Chapter Text
Scott: I ran by your house to get my sunglasses.
Chris: Okay. Did you let Dodger out while you were there?
Scott: Was I supposed to?
Chris: 🙄
Shaking his head, Chris climbed out of his SUV and walked into his house. Sure enough, Dodger made a beeline out the door.
Well, in his defense, he’d been at the gym longer than he normally was.
Chris checked the mail, waiting until Dodger was done with business and they went back in the house. Chris headed for the kitchen to get them some lunch.
That’s when he saw it.
Where had that come from?
Your Minnie Mouse hoodie was draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, reminding him of the last night he’d seen you. He couldn’t help the smile that brought to his face.
You’d worked with him on the set of Defending Jacob. You went out sometimes, hung out sometimes. It was strictly friends-with-benefits and you knew that from the start. He went out with a couple of other women too though they weren’t on set. One he’d been seeing regularly longer than you but that had ended before his weekend with you. The other one had become a huge problem the morning after the first time he’d slept with her. That had taken weeks to deal with.
The last day of filming, several of you had gone out for drinking, bowling. He broke his own rule and brought you home that night.
As he fed Dodger, he couldn’t help remember having you pressed up against the wall in his living room. Then he had you on the stairs because he couldn’t climb the stairs drunk with his pants around his ankles.
Somehow the two of you had made it to his bedroom, both of you hammered, and slept until the next afternoon. He’d felt so bad about the marks on your back from the stairs that he’d given you a backrub, ran a bath for the two of you. You’d ordered takeout and watched a Rick and Morty marathon until late, both of you dozing.
For once, you hung out without drinking and the conversation was… better. There were comfortable silences. It had been easy.
Sex that night had been nice with you on top and the shadows from the TV playing across your body as you rode him. By the time he’d brought you off, left you breathless over him with your hands planted on his chest, he couldn’t take it anymore. Hoping your back would be okay, he rolled you under him and just pounded you into the bed.
Chris had thought about that night a lot since. It wasn’t just a bit of fun after a night of drinking.
No, he remembered the little details. He recalled the way your sweat-slick skin felt under his fingertips. The smell of the ocean on your damp hair when he pressed his face into it, his lower body driving into yours. The urgency of your embrace, the gentle strength of your arms and legs wrapped around him like you’d never let him go as he fought for release.
When Sunday rolled around and you’d been there the entire weekend, you’d surprised him by making pancakes. It had been domestic and was a lot more than he usually allowed. He found you in the kitchen, barefoot in your jeans and his shirt, laughing with Scott as you cooked.
And oddly, it hadn’t been the least bit awkward. Scott had stayed to eat breakfast and you had talked way more to his brother than him. When Scott finally made his exit, Chris remembered wondering just how exactly he was going wrap the weekend up.
You did it for him. You’d bounced up the stairs to get a shower. And yeah, he’d already showered. But he hadn’t been able to resist when you’d started singing Bon Jovi, badly. He’d jumped in there with you for another round of sex. You’d planted your hands on the wall of his shower, bending forward and letting him get his hands on that perfect ass and fuck you from behind. It had been so good.
He still really felt bad about the marks on your back…
You’d gotten dressed while he thought about what he was going to say. You’d done the best you could with your hair – he thought you looked adorable – while he considered what he’d do if you got upset.
Chris wasn’t ending anything with you. No. He just didn’t want you to have the wrong idea from spending the weekend in his house.
But then the strangest thing happened. Your uber showed up. You’d grabbed your backpack, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and waved on your way out.
Chris had breathed a sigh of relief. Things had stayed casual, friendly. And it had been a great weekend of sex and chilling out despite the fact that you’d stayed the weekend which was usually a little too close to a relationship for him.
That relief was short-lived.
Now as he walked over to the chair and grabbed the hoodie, he pressed it to his face. You’d left it behind, and that weekend had been weeks ago. But he could still smell you on it.
Chris hadn’t heard anything from you since.
Things had been a scramble for him since with getting ready to launch his site, getting ready for the Boston con which just got canceled, and looking over scripts for his next project. He realized he hadn’t reached out to you either.
Had he thought about you? That weekend?
Yes.
As he went about making himself something to eat, Chris picked his phone back up, deciding to look you up on social media.
The latest image on your Instagram stopped him cold.
It was a picture of you, your sweet face wearing that smile that you only smiled when you were a little buzzed. And you were sitting on the lap of another man, broad shoulders with dark hair and eyes, cheek-to-cheek, with his arms around you.
What the fuck?
Chris put the phone down, huffed out an exhale.
He shouldn’t be upset. You hadn’t been in a relationship. Strictly friends. That had been the agreement from the start.
His upset at the picture that was posted two days ago was unreasonable. He knew that. There wasn’t a bit of damn action required on his part. All he had to do was wish you well and move on.
Except he couldn’t…
Chris tried. He had breakfast, made his way through messages. There was still so much to do with ASP right now. He was able to kill a couple of hours there.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Chris pulled up his text conversation with you. Before he could stop himself, he sent you a message.
Chris: Hey, you.
You were in his phone as “Set Slave” but he couldn’t remember if he’d done that or you had. When he didn’t receive an immediate reply, he went to get some laundry done. He made a real effort not to check his phone until after he’d cleaned up the kitchen.
No answer.
Why was he even worrying about this?
Why do you care? Meatball.
Chris took Dodger to run some errands and he wasn’t proud of himself for checking his phone here and there. He had messages from his mother, Scott again, his assistant.
None from you.
He didn’t like the way his heart sank at not getting an answer. You usually got back to him within five minutes.
Then again, that had been when you were on set. That had been your job.
That thought made it even worse.
Chris scrubbed a hand through his hair, carried his takeout into the house as he walked Dodger in. He hadn’t intended to check your Instagram again. But he did. A new picture posted today.
You were on another set from the looks of it, glancing over your shoulder at whoever took the picture. Your hair was pulled back from your face. The t-shirt you wore showed off the swell of your breasts. Your flannel was tied around your waist, you always did that.
The male hand at your lower back on top of the flannel?
What the fuck was that all about?
Chris tried to put it out of his head the rest of the evening. He even meditated, trying to get his mind to shut up. He went to bed early, checked out a new movie on Netflix. He didn’t check his phone again until he was ready to go to sleep.
Set Slave: Hey. What’s up?
It was sent at 12:45 AM. Just ten minutes ago.
Chris: I have something of yours.
Set Slave: Yeah? What’s that?
Chris smiled. You were there. Talking to him.
Chris: Missing any hoodies?
It was a good ten minutes before you answered that. Chris hated himself for wondering what you were doing. You were probably brushing your teeth, getting ready for bed.
What if you were in bed with the guy from the picture?
Stop.
Set Slave: Wait. Did you find my Minnie Mouse hoodie? I wondered where it went. I must have left it there.
You had indeed. He’d pulled it off you, tossed it off the stairs that night…
Chris: That’s the one.
Set Slave: Thank you for finding it. Next time I’m in the area, I’ll shoot you a text and see if I can swing by and get it.
It was not the answer he was expecting. Seriously?
Chris: If you have a free night sometime, I could meet you for dinner or drinks and bring it with me.
He immediately regretted sending that the minute he hit the button. Desperate much?
Five minutes went by. Five long minutes.
Set Slave: Okay. Sounds good. But I won’t hold you to it. I know you’re busy.
Chris recognized a brush off when he got one. It had just been a while. He didn’t like the hollow feeling in his chest as he put the phone down on his bedside table.
It had just been a friends-with-benefits type of deal. He’d been honest from the beginning. You’d agreed to it.
Staring up at the ceiling, it took him a long time to fall asleep.
***
“You heading out?”
You turned around to wave at none other than the Antonio Banderas. You nodded.
“See you Monday,” you called back to him.
You were his assistant on the set of this independent film and a nicer gentleman – if you looked up gentleman in the dictionary that man’s face would be right next to the definition – you’d never met. And he wasn’t high maintenance. You kept track of his wardrobe, his scripts, his messages. You made sure he had what he needed when he needed it. The darling man made it so easy.
If only all actors were so easy to work with.
Chris had been easy to work with.
Blowing out an exhale, you tried to push that thought and that man right out of your head.
Sure, Chris had been wonderful to work with. He’d been as polite and courteous as Antonio, but he was younger, funny. Self-deprecating a lot of the time. Unbelievably gorgeous.
The first time he’d invited you along on an outing, you’d been awestruck. Who wouldn’t be? You’d gone out for beers, played pool in a seedy, out-of-the-way bar on the edge of the city. Chris hadn’t been the only actor in your group, but he’d been the only one in the group you’d been aware of. You’d made it so easy for him.
The next outing you’d both ended up sloppy drunk and you hired an Uber to take you back home. Chris had climbed into the Uber with you, followed you into your apartment and you’d ended up making out on your sofa for a good hour that night. Then he’d ended up in your bed.
What a night that had been.
The next morning brought a painful hangover and a painful lesson. He’d been so nervous, pacing in your kitchen and explaining to you that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. It had been all you could do to keep the tears at bay. But you’d listened. And you understood. You hadn’t been expecting him to fall for you just because he followed you home and into your bed. You knew what he wanted. You gave it to him.
And Chris made sure you knew the score. He really liked you. He really liked last night. He wanted to see you again, but he had to be honest.
Chris had stood there in your kitchen in his too-tight shirt and jeans with those blue, blue eyes begging you to understand. There would never be a time when things between you would be anything more than what happened the night before. You weren’t even the only girl he was seeing.
You appreciated the honesty. You did.
It did nothing to keep you from feeling like an insignificant pile of dirt.
By Monday, you were back on set, doing your job. You’d told yourself that you wouldn’t be doing that again. Chris may be a famous actor, but you didn’t want to be anyone’s fuck buddy. You deserved better than that. And he acted just the same. Sweet, funny, unfailingly kind as you helped him through the production. Maybe he was just playing it off like it never even happened?
Oh, no.
Chris followed you home Friday night. Ordered takeout, made himself at home in your apartment. It became a weekly thing with the exception of one weekend when he let you low-key know that he was out with one of the other women he was seeing. That had been a long fucking weekend.
And a reminder that you didn’t need to be putting yourself through it all. There was only one ending to the story and he already told you what it was.
The last weekend of production rolled around and a group of you went out. Chris had been so odd that night. He’d been very touchy-feely with you. You’d tried to shrug him off, afraid he was really drunk and praying no pictures turned up in the tabloids anywhere. You didn’t want him upset.
That night you’d been drunk too though not as drunk as him. He’d taken you back to his house in Laurel Canyon. And you’d spent the entire weekend there.
It was that weekend when you realized that you’d screwed up. You’d lost your heart to him.
So you made the decision to enjoy that weekend and when it was over, everything was over. Production was over. All you had to do was fade into the background and you thought you’d successfully managed that. You wouldn’t have to see him again. You didn’t try to contact him. You didn’t hear from him.
It was all for the best.
So why was Chris texting you again? Your hoodie? He could have the damned thing. Yeah, like you needed a reminder that you’d stupidly fallen in love with a man you could never have.
To your relief, he hadn’t sent any other texts when you checked your phone. You did have a message from Sabrina who also worked as a PA on many of the sets you worked. She wanted to know if you wanted to go out to a club.
Sounds like a good idea.
It felt good to get dressed up, to do winged eyeliner and put on a flirty dress with heels. Sabrina texted you when she got there and the two of you rode in her car to the club.
You’d taken Chris to the club a couple of times, but it was never for long. Someone always spotted him. It just meant you were back to your apartment that much faster and one thing led to another.
As you tucked your phone away into your bag, you smiled at Sabrina. No thinking about Chris tonight. You’re going to have a good time.
And the night started out great. You and Sabrina met a couple of friends you worked with. Jordan was a costumer you worked with often. Mr. tall, dark, and handsome was a wonderful dancer too. Sometimes his boyfriend joined you guys on the dance floor, but most of the time not. Tonight, Keith was content to do Tequila shots with Sabrina who had a blister from her new heels.
You took a break, headed for the restroom. When you came back, you asked for a shot of Jack. You wanted to keep your buzz going for another hour, dance a little more, then call it a night. And that’s just how it went. Sabrina was getting friendly with the bartender. So you got a cab for yourself, told Jordan and Keith goodbye, and headed out.
When you got to your apartment, you struggled a little to get your key in the lock. You heard your name and it had you spinning around. A little too fast.
Chris smiled as he steadied you.
What the hell was he doing here?
There he was in a deep blue sweater and jeans, looking more handsome than any man had a right to. His gaze moved over you, the longing in his gaze like a spike in your heart.
“Chris?” you had to ask. “What are you doing here?”
That charming smile faded just a little.
Oh, this was bad. This was so bad.
Realizing you were still hanging onto his forearms, you let go of him. Chris kept his hands on your waist, his touch careful.
He hesitated, dropped his gaze. Slowly, he released his grip on you.
“Can we talk?” he asked in the quiet of the hallway. It was after 2 in the morning.
It wasn’t a good idea.
“Sure,” is what you said, and you let him into your apartment.
You dropped heavily onto your couch, watching as he stood there in your living room. You didn’t want him there, but oh, God, yes you did.
Stop.
He’s here, you’re drunk. You have no idea what he wants.
Chris is your weakness.
“I don’t know what you think is going to happen, Chris,” you said carefully. “But we’re going to talk and then I’m going to need you to leave.”
That stopped him.
Folding his arms across his chest, he finally forced himself to meet your gaze. You’d seen his anxiety before at odd moments. Usually, it was nerves at press junkets or filming certain scenes.
“I’m… I’m not here for sex,” Chris said quietly.
You shook your head.
“Then why are you here?” Hadn’t you only ever been sex for Chris?
“I want another chance with you,” he admitted.