For Us (The Girl I Loved Duet 2)

He pauses, like he’s waiting for me to protest, but I don’t. I nod, waiting for him to go on.

“I love you. That hasn’t changed. But I need you to promise me that you’re not going to do that. I need your word that if you have doubts, if you’re panicking, that you’ll come to me and we’ll talk about it. We’ll figure something out together. Because I can’t. I can’t.”

His voice is so desperate that I have to look away. “I’m sorry.”

Peter takes my hand under the table. “I know, and I’m sorry for walking away. I never should have done that.” He leans close, and from a distance it probably looks like he’s whispering in my ear in the loud club, but his lips brush the skin beneath my ear. “But I still want you. You know I’ve always wanted you.”

I blink away the tears in my eyes. “Yes, please. I’m—”

He squeezes my hand and weaves his fingers in between mine. “I know. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

I squeeze his hand back as I swallow the word ‘sorry’. “I promise. I’m not going to do that again. I’ll come to you.”

“If I have my way, you won’t have to come to me,” he says, “because I’ll just be with you.”

There’s nothing that I want to do more than kiss him, but we have other things to talk about. Like kissing in public. I look out at the crowd, but no one seems to be paying attention to us. “I’m still scared,” I say. “I don’t just want to be another female director who fell for an actor.”

“You know I won’t let that happen,” he says, thumb brushing the skin of my hand. That tiny gesture feels so intimate, and even though we’re both holding ourselves back, my body warms, and I feel myself lean towards him.

“I know.”

“But,” he says, “I also understand where you’re coming from. And I think you’re right, for now.”

“What do you mean?” I’m relaxed enough not that I can take a sip of my drink. Finally. I take another big swig because now that I’m not sick with nerves, I want the sweet fuzziness that comes with being tipsy, with Peter by my side.

“I mean that we’re both still in a precarious place. Once the show premieres, or even after this showing that Michael told me about, if those things go well, we’ll have a lot more leeway. We could even do a fun interview about how we fell in love again on set, talk about our history, and come out as a public couple in a way that people will like and respect, instead of getting caught and ending up in the tabloids.”

I can see it now, a sweet set interview side by side, with Peter and me holding hands, laughing, with good soundbites. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“If you think you can stomach being in secret for a while.”

“Yeah, definitely. I had no idea how we would ever be able to be public, so that works nicely. But that doesn’t mean I want to stop now.”

Peter leans closer, and I’m aware of how close our bodies are. Probably too close given what we’re discussing, but I can’t care. “Neither do I. We just need to be aware of the risk. And if something does happen, if our picture ends up in the paper, it won’t be the same.”

“You can’t know that,” I say, that familiar terror rising up in me. It could be exactly like that.

“I do know that. First, you’re not sleeping with an eighteen-year-old boy. Second, the moment any paper releases a picture of us, I will go on record confirming our relationship, and I will make sure the world knows that you’re not a director that’s gotten swept away by her leading man. That we have a history that’s been re-kindled. It will be fine and perfect, and the most important thing is that we’re going to deal with it together, if it happens.”

I nod, because his words calm that fear. I thank the universe that we were thrown together, because there’s never been any person in the world that has the ability to calm me down like Peter. His presence is like an anchor that I’ve been missing. And I like to think that I’m his balloon. I lift him up when he gets to wrapped up in himself or in the things that have happened to him. So much has happened to him, and to me. I close my eyes against tears again. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to. I take another sip of my drink and lean as close as I dare. “I missed you.”

“Even for only two days?”

“Yes.”

Peter’s hand tightens on mine. “God, I want to kiss you,” he says, and that heat returns to my body, between my thighs.