Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,11

is,” I say briskly, busily packing stuff away. I hope he’ll drop the subject.

Dylan starts scraping the chicken bones and scraps into the garbage and for some reason it makes me smile. He’s obviously done it before, but I doubt it was anytime recently.

“So your dad’s visiting the grave, then?”

“Yep,” I say. “He goes to see her a few times a month. He talks, she listens. You know.” My voice is terse. Just because I’ve moved forward doesn’t mean it isn’t still painful seeing my dad’s grief, and knowing we’ll never get my mom back.

“Do you ever go with him?” Dylan asks, setting the plates in the sink and turning on the faucet.

“Sometimes,” I say, closing the fridge, and hopefully this topic of conversation. He watches me for a moment and I try to arrange my face in a neutral expression. “You gonna wash those dishes?”

Dylan tosses a towel over my face. “Only if you dry.”

I pull it off and scowl, but his cheeky smile breaks it like a disarming judo move, and I find myself smiling back. I swat him with the towel and he grabs it, pulling me towards him. For a moment we don’t move, our eyes locked, and all my tangled thoughts suddenly feel a million miles away.

The way he’s looking at me right now brings a rush of memories flooding into my brain, of all the naughty things he did to me that first night we spent together, how he made me feel like I’d never used my body the right way before. And with all the tension that’s been building up between us since then, I can’t help thinking I need another taste.

He drops the towel and grabs my shoulders, his hands soapy and wet. Before I can protest, he puts his lips to mine and works his magic with that tongue, stroking it against mine, deep and insistent. As he kisses me with a fervor I’ve long desired, I feel sparks ricocheting right to my pussy. There’s only one thing I want right now. But I can’t fuck him here, and I shouldn’t fuck him at all.

“My dad is in the next room,” I whisper, pulling back.

“Your dad’s a very cool guy,” he says, trailing his fingers down my arm. But he gets what I’m saying and turns back toward the dishes, scrubbing away like a pro. “Just know I’m not done with you yet, Ms. Clarke.”

I need to cool down. All I can think about his hands on me, his tongue licking me in all the right places. He’s turned me into a sex crazed animal. But I need to keep everything under control, no matter what. I can’t show my hand as long as we are working together. And even then—who knows how Dylan will feel about me after the shoot’s over?

“Let’s get these dishes done,” I say, trying to push my conflicted thoughts away. “We have an early call tomorrow.”

He groans at my schoolteacher tone, but hands me a dish to dry. I lean over to pick the towel up from the floor and catch his eyes sliding away from my cleavage as I stand back up. Not so unaffected after all, it seems.

“My dad didn’t whip out the shotgun,” I tell him. “So I guess you’re doing pretty good. For now.”

Dylan laughs. “I can see where you get your sense of humor from.”

“He’s awesome,” I say, taking the cup he hands me, before sighing. “Too awesome to be on his own.”

“He seems to be alright.”

“Yeah, he does. But sometimes I just get the feeling that he’d be happier if he had someone. He’s had a hard time since my mom passed, but you just saw how much he loves company, and hanging out with people. It’d be nice if he got out more, spent time with somebody besides his doting daughter.”

Dylan looks at me for a moment, the wheels in his head turning. “So I’m guessing that script you’re working on is about…”

I shrug. “Kinda.”

Dylan nods.

“I’m sure he’d be out there if he really wanted someone.”

“Maybe,” I say, feeling melancholic. “I keep nudging him but I worry he’s afraid. That maybe he doesn’t want to be hurt again; to lose someone again.”

After a few seconds in which Dylan barely moves the sponge over the fork he’s cleaning, he speaks.

“That’s understandable,” he says slowly, before his eyes catch mine like mirrors and light. “Maybe the fear of getting hurt trumps the pain of being alone for most of us.”

I lose