Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,1
arms and legs crossed angrily.
“So—” I begin.
“Don’t. Even. Start,” she breathes in a voice made of fire. “You might be able to charm a police officer, but you’re not going to get anything from me.”
I settle slowly on the armchair opposite her. She glances at me for a brief moment, and even the sight of me makes her face screw itself into an expression of pure disgust. I reach into my pocket and pull out the small, square, gift-wrapped object, before placing it on the coffee table between us. Gemma continues to wag her feet furiously. I wait, knowing that her angry impatience will get the better of her eventually.
“What’s that?” she snaps, sharply, as if she hates herself for saying it.
“A gift. Open it.”
“I don’t want a gift. I want to go back to LA. Back to the financial department. Back to spreadsheets and budgets. Back to a dull office job at the studio with no surprises, and no crazy actors to deal with.”
“Open it.”
She glares at me, her chest heaving with the heaviness of her anger. She unfolds her arms and slowly reaches for it, tearing the crepe paper off it swiftly.
“A notebook?”
“It’s leather. A moleskine. The kind that Hemingway used.”
For a moment she looks down at it with sincere eyes, the tenderness of something that’s touched her, but then she glances up at me and the softness disappears. She tosses the moleskine aside.
“I can get a notebook anywhere.”
“I know you can,” I reply, “it’s…symbolic.”
“Dylan,” she sighs, “I’d like to be able to trust you, I really would. I’d like for us to get along, and just do our jobs; make this movie. But you keep making it so difficult. Every time I start trusting you, or building some kind of connection, you go and act like a complete asshole. Why can’t you just behave? Why do you keep doing this?”
I stand up and walk towards the window, gazing out over the neon skyline, a city of sin and desire. It’s always felt like my kind of place.
“I wish I could answer that, Gemma. I wish I could give you a neat little bow-wrapped reason. A tidy, consistent, character arc. A cause for the effect. That’s how it happens in the movies, right? Except real life is different. It’s…complicated. Messy.”
I step towards the couch and sit beside her. She turns her head slowly, and we look into each other’s eyes, both of us searching for something.
“It’s not that different,” she says.
“I thought you said you don’t believe in happy endings?”
“I don’t,” she says, turning away. “But that doesn’t mean you should stop trying.”
I reach out slowly and take her hand, and she flinches and tries to pull away – but then she relents and allows me to take it.
“I wanna ask you something, Gemma.”
Her eyes flick to our hands, then back to me, then back to our hands. She sighs. “Well, I’m stuck in a Vegas hotel room with you, miles away from home, and hours away from losing my job – so I’m a pretty captive audience.”
I wait for her to look at me again, and when she does, I lean in.
“Don’t you get tired of being in control all the time?”
Her eyes seem to grow, like shimmering stones in the bottom of a pool.
“You have no idea.”
I bring her hand up to my cheek, brushing it against the stubble, feeling how limp she’s going.
“So let me take over for a bit.”
“I—” she pauses, taking a deep breath in and holding it before letting it out. I move her hand from my cheek down to my chest, pressing it against the strong beat of my heart.
“Gemma,” I whisper.
Our lips are drawn to each other by forces we don’t even realize, the space between us disappearing. When our mouths meet it’s soft and tender. The swell of our heartbeats seems to echo in the silent room as we fall into each other, lose ourselves for a moment in the sweetness of each other’s lips. Her kisses grow demanding, hotter and faster, and I press harder, my tongue stroking against hers. Her hand traces the line of my jaw, scraping against my stubble. I touch her stomach, following the line of her curves to the small of her back, and as she presses herself against my chest I feel the way her body melts into me.
She moans softly as my hands reach to cup her ass, then catches herself, her whole body stiffening like a puppet being pulled away