Page 35 of The Charm Offensive
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Dev asks. It’s a dangerous question. Dev’s hands are still on his legs. “Are you stressed about the show?”
“Oh.Yes.The show. Definitely. I can’t sleep because I’m stressed about the show.”
Dev nods in understanding. “It seems like you’re connecting more with the women. Don’t you think?”
He considers it. In some ways, yes. He enjoys talking about tech stuff with Delilah when she’s not provoking drama with Megan, and he enjoys Sabrina’s stories about her travels, when she’s not intimidating the shit out of him. He likes spending time with Angie, who is smart and clever and makes him laugh, and he likes spending time with Daphne, who is patient and kind and understanding. But it’s like he told Parisa—he likes the women, but he doesn’tlike them. He isn’t here for that.
“Sort of,” he says carefully.
“Do you see yourself developing real feelings for anyone?”
“I… uh…”
“Come on, Charlie. You can talk to me about this stuff. Not just as your producer, but as your friend.”
He falters. “Are… are we friends?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m your only friend.”
“I have other friends.”
“Besides your publicist?”
“I haveonefriend,” he corrects. Dev laughs, and the combination of Dev’s laughter and his sleep deprivation makes Charlie feel drunk.
Dev leans even closer. “I’m going to say this as your friend. I think you’ve gotten really good at talking yourself out of your feelings.”
Dev places his hand across Charlie’s chest, and a trapdoor appears just south of his sternum. Charlie’s heart falls through, crashing into his stomach.One Mississippi.Dev talks quickly like he’s afraid Charlie is going to pull away.
(Charlie isn’t going to pull away. Dev’s hand is on his chest, and he’s not about to pull away.)
“Try listening to your heart. You have some amazing women left on this show, and you deserve happiness.”
Dev’s still got his hand pressed to Charlie’s chest, burning him through the thin layer of his T-shirt.Two Mississippi.Dev swallows, and his Adam’s apple hitches.Three…Charlie follows the swallow down the elegant column of Dev’s throat, imagines following it all the way down the length of Dev’s torso, to the patch of hair on his stomach visible in the place where his T-shirt has bunched at the waist. He’s not sure why he’s thinking about Dev’s stomach, or how he knows Dev’s shirt has crept up in the corner.
Except.
Except he does know. He knew as soon as he read Dev’s script. A slow, sinking realization that only became clear when he saw it mirrored back to him on the page.
The way he feels when Dev touches his hair, the way he feels when Dev touches his hand, the way he feelsevery single timethis man touches him. Those feelings didn’t make sense because he’s never felt them before. Now they make perfect sense, andGod—he wishes he could go back to his ignorance.
He wishes he could stop thinking about all of this, wishes he could stop thinking about tracing the imaginary line from Dev’s slightly parted lips down the length of his body, and he wishes justpicturingdoing so didn’t bring the pressure back to his lowerstomach in a way he now understands too well. He leaps off the bed, positioning his body away from Dev’s view.
“I should let you sleep.”
“It’s fine, Charlie.”
It’s definitely notfine.
Charlie throws himself into his own bedroom, slams his door, and leans back against it. His heart hurls itself against his chest so loudly he’s convinced Dev can hear it from his room. He never should have asked to read Dev’s script, never should have gone into Dev’s room, never should have come on this show.
Because things were fine before, when he was not feeling things, when all his feelings were stashed away, unexamined.
He’s still leaning against his bedroom door, and his heart is still thrashing violently, and his body is still… doing body-like things. It won’tstopdoing body-like things. He wants to alleviate the pressure, but he can’t, because it’s Dev, and Dev is hishandler, and his friend, apparently, and he’s right on the other side of his bedroom wall.
But then he’s thinking about Dev on the other side of the wall. Shirt loose around his throat. White cheddar popcorn dust on his fingers. And Charlie decides, just this once. Just to get rid of these feelings before they devour him. He thinks about Dev’s script, and what Dev’s voice would sound like reading the script aloud to him, close to his ear, breath on Charlie’s throat as he pushes aside the waistband of his sweatpants.
Andholy shit—Dev’s knees and Dev’s mouth and Dev’s Adam’s apple. He tries thinking about Daphne’s pretty blue eyes instead, but he can only see Dev’s dark ones, peering intensely at him behind his glasses. He tries to conjure the image of Angie’s soft body, but it’s superimposed with Dev’s wide shoulders, theslenderness of his hips, the sharp points and the beautiful brown skin and the smell of him.
