Method - Kate Stewart Page 0,56
to me.”
I scoop her into my arms. “Yeah, well, variety is the spice of life.”
“Lucky me,” she says as she looks down at our position. “This is familiar,” she says, wrapping her hands around my neck and pressing her forehead to mine. “Do you remember scooping me up like this on my porch?”
“Of course.”
“Well, you forget a lot,” she scorns.
“I haven’t forgotten that,” I assure her, stealing a kiss before I carry her up the stairs. “Now, who wants some more of last year’s anniversary present?”
“Lucas,” Mila whispers as she trails the pads of her fingers down my back. “You awake?”
“Yes. What’s up, baby?”
In response, she slowly traces the first line of an X and draws out the word, “Criiiissss.”
“No, you don’t.” I jerk against the mattress to dodge her fingers. “You know that creeps me out.”
She giggles, pulling me closer before again, drawing a finger diagonally across my back, “cross,” and then punctuates her next three words with dots down the middle, “ap-ple sauce.”
“Cut it out, woman,” I say as she traps me with her leg. “Behave.”
“Fine.”
When she bumps her closed fist against my head to recite the rest of the absurd nursery rhyme/medieval massage, I charge. She yelps when I pin her easily beneath me and grin down at her. “You are such a weirdo. Where did you learn that anyway?”
“From a friend, I think, a sleepover,” she says, smiling up at me, breathless. “I don’t understand why that drives you nuts.”
“But you do it to continually torture me anyway.”
She lifts a shoulder while still in my hold. “Of course.”
“Apparently, I didn’t do a good enough job of wearing you out,” I mutter before bending to suck on her neck.
“You did fine,” she says, gripping my hair and lifting her chin to allow more access.
“Fine,” I repeat in a monotone voice, lifting my head and narrowing my eyes. “What the hell, wife? If I had recorded your insults today, it would be grounds for divorce.”
“You would miss me,” she sasses.
“But at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the verbal abuse.”
“You married this mouth and me.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Lucas!” she scolds just before I kiss her the way she likes it. When I pull away, her face is solemn and her eyes fill with apprehension.
“You get both of us, forever.”
I nod. “Can’t live without either.”
“Where you go, I go…right?”
I slowly shake my head.
“You can’t come here, Dame.” I push the hair away from her face as she swallows and nods. “I love you.”
“Remember the rules,” I remind her, before I lean in and take her lips.
ACT 2
“The actor becomes an emotional athlete. The process is painful—my personal life suffers.”—Al Pacino
Lucas
THREE MONTHS AGO
The next morning, Gabriela calls out to me from the sidewalk. “Lucas, how are you?”
I wave at her with a forced smile as she enters the restaurant where I sit at a table on the other side of an open partition. I had no choice but to meet her at the place of her choosing because she’d told Nova she had a hectic schedule. It’s bullshit, and we both know it. She doesn’t want a private meeting due to fear of getting ambushed in hostile territory. She’s testing the waters. It’s a smart move on her part because she knows I can’t publicly react to whatever she’s willing to reveal. I have to play it just right to get answers. She walks up, and I stand to greet her. “Gabriela, it’s been a long time.”
She kisses me on the cheek, her perfume filling my nostrils and I force myself not to cringe at the pungent smell. It’s always been hard for me to gauge Gabriela as a person. She’s guarded, but direct, and that’s what worries me. You don’t want to have any skeletal stories with her as your narrator. She’s worn a blatant chip on her shoulder due to the way her career nose-dived after we filmed our second movie, Dissident, the follow-up to Misfits. Blake and I got more offers, she didn’t. Her audience has substantially faded, and ears no longer perk up at the mention of her name unless she drags other names in, like Blake’s. I can’t help but think her vague interviews are a ploy for short-lived attention. This type of shit is the reason I keep my circle tight.
“How have you been, Lucas?” she asks, taking the seat across from me.
“Good, getting back to work.”
“Anything I’d know about?”
“Doing a flick with Wes.”
She lifts a tattooed eyebrow. “Silver Ghost?”
I nod.
“Wow, congrats.”
“Thank you.”
“You deserve