"I know."
He clears his throat, looks away. "I did a lot of thinking while I wasn’t answer your calls. I went through everything a thousand times. And I decided that I would stay away, if that's what you really wanted. I convinced myself that I could keep it cool and professional. But today...with that kiss. I can't."
My body relaxes. "Thank God."
"But Amber," he says, "things have to be different. I lost you twice now and both times it's felt like dying. I can't do that again, not like this. If we're together, and somewhere down the line we decide it's not working, I'll hate that, but I'll understand. I can't have the ground ripped out from under me again."
He pauses, like he's waiting for me to protest, but I don't. I nod, waiting for him to go on.
"I love you. That hasn't changed. But I need you to promise me that you're not going to do that. I need your word that if you have doubts, if you’re panicking, that you'll come to me and we'll talk about it. We'll figure something out together. Because I can't. I can't."
His voice is so desperate that I have to look away. "I'm sorry."
Peter takes my hand under the table. "I know, and I'm sorry for walking away. I never should have done that." He leans close, and from a distance it probably looks like he's whispering in my ear in the loud club, but his lips brush the skin beneath my ear. "But I still want you. You know I've always wanted you."
I blink away the tears in my eyes. "Yes, please. I'm—"
He squeezes my hand and weaves his fingers in between mine. "I know. You don't have to keep saying it."
I squeeze his hand back as I swallow the word ‘sorry’. “I promise. I’m not going to do that again. I’ll come to you.”
“If I have my way, you won’t have to come to me,” he says, “because I’ll just be with you.”
There's nothing that I want to do more than kiss him, but we have other things to talk about. Like kissing in public. I look out at the crowd, but no one seems to be paying attention to us. "I'm still scared," I say. "I don't just want to be another female director who fell for an actor."
"You know I won't let that happen," he says, thumb brushing the skin of my hand. That tiny gesture feels so intimate, and even though we're both holding ourselves back, my body warms, and I feel myself lean towards him.
"I know."
"But," he says, "I also understand where you're coming from. And I think you're right, for now."
"What do you mean?" I'm relaxed enough not that I can take a sip of my drink. Finally. I take another big swig because now that I'm not sick with nerves, I want the sweet fuzziness that comes with being tipsy, with Peter by my side.
"I mean that we're both still in a precarious place. Once the show premieres, or even after this showing that Michael told me about, if those things go well, we'll have a lot more leeway. We could even do a fun interview about how we fell in love again on set, talk about our history, and come out as a public couple in a way that people will like and respect, instead of getting caught and ending up in the tabloids."
I can see it now, a sweet set interview side by side, with Peter and me holding hands, laughing, with good soundbites. "That makes a lot of sense."
"If you think you can stomach being in secret for a while."
"Yeah, definitely. I had no idea how we would ever be able to be public, so that works nicely. But that doesn't mean I want to stop now."
Peter leans closer, and I'm aware of how close our bodies are. Probably too close given what we're discussing, but I can't care. "Neither do I. We just need to be aware of the risk. And if something does happen, if our picture ends up in the paper, it won't be the same."
"You can't know that," I say, that familiar terror rising up in me. It could be exactly like that.
"I do know that. First, you're not sleeping with an eighteen-year-old boy. Second, the moment any paper releases a picture of us, I will go on record confirming our relationship, and I will make sure the world knows that you're not a director that's gotten swept away by her leading man. That we have a history that's been re-kindled. It will be fine and perfect, and the most important thing is that we're going to deal with it together, if it happens."
I nod, because his words calm that fear. I thank the universe that we were thrown together, because there's never been any person in the world that has the ability to calm me down like Peter. His presence is like an anchor that I've been missing. And I like to think that I'm his balloon. I lift him up when he gets to wrapped up in himself or in the things that have happened to him. So much has happened to him, and to me. I close my eyes against tears again. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to. I take another sip of my drink and lean as close as I dare. "I missed you."
"Even for only two days?"
"Yes."
Peter's hand tightens on mine. "God, I want to kiss you," he says, and that heat returns to my body, between my thighs.
"I want to do more than kiss you," I say.
His chuckle is dark, and his gaze travels down me again. "Today, after that kiss, I had to go to my trailer. I was so hard that I had to get myself off, otherwise I would have gone back inside and kissed you again."
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I very much liked that lipstick you were wearing today. I like the lipstick you're wearing now, too."
"What were you imagining that involved my lipstick?"
He leans in again, another whisper in my ear. "How amazing it would look if your lipstick were smudged all over my hard cock. Your lips be wrapped around it."
I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears and between my legs as he leans back, casually swirling his drink before taking a sip. God, I want that. I haven't been able to explore him again. Not the way I want to. I want to feel every part of him until I have him memorized just as well as I did ten years ago. That includes having his cock between my lips, in my mouth, down my throat. I'm blushing again, and Peter is grinning because he saw the way I just squirmed in my seat.
"PETER HOLLEMAN!" Clay Markham calls from across the room. He's moving across the dance floor, and I can see from here that he's monumentally drunk. Peter slips his hand away from mine with a quick smile. So it begins.
"Mr. Markham," Peter says as Clay reaches the table and slides in next to me, tossing an arm around my shoulder. "You know, when I cast you I knew you were good. But Amber here told me that you delivered, and she was right. You're a very talented young man. Gonna go places!"
Peter chuckles, raising his glass to Clay. "Thank you very much."
"This one too," he says, pulling me close enough that I can smell the tequila on his breath. "She's gonna go places too, as long as she's careful! This is going to do big things for her. Sexy too."
I laugh off his remarks and pull away. Clay is always flirty and overly touchy and complimentary when he's drunk. Tonight is the first night that's felt a bit weird. Under the table, Peter's hand lands on my thigh, both a reassuring gesture and one that makes me realize how close his fingers are to my pussy. "Amber is very talented,” he says, “and it has nothing to do with her being sexy. Though she is."