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“Her tits are really big from nursing.” He makes prayer hands and looks up.
“I’m the most unguarded messy version of myself. Felicia and I both are and aside from loving our kid, we love each other more because we’re not afraid of those sides. I told her we’re channeling our inner Kat. Say and do whatever we want, eating with our hands or dancing around with the toddler and fix whatever breaks or spills later. Focus on the joy and the present.”
Another tear drops. I blubber out a little. “I kind of lost her.” He smiles and closes his eyes for a moment.
“Nah. She’s sitting right here.”
“Go call your wife.”
“And you’re okay?”
“I am.” There’s a big pause and I nod to him that it’s okay to say what he’s holding back.
“You should call Zane and tell him some of this.”
“I can’t.”
“Then just tell him you miss him. Do something to show him you miss him. That’s my genius advice for the night.” Porter leans forward a little too far and his hat slides forward. He grabs it off his head and points to me with it. “Go to bed.”
He puts his hat on and stumbles away.
“Other way, genius.”
I stand up and follow him down to his compartment and then pause outside of mine.
I’ll tell him about the fucking itch I can’t scratch enough because of how often I think of him fucking me. I want to tell him about the ache deep in my core. It doesn’t matter how often I take care of myself, that itch always comes back even after I’ve come. I miss having sex with him. And that’s not good for anyone. I need to get this out of my system so I can put him back in the ally category.
I pull up his number as I open my compartment.
Turn-down service left my pillows fluffed and the room bathed in low lighting. I pop new batteries into the vibrator and sit on the edge of the bed. It’s almost midnight here, and I have no idea where he is.
He’s been quiet other than the apology. Wonder if he’ll stay quiet.
Chapter 45
What Have We Here?
ZANE
Copenhagen
I slide into the table and the two faces that greet me are kind and pleasant but not enthusiastic.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Perfectly fine. Can we get you a drink?”
“Do I need one?” I can’t let them know how sweaty I’ve all of a sudden become and I shift in my seat. Can your ass sweat so much that you slide off a chair?
They laugh and the burly man puts his hand in the air and summons our waiter. I adjust my tie a little.
The restaurant is bright and bold like Copenhagen itself. There’s shined copper ductwork throughout and Aquavit in varying prices landing on the tables around us. My father hasn’t sanctioned the next round of money from my trust so I need these two to promise to push us to the finish line. We need six more solid now that they trashed a couple. Costs we’ll eat happily if this is going to work.
Docuseries or reality TV as my jackassery is sometimes called, needs more episodes in a season than scripted. People are much more tolerant to wait a year and a half for six episodes of some Adam Scott drama than six of me. So each season needs to be longer, more bingeable. What’s the journey I’m telling this season? Season one, it was how many drinks does it take to make Zane puke and I’m still living that down. Trying to be considered legit.
We film tomorrow, if these suits are still on board. There’s some broadcasting summit thing and the parent company that funds us in conjunction with the network requested a sit-down. We made it a stop in order to collide with these two.
“Happy coincidence!” I say raising my glass. Janel smiles at me but it’s not a good one. Shit what if the tonal shift is too strong.
