Scene 27

When I started the year three hundred and sixty-five days earlier, I hadn't expected to end it having sex on my dining room table.

At least not stone-cold sober.

Nor with a billion-dollar movie script serving as an impromptu pillow.

And definitely not with a woman.

But then again, I always had been a fan of third-act plot twists.

The year before, I'd been crammed into a club on Sunset, regretting my fourth martini, trying to avoid the wandering hands of a boy who soon found himself sorely disappointed. I'd woken the next morning on the glazed porcelain floor of Dani's ensuite bathroom, grateful for the impeccable cleaning habits of The Beverly Hills Hotel housekeepers.

Needless to say, in comparing the two nights, this year was 10/10 recommended. All the stars given.

I'm not actually sure when the clock struck midnight. It was sometime after she'd finally kissed me, but definitely before we'd abandoned the inconvenience of the old thrift shop table and stumbled the five steps through my nano kitchen into my bedroom. No doubt the entire city had erupted with bottle rockets and M80s, shaking my single-pane windows in their deteriorating framework, but at the time, the numerical change of the Gregorian calendar had been the least of my considerations. An honest to God Armageddon could have been going on outside and I wouldn't have noticed.

Now, however, with Dillon asleep beside me, I'd become aware of every creak and hum and rustle. I could hear the swing of my antique clock's pendulum. The murmur of my old fridge motor. The cycle of my upstairs neighbor's toilet. And, above it all, I listened, over the rhythmic beating of my heart, to the comforting whisper of Dillon's tranquil inhalations.

I enjoyed watching her sleep. The coral glow from my Himalayan salt lamp cast just enough light to bring her features into focus. It was the first time I'd ever gotten to look at her—to really study her—without feeling self-conscious.

I loved the strong lines of her face and subtle scattering of freckles dusting her high cheekbones. The way her defined jaw contrasted the suppleness of her lips. In the shadows, with the comforter kicked down to her knees, I could appreciate her extreme fitness. Her lithesomeness and strength. And yet also, in the curves and contours of her body, the femininity she retained.

I couldn't shake my thoughts from what she'd told me. About her dad. About her youth. About Henrik. I was infuriated for the child who'd been so horrifyingly manipulated. And my heart broke for the woman who had yet to learn to forgive herself. I had so many questions, so many things I wanted to say, but I'd kept them to myself. It hadn't felt like the time. She'd offered me a piece of her I didn't imagine she gave to many people, and the last thing I wanted was for her to regret it.

So I'd steered the night in a different direction—down a lighter path that allowed us both to escape to more pleasurable endeavors.

My thoughts were in the middle of revisiting some of those exact endeavors (who knew you could actually leave fingernail indentations on the softwood pine of a dining room table?) when my cell phone vibrated. It was Dani.

Not today, Satan.

I snatched it off the nightstand and immediately turned it off. The only person I'd wanted to hear from was lying right beside me.

Scooting closer to Dillon, I pressed my face to the nape of her neck, reveling in the warmth of her body. I couldn't remember the last time I slept beside someone and looked forward to waking with them in the morning.

When I opened my eyes again, my limbs stretching out across the full-size mattress in search of her, I discovered she wasn't there.

Based on the angle of light permeating my sheer window coverings, it was early morning.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, tugged on a tank top, and padded barefoot into my living room. It was empty. Her backpack was lying open on the couch, her hat and jacket stacked beside it. I didn't doubt, if I peeked inside, I'd find her running shoes missing.

Apparently, there was no keeping her from her New Year's tradition.

Fifteen minutes later, when I cranked off the water and stepped out of my shower, I heard my front door open.

I quickly dried off and wrapped myself in a towel, slipping out of the steaming bathroom to find her sorting through my fridge.

"Hey," she looked up when she heard me.

God, I loved her smile. The way her dimples creased her cheeks.

From what I could see over the top of the fridge door, I also loved the way her shirt was clinging to her body, her face flushed and skin glistening. The after effects of a run.

I leaned against the counter. "Beware. I think the milk is expired."

She held up a new carton and I noticed there was a grocery bag on the floor. "Not anymore." Finishing stashing the items, she turned for the sink. "You were supposed to still be in bed. Sleep in. Two cups of coffee. Read a book cover-to-cover. Go to a movie. Isn't that what you told me?"

I stared at her, realizing there were two 7-Eleven cups on the counter. "You remembered that?"

"Of course I remembered," she chastised, "I listen to everything you tell me." Reaching into a second bag, she pulled out a weekly. "I'm afraid reading materials were slim pickings on a holiday—but I did pick up a magazine." She tossed the publication next to the sink. "There was a cute girl on the cover."

It was Variety . And there was Elliott, Grady—and me.

"God." I shook my head. I still hadn't wrapped my mind around all the publicity I was getting. "I wish they'd find a different headshot. I look so... boring."

"I promise, Kameryn Kingsbury," she pressed the coffee into my hands, "these reporters are going to find you anything but boring."

"Yeah?" I set the paper cup to my lips. "And how would you describe me?"

Ok, fine—I was fishing for compliments. So sue me. I'm an actress. Sometimes I need someone to feed my vanity.

She smiled, more than willing to take the bait. "Where would I start?" Stepping back, she gave me a sweeping survey. "Let's see. I could write a thesis on all the ways it should be deemed cruel and unusual punishment to be forced to stand here looking at you in nothing more than a towel. Torture to the highest degree. However—to describe you, I think I'd start with the color of your hair."

I rolled my eyes. "Stick with the towel. I hate the color of my hair. Boring brown. Mousy brown. Unremarkable brown."

"Winter chestnuts brown. Evergreens in autumn brown. Stradivarius brown."

I forced a sip of scalding coffee to hide my swallow. I'd not been expecting that from her.

"I don't think I've ever had someone compare me to a violin before," I teased in my attempt to keep it light.

"I'm surprised," she returned, "strung as tight as you are."

I laughed. " Hey! I resemble that remark."

Whatever response she had was interrupted by a knock at my door.

Shit .

"Kam?" a voice called through my mailslot.

I breathed a sigh of relief, trying to ease my automatic hackles. It was just Sophie.

"A friend," I held a finger to my lips, motioning for Dillon to give me a second.

"Hey!" I cracked the door.

"Oh, hey." Sophie stood expectant on my doorstep. "I tried to call you, but your phone went straight to voicemail."

"Sorry, I think it's dead."

"I'm on my way to the Fairfax Farmers Market. Want to go?"

"Oh, uh, thanks—not today." I shifted my hold on the towel. "I've got a lot of work."

I could see her eyes sweep past my security chain, over my shoulder, to where Dillon's backpack was still on the couch. "Oh. Oh ." She took a step back, embarrassed, but then issued me a secret smile. "Is it…?" she lipped silently.

I knew what she was asking. I nodded the affirmative.

"Okay," she projected loudly, turning on her best stage voice, "have a good morning. I wouldn't want to keep you from your responsibilities." She laughed. "You get right to that. Call me later?"

"Mhm."

"Toodles, then." And she was gone.

I relocked the door. "Thank God."

"Expecting more boys with mistletoe?" Dillon asked. She'd pulled out a chair at my dining room table, where she was now sipping from her 7-Eleven cup.

"Worse—I thought it might be someone from work."

"Well, in that case, it would have been into the closet or under the bed—we certainly wouldn't want the powers-that-be finding their newly-hired Goody Two-Shoes keeping the wrong company."

My eyes snapped to her. "You're wrong if you think that's how I feel." I searched her face, trying to decipher her comment. It wasn't something we'd talked about. We'd yet to fully acknowledge an us , let alone how we wanted to proceed. But the simple fact that she'd flown from the UK to California twice in less than ten days was a pretty good indicator she wanted to pursue this as much as I did. So I skipped to the latter. "If we decide to keep this quiet, I'm fine with that. But it's important to me that you know I'm not afraid to own it in the open, either. That doesn't scare me."

I knew it was easy to say that now, standing in the privacy of my apartment, without the entire world prying into the details of my personal life. But I did mean it. If we were going to do this, I was willing to do this. Openly. Unashamedly. However she wanted. My biggest concern was that we did whatever was best for her, but I wasn't certain how to phrase that.

"I'd expect nothing less from the girl voted most likely to lead a protest," she smiled, but the humor behind the words was forced. I knew the subject made her uncomfortable, and I regretted bringing it up. After what happened with Kelsey…

I crossed the floor, stopping in front of her to run a hand through her damp hair. "For now, however, the less I have to share you with the world, the better. If that works for you?"

Her entire body slackened in unmistakable relief.

She gave me her half smile, bringing a hand to my knee. "Does that mean I'm getting out of a trip to the cinema?"

"No chance," I said, the rebuke falling short as she slowly slid her palm toward the hem of the towel.

God, it was ridiculous, the effect she had on me. I'd never known it was possible to want someone the way I wanted her. To find myself so unraveled by a touch—a glance—a smile.

She slid her hand higher. "I don't know. I bet I could convince you."

I let the towel fall, moving to straddle her.

"I'm very sweaty," she warned, even as she drew me closer, her lips traveling across my neck, her hands pressing into the small of my back. I was intoxicated by the windswept scent of her. The heat radiating from her body. The hint of mint tea on her breath.

She tried to shift, wanting to take over, but I pinned her against the back of the chair, unwilling to let her.

I'd discovered she liked to be in control. It was clearly what she was used to.

But I wasn't one to play by all the rules. Sometimes I liked to push the envelope.

Tangling one hand into her short wave of hair, I slipped the other between us, working loose the drawstring of her running shorts. I smiled as she attempted to measure her breathing, as her body tensed beneath me.

Never taking my eyes off hers, I teased her, slowly, unyieldingly, my mouth moving to the hollow of her throat as she strained against me. I teased her until her hands were on my hips, her nails digging into my skin. Until her breathing was ragged. Until she was forced to throw her head back, her eyes closed, the sound of her breath ceasing completely. I teased her until at last, writhing, she found my mouth with hers, her cry muted as she stilled beneath me.

"Okay, fine," she whispered into the crook of my neck, once I could feel her heartbeat resume its even cadence. "You win. I'll go with you to the movies."

I laughed. "Double feature?"

"You're pushing your luck."

"We could sit in the back row?"

She reached up, dragging my lower lip down with her thumb. "You know how to drive a hard bargain, Kam-Kameryn."

And so began the eleven short days we had together.

Despite my insistence at keeping to tradition, I was the one who decided we should skip the movies, and for the first three days, we didn't leave the apartment. Eventually, however, both stir-craziness and bare cupboards drove us from our libidinous haze, and we were forced to venture into civil society.

I felt like I was entering a whole new world.

We hiked to the Hollywood sign, walking hand-in-hand along the Sky Rim trail, taking photos cheek-to-cheek on the deck of the Observatory. We bundled in jackets and beanies and I dragged Dillon on one of those stupid double-decker buses that take a tour of the stars' homes, circling back through Rodeo Drive and past the Chinese Theatre.

The days rolled by, turning into a week that came and went too quickly. Dillon helped me run lines from my script, brought me coffee in bed, and we laughed until we choked on wasabi sitting on the checkered floor of my kitchen eating sushi.

When we went out, I felt like a truant teenager, sneaking around beneath the football bleachers.

We played footsie at dinner under the table, made out in the elevator at the Beverly Center, and had sex in my car in the AMC underground parking structure, missing all but the closing credits of the movie. "Zero-for-two in your attempts to convert me into a film buff, Kam-Kameryn," she'd razzed as we stood in line at Pink's Hot Dogs.

She bought a bike at a downtown cyclery and left early one morning, only to call me at noon, asking if I'd come have lunch with her in Santa Barbara. One hundred and three miles away.

I changed my phone number, got a P.O. Box to help keep my home address private, and after a frenzied emptying of every drawer in my apartment, found my passport in my freezer.

She was supposed to leave for London the Friday night before my Monday morning departure to Greenland, but Friday came and went and I begged her to stay until Sunday.

Saturday I'd been invited to a party in Malibu, but again I declined—a habit Sophie said I better learn to break. But I didn't care. I wanted to spend every last second with Dillon. I knew the next time I returned to LA, my life would look very different. Aaron was insisting I think about a new apartment, somewhere safer, where I could maintain anonymity. Sneak peeks and teaser trailers would begin to hit the public not long after I returned from Scotland, and I knew I would never have this freedom again. Already, these last eleven days, I knew I'd just been lucky. There'd been no more knocks at my door, and my new number remained unlisted.

But it was coming, waiting to blitz down on me like Mj?lnir from the sky, and once it happened, there'd be no retreating back to Asgard.

So the parties and premieres and people could wait. For now, I just wanted Dillon.

We lay in bed that night—I'd made her watch Thor: Ragnarok , and yes, she agreed Cate Blanchett was hot in Hela's iridescent skin-tight leather armor—and I lamented every passing minute that brought me closer to Greenland.

"I don't even want to go."

"Bollocks." She stroked my hair as I lay against her chest, watching the TV turn black on automatic shutoff. "This is going to be the most incredible experience of your life. By the time you get to Scotland, you'll have forgotten all about me."

"Now that's bollocks ," I mocked her, turning my head to catch her eye, wondering just how long it might really be before I saw her again. "Are you sure you can't come see me in Aberdeen?"

"You know I would if I could." She ran a fingertip along the channels of my ribcage, trailing off into a senseless design at my hip. "But the Championship Series will be underway. I'll be in Yokohama when you're in Scotland."

Yes, I knew. And after that Leeds. Montreal. Málaga. Cagliari. Abu Dhabi. And no telling what might get thrown in in between. It could be November before I saw her again. But by then, we'd be well into post-production. I'd be in the middle of the required promotional phase—interviews, talk shows, red carpet appearances. Pretty much whatever the studio wanted.

The dawning acceptance of our reality left me feeling hollow, with a sinking feeling spreading through my chest.

She must have felt my rising misery, because she wrapped her arms around me, holding me tightly against her.

"We'll find each other. I promise."

"And what if you forget me?"

I could feel her smile against my temple before suddenly rolling to pin me beneath her, brushing her mouth across the ticklish skin of my stomach. "I'm going to show you right now what happens when you play What If ."

But later, in the middle of the night, it was she who woke me, her lips pressed to my ear, and promised it would be a blazing day on Cairn Gorm Mountain before she ever could forget me.