Page 73 of Burn the Script

I gripped the side of my neck and shrugged. “Happy anniversary?”

Circling the room, he lightly ran his fingertips across every built-in surface. The new sewing desk. The cutting table. The white shelving waiting for his bolts of fabric. Sheer curtains allowed him to view the backyard whether they were opened or closed.

He stopped in front of the three-way mirror and platform with a posable mannequin. Our eyes caught in the reflection, and he shook his head. “I can’t believe you did this for me. I have nothing more to offer you, and you give me so much. Now I’ve quit my job and really can’t afford to buy you anything nice.” His self-deprecating chuckle would’ve pained me, if not for the massive eye roll accompanying it. “Jesus Christ, how did I end up with a sugar daddy?”

My fingers curled around the onyx pendant hanging from my neck. His idea to help me stop biting my thumb hadn’t worked, but I wore the necklace every day, only taking it off when I was filming.

“You gave me this necklace, and you buy my clothes⁠—”

“With your money,” he said, grumbling.

I dragged a long breath through my nose, sucking in the frustration that attempted to bleed out whenever he devalued his worth. Stepping forward, I pulled him into my arms. “This isn’t a gift exchange, Miguel. You take care of me in ways that actually matter. You keep me healthy, organized, and focused. I’d be a mess without you.”

His eyes darted back and forth as he looked into mine, gripping my hoodie in his hands. “Is that an even trade?”

“It’s not about getting even. It’s about fulfilling each other’s needs. More importantly, it’s about wanting the other person to be happy and fulfilled.”

He slapped a hand over his mouth and buried his face in my neck, shoulders quaking. I’d gone and done it. I made him cry, and he hated crying in front of me. All I could do was rub his back while his emotions ran their course. When he leaned away and removed his hand, I was shocked to see dry eyes and an enormous smile on his face.

“This room makes me so happy!”

“Oh, thank god.” All the tension left my body, and I sagged against him like dead weight while he laughed.

“It’s perfect, Graham. You’re perfect. Thank you.”

31

MIGUEL

NOW

Saturday, February 18th

“Harder.” My moan burrows into the cushion as Graham straddles the backs of my thighs and grips my shoulders. “Mmm, yes. Deeper.”

“I’m as deep as I can go, and we’ve been at this for an hour.” He climbs off, abandoning me in my time of need.

A full-body massage is a fair trade after I hiked half a mile at the break of dawn. We’ve spent the day in his movie room—two stinky dudes hanging out in their green underwear, eating pancakes and watching classic horror films. Best date ever, minus the stinky part.

I flip to my back and glare because he fled to the other end of the sofa. “If you didn’t have such delicate Hollywood hands, you could get the job done.”

Flexing his fingers, he winces. “My hands aren’t delicate. They’re hurting.”

I crawl the vast distance of one long cushion and kneel beside him while babying his fingers with light rubbing. “I’m sorry you’re in pain, but I thank you for your service.”

“You have syrup right”—he swipes a thumb above my top lip—“there.”

“I’d rather be covered in syrup and massage oil than dirt and blisters.”

Graham may enjoy hiking as a hobby, but count me out. The best parts of the experience had been riding his back and being so lost in him that my anxiety never reared its ugly head. The outcome may have been different if more people were around, but my leap paid off. We both got what we wanted and needed from today.

Once he’s done making out with his sugary thumb, I tackle him to his back and steal those lips for myself. My tongue goes on a journey, licking the salty, dried sweat from his jaw and neck while his fingertips coast up and down my spine.

“I might not be able to travel next weekend. There’s tons of work to catch up on. Would you miss me?” he asks.

“I won’t have time. The thirsty guys blowing up my phone keep me busy these days.”

The caresses stop. “Don’t even joke about other guys.”