Matched to the Movie Star (Seeking Curves)

“Were you worried?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.

“Yeah, I like you, Eugene. I’ve never felt like this before and it just seems like it feels too good to be true. I’m just worried something horrible is going to happen. That’s the kind of luck I always have.”

She likes me.

I ignore the fact I should tell her the truth and instead, I grasp onto the only thing that matters to me right now. She likes me. Fuck, yeah. To me that’s a sign that the intensity of what’s between us isn’t just one-sided.

“I really like you, too, Lee. You have no idea how much.”

“I have to confess that this all makes me nervous. I don’t date and the few times I have it’s been a psycho—or worse,” she mutters.

“What could be worse than a psycho?” I ask, laughing. Is there really something worse?

“The last guy I dated was an IRS Auditor.” Her voice is flat, and I know she’s serious.

“Oh fuck!” We both start laughing. “Hopefully, he wasn’t vindictive when you cut him loose.”

She doesn’t comment on that, which makes me think he probably was. Instead, she takes a breath. “I guess I should go, Eugene. It’s getting late.” Her voice mirrors the disappointment I feel on having to hang up so quickly.

“Yeah, we seem to do this a lot. It’s probably because once I hear your voice, I want to keep hearing it.”

“Well, I could come over to your place tomorrow after work, and we could talk in person,” she suggests.

“Are you inviting yourself over?” I ask, surprised that she beat me to it. She doesn’t seem the type to be so brave, but I like it.

“I guess I am.”

“Okay, I’ll text you the location then.” I send off the quick message giving her the address. My palms feel sweaty as I imagine having her here in person tomorrow night. It takes just a minute and I hear the ping on her end of the call.

“Got it,” she says. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and I can hear the pleasure in her voice—it mirrors my own.

“Definitely, and Lee?”

“Yeah,” she replies.

“Bring a toothbrush.”

Seven

Lee

Driving to go meet Eugene, I start to panic as the surrounding area starts to turn seedy. For an I.T. guy, I expected at least a half-decent apartment. Trying not to judge, I follow the monotone voice of my car’s GPS, telling me where to go.

I end up pulling into a parking lot of a hotel. I start to get a sinking feeling in my gut. Not just a seedy hotel, but this is the kind you rent by the hour. The hotel looks like something you would see in a horror movie. A couple of the rooms even have refrigerators out front by the entrance doors to the rooms. I should turn around and leave, but something keeps me moving forward. Still, I avoid eye contact with people in the parking lot. The broken pavement is riddled with trash and broken-down vehicles.

I get out and lock the door and immediately look for room thirteen—which really should have warned me to begin with. I thought the address was a little strange, but I assumed St. Thirteen was a street name. I suppose it the letters stand for suite—not that this place could ever have a suite. I’m nervous as heck, and I keep mentally asking myself why I’m not running back to my car and forgetting I ever met Eugene. I suppose I should count myself lucky that at least there’s no one loitering around.

I clutch my purse, legitimately worried someone is going to come running by and mug me. I make a mental note to stop watching those true crime shows that I’m addicted to. Right now, every episode I’ve ever watched runs through my head, and visions of what could happen to me run amok in my mind. I knock hesitantly, hoping against hope that Eugene’s directions were wrong. I know they weren’t when he answers.

“You are married,” I say, sounding more disappointed than I intended. “I don’t know who you think you are dealing with, but I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t do games and what you’re doing is disgusting. Shame on you. Your wife deserves better.” I’m mad, and I can’t hide it in my voice. Rambling on like my words will be effective.

“Are you done?” he asks, still just standing there. At least he had the decency to hear me out. He could’ve just shut the door on me.

“Yeah,” I say, taking a breath, just standing there looking at him.

“Good,” he says before leaning in to kiss me.

At first, I don’t react.

I don’t kiss him back, forcing myself to remain still, Yet, as the kiss deepens, he uses his tongue to slide between my lips and I’m weak, letting him. Heat fills me, overwhelming me to the point that I lose all train of thought, groaning as I let myself go and open to his kiss completely. I’m so far gone that I don’t even notice he’s walked us in and shut the door behind me, not once releasing my lips. It’s not until I hear the click of the door closing that I realize what’s going on and open my eyes—forcing myself to step away from Eugene in the process. It wasn’t easy because my body aches with the need for more.