For Her (The Girl I Loved Duet 1)

“I…” she clears her throat. “I’ve never done that before.”

I reach out with my hands. What do I do with my hands? “I never would have known,” I say. “I’m sorry, if you weren’t ready for that.”

She blushes again, and turns toward me. “I was.” She scoots closer, and I freeze, unsure where it’s going. “Actually I was wondering if you wanted to run the scene again.”

“The whole scene?” I ask.

“Maybe just part of it.”

I fight to keep the grin of my face. “Which part?”

She looks down at her hands. “The unscripted part.”

“That’s a good part,” I say as I lean in to kiss her again.

7

Amber

Present

“That’s a wrap for today,” I call. “Thanks, everybody.”

I get up out of my chair and book it. The past few weeks have been exhausting. Exhilarating and tiring and strange.

It’s mostly been about Peter. I didn’t lie to him. I didn’t keep track of him after high school, and even though he more than made up for it, I’m still pissed about everything. It’s hard not to be when a wound goes that deep.

But he’s here. The minute I recognized him, it all came rushing back. I’m honestly amazed that I didn’t make the connection before he was standing in front of me and shaking my hand. I guess I had just assumed it was someone else with the same name, that it couldn’t be the boy I knew from high school who swept me off my feet and shattered my heart.

That moment the first day, when he told me that he’d make me fall in love with him again. I almost fell the rest of the way to the floor. Peter is determined, and I believe him. The scariest part is that I think he might be able to do it. And even though I know it’s a bad idea, I want that.

I remember the feeling of falling with him, and it’s still one of the best experiences of my life, even considering how it ended.

He hasn’t pushed, but he’s always there. Asking to carry my bags, wanting to talk about the script, offering to refill my coffee. He’s been a steady, consistent presence by my side on the set and there’s a part of me that loves it, that revels in it, because I want him.

God forbid it, but I want him. The last ten years have been very good to him. He was hot when we dated, but now…holy shit. Everything that I loved about him has sharpened, and you don’t get a role like this without the looks and the body to back it up.

I hadn’t seen his old show before I started this job. But after the first day, I went home and watched it. His role was sexy, and god bless America, there were more than enough shirtless scenes to show me exactly what he’s got under the clothes. And knowing what he can do, what he’s surely gotten better at…

God, stop it Amber. This job means everything. I wasn’t doing badly before, but this is my shot. If this show does well it will put me on the map as a director, and I can’t afford to lose that opportunity. The fact that Clay Markham hired me in his place isn’t a thing that has gone unnoticed, especially since I’m a new director and I’m a woman.

So the fact that Peter is here and trying to make me fall in love with him is very inconvenient. Which is why as soon as I called a wrap, I grabbed my things and left. Tomorrow we’re shooting the first of the more emotional scenes, and I can’t afford to be caught up in Peter. He’s developed a habit of catching me before I leave after wrap.

Tonight I plan to go home, have dinner, and do absolutely nothing.

I duck through a short cut to the parking lot, hoping to avoid Peter. Not that I actually want to avoid him. Every time I see him, my heart starts to pound and I get weak in the knees and it’s hard to focus. And it’s already late.

Finally, I reach the door and head through it just a touch too quickly. The straps of my bag get caught on the handle and yank me off balance. Suddenly I’m flying. Pain bursts through my ankle as I slip down the couple of steps onto the asphalt, and then I’m on my back looking at the stars. Fuck. That really hurts. I definitely scraped up my leg, and the way my ankle is throbbing, I probably sprained it, or worse. Not exactly what I was planning for my quick and stealthy exit.

“Shit,” I say to the same stars. They’re the only ones listening. Or so I think.

“Amber?” A voice floats to me from over the parking lot. The sound of running footsteps approach, and Peter appears above me. “Are you okay? I heard you yell.” Worry is etched on his face and I love that he cares so much, even though we’ve barely spoken in the last ten years. But this also means he’ll be that much closer to me, checking on my well-being.