Page 75 of What's in a Kiss?

Coyly I say, “And which record might that be?”

“The one where you came five times in a single night.”

“You better call Cooperstown,” I say. “They’re gonna want a witness.”

Chapter Eighteen

I’m not one of those people who puts a lot of effort into planning sex. Not the way I spent months at the mercy of the night Jake and I almost kissed, overanalyzing it to undeath. Never again will I torture my mind like that.

I’m not eighteen anymore. I’m a woman who knows what she wants, and what she wants is to fuck her husband of many years for the first time.

I do have one fear. There’s so much baggage baked into Jake and me—there’s his version of our relationship, there’s my version, and there’s this new version of the past few days. But if I’m going to get horizontal and vulnerable with Jake... won’t he figure out that something’s changed?

••••••

The morning aftermy concussion gets off to a good start. I was told to expect a headache, but my pituitary gland seems to be secreting enough libido to blot out all other feelings. For breakfast Jakes makes an egg white, avocado, and tofu scramble, with creamy Groundwork espresso and homemade reverse osmosis soda water on the side.

Walking onto set I’m aglow with arousal, and I feel likepeople can tell. I know I’m even more distracted than usual, but honestly, who could work under such conditions? Every time I glance at my phone and see our countdown—nine hours, eighteen minutes, and twenty-seven churning seconds—I imagine Jake watching the same countdown on his phone. I imagine him imagining me. Sprawled across a bed. For him.

I keep remembering last night, lying on home plate, under the stars, the slow drag of his fingers up my thigh while we talked. The touch of our chests as we turned to each other. The ache when he said we had to wait. I keep wondering how serious he is about breaking our record.

I can’t believe a few days ago I feared Jake fucking me. Now I’m scared of what will happen if he doesn’t do it soon enough. I feel like a violin string about to snap.

I haven’t been here long enough to judge whether High Life Olivia and High Life Jake have a perfect marriage, but they may just have perfect chemistry. The kind that stays through all the work marriage requires. It’s something I’ve never really known I could pull off myself. When things have gotten hard in my relationships, I’ve tended to say good riddance and suggest we both step back, usually for good. The reward has never seemed worth the hassle, worth the vulnerability and hope.

But something happened with Jake in this life and I never stepped away. Something signaled I could let go of my fears and stay. Something told me I could live the dream.

“You-need-to-let-me-treat-my-patient,” I rush my line at the eight-year-old who’s again in today’s scene. Here’s a tidbit you won’t read inThe Hollywood Reporter: Buster’s notthatgood an actor that he can cry when I’m not pushing him too far.

“Olivia?” Lois says, stifling a laugh. “Let’s try that again. Like you actually want to treat someone.”

“Right,” I say. “Got it.”

Buster rolls his eyes.

“Places, everyone,” Lois says. Then: “Action!”

“Youneed to letmetreat mypatient!” I scream, totally unhinged.

This time Lois can’t stop her laughter. The crew is also amused.

“Let’s break for lunch,” Lois announces. She walks up to me and adds, “Why don’t you go meditate or something.”

Then I’m back in my trailer, with an entire hour alone with my sex-thoughts. How have I never thought to check our texts for dirty pics? I take out my phone, scroll backward through our exchanges, and sure enough there’s a Christmas mistletoe dick pic that takes my breath away. I stare at it for ? of a second before I click the phone to black.

This is not the way I want to experience him the first time. I want the real thing. Breaking records left and right.

I picture us back in that marvelous bed. I want to be there—need to be there. But in my fantasy, when I make my first reach for him—I freeze. He’s going to notice something’s different. He’s going to feel that everything about me is new at touching him.

My mother’s voice blasts into my thoughts, welcomingly unsolicited:And this is a problem... why?

Because he’s slept with High Life Olivia thousands of times, but he’s never been withme.And so, with seven hours, thirty-one minutes, and twelve seconds until Sex O’Clock, I decide tointroduce an element of surprise. Something spicy. Something distracting—so that Jake won’t notice that the thing that’s new between our sheets is me.

••••••

Sex O’Clock findsme sipping a dirty martini at Bar 1200 in the lobby of the Sunset Marquis, a place I’ve long thought is the sexiest lounge in town—low red leather booths and candlelight, potent classic cocktails, vinyl crackling through the speakers in the walls, and attractive, hungry people on the make.

I check my text for the thousandth time.

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