about. "I can't thank you enough for what you said about dating bisexual folks."

Her hand is soft. It's so, so soft. She has moisturizer hands, elegant hands, and she's holding my hand tight. I feel like I'm having a holiday romance with a stranger, like the intimacy has built too fast because it's not supposed to last. It lies uneasy in my gut; I'm afraid someone's going to yell cut because this isn't real.

Turns out director me yells cut. I pull my hand away.

"Of course," I say. "But we can keep the topics a little lighter if you want. You have any passions outside of work and the state of California?"

Maeve's eyes pop open wide, and she seems to realize the same thing I have. Her hand retreats to my dog. "Music. I was in choir all through elementary and middle school. By high school, I worked through the stage fright enough to be involved in every musical my high school put on."

Somehow, I can picture little Maeve so easily in those velvet dresses on overcrowded school stages. I'd peg her for an alto and wonder if I'll ever find out. "Were you any good?"

She shrugs. "Good enough for small-town Ohio high school. I actually played Belle in our Beauty and the Beast production my junior year. So, I'm biased, but your animation lecture was my favorite so far."

She does have silly little opinions after all. "Any other fun facts?"

"Hmm." She taps the side of her glass a couple of times. "I was devastated to learn that you can't own hedgehogs in Cali because that was my childhood dream—the reward I planned to give myself for ‘making it' in adulthood." She scratches under Eustace's chin. "But this boy is almost as good as a hedgehog."

"He's evil, and I don't know why he's being this sweet," I say. "Also, if you can sing, why the hell didn't you harmonize with me during Little Shop?"

She laughs. "If you want me to harmonize with you about the woes of the lower-middle class, just say the word."

"I'd rather hear you sing Belle's part."

"Only if you tell me what the hell Stardew Valley is."

I shake my head, a smile spreading across my face. "Nope. You have to commit to playing SV with me for two hours before I explain what it is."

"So you're a gamer, then?"

"Yes."

Eustace leaves Maeve and climbs into my lap. I take a sip of my smoothie.

"Are the children on your Instagram really your niece and nephew, or are they secretly your kids?"

I laugh. "My niece and nephew."

She leans back in her chair. "You don't strike me as the nurturing type."

I fake gasp and then gesture at Eustace. "Excuse me, what do you think this is?" And as I say that, some residue on my smoothie falls onto Eustace's white head. He startles and jumps out of my lap, and my only motherly response is "Fuck!"

Maeve full belly laughs as I scoop up my dog and wet a cloth napkin to get the stain out of his fur. And that's when my phone rings, Trish's name flashing on the screen.

"Shit, I have to take this," I say.

Maeve gets out of her seat. "I can blot your dog."

"You're the best."

I take the phone and scurry into the kitchen. Charlie is watching TV in the other room, food on his lap. We make eye contact, and I shoot him a thumbs-up.

"Hey," I say to Trish.

"Hey," Trish says. "So let's cut to the chase, yeah?"

My stomach clenches. "Um, okay."

"So Sundance got in contact with me. Gave me some confidential information much earlier than we'd get it otherwise, so that's a relief at least." She sighs, which gives me all the information I need. "Oakley in Flames didn't get picked."

She moves on from there. Says we're going to submit to Tribeca, South by Southwest, all the big European festivals on the circuit. Sundance isn't even that big of a deal. She says everything a manager has to say when they're doing damage control.

But I can't hear her anymore.

It's like I'm on autopilot. I put her on speakerphone and pull up the group chat. I have to tell Luna. She's the one who was so fucking excited about the opportunity to go to a festival. She's happy in her TV job, but this is her dream. I send the news into our group chat with Romy, Wyatt, and new addition Charlie, who doesn't know any of them but insisted he be included.

VS:We didn't get into Sundance.

The responses aren't general sadness. They're sorry for me, not the movie. Even Luna says, I'm so sorry, Val!! It should be comforting. But it feels more like pity.

I didn't want to go to Sundance anyway. This isn't something to feel bad about. It's good. My muscles are relaxing now. My throat's scratchy, but who cares. This is a relief. I didn't want this. I ranted to Charlie about it for days. I hate Utah, I hate altitude, I hate schmoozing, and I hate festivals. Maeve just told me she's going to help me transition to academia. I'm doing what I said I'd do after that Winston interview.

I don't know what I say to Trish, but she ends the call before I have to figure it out.

Charlie's wrapped his arms around me before I even realize he got up. "I'm so sorry, Val. Sundance is being a dumbass."

He doesn't need to hug me. This isn't a bad thing.

I have more important things to deal with. My class. Maeve.

My heartbeat picks up. Maeve. Maeve who's outside trying to clean my dog.

I push Charlie off and head back outside.

She looks up at me and frowns. "Everything okay?"

And suddenly everything is crumbling down. That scratchy feeling in my throat is now a lump digging deeper inside me. Tears burn in my eyes, even as I try to blink them back. My muscles ache as if I've been standing for hours.

"Hey, uh, I gotta deal with something," I say. "Can we catch up on Tuesday?"

Maeve lets go of Eustace and gets to her feet. Approaches me, hovering about three or so feet away. Perhaps unsure if she can bridge that gap. "Yeah, of course."

Once Maeve leaves with her wallet, I let the tears fall. It's like knocking down a set of dominoes, and seconds later I'm burying my face in Charlie's chest, only able to say "I'm sorry" through the sobs.

He rubs my back, holding me tight. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."