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“Yeah, you?” she murmured.
“So big news, huh?” I said, deliberately adding warmth to my voice.
“Yes, it feels hopeful,” she said, almost as if she were convincing herself.
I grinned. “I’m really glad you're staying until Monday.” I wanted her to know that I genuinely appreciated it. I didn’t add that I would have blown a gasket had she bailed to fly out tomorrow just because some big shot thought she should alter her life on the fly for a chance in his movie.
“Well, I just thought…well, I had already said I’d be here and…it just seemed fair,” she stammered, her voice growing softer as she resumed. “Matt says that’s what couples have to do—that they try to understand how the other person feels and maybe do things just because it makes the other person happy.”
I almost spit out my coffee. Is she fucking kidding? No, her voice was soft but somber. Jesus, she was just figuring that out? Well, hell, relationship Psychology 101 right there! “Yep,” I said, scurrying around my brain for words to replace the ones that were on the tip of my tongue” basics of life, honey…fucking hell…how did you ever make it in the escort business?
Then, boom, out of her mouth, as if she’d read my mind, a coquettish grin split her cheeks, which seemed to blush as she spoke. “I understand that concept, doing what makes the other person happy when it comes to sexual stuff. I suppose I had enough practice when it came to being the way a man wanted me to be just so he could feel good about himself. I held my breath while listening to her rattle on. “Sucking them off, or pretending like their touch made me swoon, or that their cock was the best and, of course, the biggest I’d ever experienced. Men are all about firsts, so if they can be made to think whatever they’re doing is a first for you, then they feel more like a man, I guess—” She blinked as if catching herself, her eyes going wide as if she’d just been made aware that she was talking to her goddamn boyfriend.
Internally, I shook my head. There was something so off about the way she spoke when she was opening up to me, sort of like some of the guys from the team, who just said shit without putting it through a filter, something I had to stop myself from doing. When you grow up in a place like Texas you learn to sugarcoat blunt stuff, so the message gets kind of muddled. Sort of like the idea of sweet tea—it’s still fucking tea, just seriously sugar-infused, and now somehow it’s so damn good. “Huh?” slipped from my mouth mid-thought.
“Sorry, I just kind of…forgot I was talking to you and not, not just a friend, I mean…I—” she mumbled.
I snapped my jaw shut after realizing that my mouth was hanging open while listening to her expound on the fucking pathetic psyches of men. Damn, were we really that fucking insecure, like the whole lot of us? I filed that away. I let out a forced chuckle, trying to cover the internal shock infused with exasperation that this girl so readily elicited in me. Yet I had to admit, her unfiltered observations had a keenness to them I hadn’t heard before. I began to wonder if maybe my past girlfriends had been saying what they thought I wanted to hear, while she was not. Setting down my coffee mug with a thud, I threw my hands in the air. “So, you just let your boyfriend know that you have the read on what makes men tick, huh?” I stood, a purposeful smirk on my face. “Well, if that’s the case, that implies you are privy to exactly what would make me happy at this moment,” I said with a pointed sneer to my voice.
She let out a breathy giggle. “Yes, Jake, you’re unique in some ways, but you share some core drivers with most men. So…” she added, fisting the hem of the T-shirt, preparing to pull it over her head.
“Wrong!” I gritted out, landing with a thud on the edge of the bed near her. “You being naked always makes me smile, but what would make me happy right now is to know more about the next audition.” I sure did want to tell her that it was fucking grating to have to pull everything out of her—fucking talk to me like you do with Matt. But I guess she’d just done that when she summarized her tutorial on making a man happy.
“About?”
“The movie. What’s a chemistry reading, exactly? What is the movie about? This is a big deal. I want to hear all about it.” I scooted a little closer to her on the bed.
Her green eyes skittered around the room as if the answer rested behind a bookshelf or chair. Then I saw them spark with realization, her lips parting into a wide grin. “Grab my phone, and I’ll show you how a chemistry reading works.”
I couldn’t hide my perplexed look as I handed it to her. “Wait,” she said, scrolling, then clicking on the screen. “I have scenes here that we can practice.” Her eyes lit up as her lids fluttered. “See if we have chemistry.”
“See if?” I scoffed, palming the upper part of her thigh.
She batted my hand away, laughing. “Wait, this will be fun. I can’t let you read the whole script, but we can read through a scene or two. We’ll skip the intense…” She gulped, swallowing the rest of the sentence.
My eyebrows shot up as I tilted my head. “Intense?”
“Here, read the lines where it indicates a middle-aged man in a suit,” she instructed me, handing over her phone.
“What about your lines?” I asked, looking down at the screen.
She arched her back slightly and sat up straight, pulling her lips into her mouth. “I know them by heart. I’ve practiced over and over. Go, try me,” she challenged playfully, her hands balling into fists as if preparing for a boxing match. “Test me. Remember, you’re a man, approximately early fifties, and I’m a…”
“Seductress,” I growled, lowering my eyes.
“Yes, a seductress, but your character doesn’t know this. To you, I’m simply a girl who waitresses at the diner you frequent. I just started working there a week ago, and now you find yourself going every morning and sometimes during lunch, requesting my section. I’ll start…” she said, clearing her throat. “Okay, I’m ready.” Her voice shifted into that syrupy Georgia accent she’d used on the phone.
“More coffee, sir?” Her tongue flicked out, coating her bottom lip, doing precisely what the script said.
I read the next line, trying to adopt a friendly older man’s voice, whatever the hell that is.
I looked up to see her giggling. “You’re doing good,” she assured me, but I wasn’t buying it. “Try one more time,” she instructed.
“What was your name again?” I read a little more confidently this time. I didn’t ask if the middle-aged dude had a Georgia accent because there was no way I could do one the way she did, even though I was from Texas. It’s a totally different twang.
“Annabelle.”
“Annabelle, a beautiful name, matches your smile,” I read, trying not to laugh, watching her bat her eyelashes.
