Page 68 of Romance Is Dead

Brent—Has motive, Trevor got him fired

Chloe

Audrey

Mara

Teddy

As promised, the new shooting schedule arrived in my inbox the next morning.

I scrolled through the email as I walked across base camp, a piping-hot caramel apple latte in my other hand to help fend off the chilly September air. It was painfully early, still dark, and I scanned the call sheet as I sipped my coffee, anxious to know what scene we were on. With Natasha as our current number-one suspect, being on set would either allow me to keep an eye on her and an ear out for clues, or put me right in her crosshairs.

Then I saw what scene we’d be shooting.

I started to get a bad feeling as soon as I saw “INT KITCHEN” as the scene’s location. My fear intensified as I spotted the phrase “closed set.” And then. . . Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. I stared at the scene description, trying to convince myself that if I looked long enough, the words would change. Of course, they didn’t.

Today, Teddy and I would be filming our sex scene. And I knew what would be waiting for me as soon as I stepped inside my trailer.

“Hello, old friend.” I gingerly removed my costume from the hanger inside the door. Once again, I’d be decked out in pasties and a thong, this time with the addition of a thick modesty patch on the crotch—to create more of a barrier between Teddy and myself, I assumed.

Sexy.

My stomach fluttered as I got changed and was shuttled to set. I had known the time would come for this scene eventually, of course. But it had always seemed far away, too far in the future to worry about. Now, I was worrying.

In the days since our kiss, it had felt like Teddy and I had put it behind us—that it had been a mutual moment of madness that both of us were keen to forget. But I thought about it now, the way he’d drawn my lip into his mouth to gently suck it. How his hands had gripped my hips as he pulled me against him. How I wasn’t able to stop imagining it. Teddy and I had found a delicate equilibrium in the days since: friendly, but not romantic. Being thrown back into physical contact could throw that balance completely out of whack.

And what then?

Nerves fluttered in my stomach. Filming sex scenes always felt absolutely ridiculous—it was hard to feel sexy when a camera was six inches from your butt and you had to keep arching a certain way so the light hit your chest correctly. A necessary evil that I didn’t love but felt comfortable doing. But with Teddy? I felt like a newbie getting ready to shoot my first love scene.

Should I kiss him with tongue? How much? What should I do with my hands? Would it be weird if I moaned on camera the same way I had when he’d nibbled my neck below my ear?

I was overanalyzing everything by the time I arrived on set, which was much quieter than usual. Only those who were absolutely needed were there—Natasha, of course, and as few sound and lighting crew as possible. No other cast. It was a small relief knowing I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of nosy PAs, at least.

The scene would take place in the kitchen, clearly the sexiest of all rooms. After all, who didn’t fantasize about being railed in a space filled entirely with hard surfaces? The cameras and lighting had been set up by the time I wound my way to the back of the house, all trained on the counter where our characters first kiss. In the script, we’re in the middle of rummaging through the cabinets looking for ingredients for a potion to defeat the witch when lust overtakes us and we go at it right on the kitchen table.

I did not expect it to be comfortable.

The table and chairs in the dining room had been pushed out of the way to make way for equipment, and Natasha nodded at me from her place behind the camera as I entered. Teddy was over by one of the windows, talking to a woman I’d never seen before. The intimacy coordinator, I assumed—a pretty Black woman with box braids pulled up in a bun and dressed in leggings and a maroon tunic.

Teddy, in contrast, had apparently rejected the use of a robe. At first glance he looked stark naked, until you looked close enough to see that he was decked out in a modesty thong (talk about an oxymoron), similar to mine, but with the addition of a sock-like apparatus. And I didn’t know how short-term memory loss works, but I’d apparently forgotten how toned his body was since we’d filmed our scene in the boathouse. He wasn’t just muscular; he was absolutely ripped.

I gulped, forcing my gaze to remain above his waist and not dip down to the sock-covered area. It was a large sock.

The woman, who somehow seemed impervious to the charms of the naked man in front of her, smiled pleasantly as I approached. “You must be Quinn. I’m Gabby.”

“That’s me.” I took her hand, which was reaching out for a handshake.

“I’ll be helping you two prepare for and choreograph your scene today. My job is to make sure you’re both comfortable at all times, so please don’t hesitate to say if something doesn’t feel right.”

I looked down at my robe, which I knew I would have to remove at some point. “This underwear definitely doesn’t feel right, but I guess you’re not talking about that.”

Gabby laughed. “I can’t do anything about that, I’m afraid. Why don’t we head into the kitchen?” She swept her arm toward the next room, and Teddy and I filed in obediently.

As we moved through the dining room, I repeated the breathing exercise Teddy had taught me. It slowed my breathing marginally, but my hands were still shaking. I’d never been this nervous before a scene before. It was unnerving.

“Hey.” Teddy placed a hand on the small of my back as we crossed the threshold of the kitchen. “This’ll be a snap. There aren’t even any boats around to put us all in mortal danger.”

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