Method

I didn’t lay eyes on him again until the day we started filming. The director didn’t say shit about the way he looked, no one did because it fit his character perfectly. Blake disappeared the minute filming stopped for the day, and I didn’t see him again until it was his turn to shoot. He was brilliant in that movie, and it earned him his first lead in the next. Out of the blue, a few weeks after filming wrapped, Blake came back to the bungalow acting more himself than I’d seen in months. I assumed he’d put himself in that place for the movie. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Shaking, I run a hand down my face.

I wasn’t listening, too afraid he would screw up our chances of making it while never understanding the implication of his words. I’d been too obsessed he might cost me becoming that movie star I dreamed of being.

As it turns out, being that movie star, cost me Blake.

Choking, I cough as heated tears slide away clearing my vision in more ways than one. I stare at a picture of us on my cell phone that Mila snapped years ago in Mexico.

“I’m so fucking sorry, man,” I whisper into the void. “Tell me what to do.”

“Lucas,” Nova’s voice sounds along with a sharp knock outside my trailer. “They’re ready for you on set.”

Mila

PRESENT

My cell phone alarm goes off beside me in the comfortable bed of the inn, and I scrape myself from the mattress checking the time. I’m due to meet Audrey downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes.

Lucas: I love you.

Pain rocks me as his latest text pops up on screen and I turn off my phone.

Love, is that enough for me? Not today. Maybe not tomorrow either. With every breath I manage and every beat of my heart, it’s clear I’m still in love with my husband, but that doesn’t make anything okay. It was so easy to fall for him. So ridiculously easy. Our third date began with a trip to Cairo, but even if it took place in the shittiest section of the universe, I still would have started to fall for him. It was Lucas that I was drawn to; his energy, his smile, his tenderness, his patience. Letting the water pour down my body, I shampoo my hair, recalling the week we became something more than the girl next door dating a movie star.

Our time in Egypt is a testament to living the dream, every day more surreal. We’ve only dined out once, barely managing a glimpse of the city. It’s about all Lucas’s shooting schedule will allow. It’s been enough for me. Shooting takes place mostly on closed off streets or remote parts of the desert. On set we spend the long wait time in between takes together; talking, eating, laughing, and when granted enough privacy, tearing into each other like animals.

Lucas has introduced me to most of the movie crew by first name. I love that he takes the time to get to know them, that he could tell me little details about everyone he works with. It is his third movie playing lead, and I can see the excitement in his expression and the depth of his dedication. I’ve never realized just how much work goes into every film. Being on set is a lot different than I thought it would be. It’s been a week of firsts. There’s an unbelievable amount of waiting involved in setting up a scene and pinpointing the right light. Before every take, Lucas makes sure to isolate himself with the script to try to get into character. Those who aren’t scrambling around trying to fight the sun for the shot sometimes come and chat with me about the process. I’m an eager student, more interested than I thought I would be to know the ins and outs of production. The hours are grueling, but he never complains. Several of the scenes have zero script and are heavily choreographed fighting sequences. Most of the time, it’s all I can do to keep my hands off him, especially when he approaches me on a break, sweat covering his gladiator-like build. He takes his job seriously and gets along well with the director who is merciless in the number of takes he makes him go through. I’d watched them all closely, appreciating the experience. It’s eye-opening, to say the least.

Some nights he’s so exhausted when we get back to the hotel room, he can only manage a shower and a few sentences before he passes out.

Last night, after a shower he had asked me for a massage. I obliged, diligently rubbing him for a few minutes and trying to savor what time we had left but had worked myself up all day to be on the receiving end of his attention. It’s easy to get riled up after watching while he showcases the limits of his body and talent for endless hours. Though selfish, I think better of putting him to sleep and can’t help my wicked idea to keep him awake, if only for

a little longer. He grunts when I straddle his back, putting most of my weight on his firm bare ass. He’s a bit of a nudist when we’re behind closed doors, and that gets no complaints from me.

Admiring his lean athletic frame, his tan skin, and the naturally drawn muscle of his biceps due to the way he’s situated, I allow myself a few seconds of appreciation before I strike.

Lazily I draw an X on his back while trying to stifle my laugh.

“I need all your fingers,” he groans, “not just one.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll love this. Crissss, cross, ap-ple-sauce.”

He lifts his head and turns to address me over his shoulder. “What in the hell is criss cross applesauce?”

“It’s a Swedish technique, trust me,” I say, pressing my lips together to hide my grin. “You’ll love it.”

He shakes his head, red-rimmed eyes closing before he plants his head in the pillow. “If you say so.”

I start from the beginning as if the interruption ruined my process, but when I tap the back of his head with the side of my closed fist and belt out the rest, he goes stiff beneath me. “Crack an egg on your head!” I slide my fingers in an ooze-like motion down his back, “feel the yolk gushing down.”

“What the fuck, Mila?” He groans into his pillow too tired to move.

I’m already laughing when I smack my fist against his back.

“Stab a knife, in your back, feel the blood gushing down.” I walk my fingers up his toned muscle and spout the rest in a sing-song voice. “Spiders crawling up your back, spiders crawling down.”

“Worst masseuse ever,” he grunts. “Are you being serious right now?”