Page 97 of Score
“Quiet on the set,” Kenneth calls, and the sudden hush ushers in a new tension. Canon is hoping this is the last take. Everyone’s tired and ready to go home for the holiday, but we all want it to be perfect.
“Action!”
Clyde is pitch-perfect as Slim, banging the keys with the backs of his hands, his elbows, even his feet. Monk watches every second with a hawk’s eye. He is as obsessive as Canon in many ways, but unlike his longtime friend, he usually softens it.
After so many takes, you’d think the dancers might be flagging, but Neevah soars and spins with the same energy and grace as she did when they began. With the brightly colored costumes and the mass of dancers, it’s like a parade. Perfectly orchestrated. The last note rings out and the dancers hold their positions.
“Cut!” Kenneth yells.
The set explodes with cheers and relieved laughter. They know they nailed it. The joy and exuberance spills into the tent, and we’re on our feet, too. Applauding and laughing, high-fiving and hugging each other.
“Incredible!” Monk says, grabbing me and pulling me close.
Flush together, our bodies stiffen and we still, even as the noise and mayhem continues to erupt all around us. His hands tighten at my waist and bring me closer until there’s room for nothing between us, not even the past. His fingers splay over my hips and his head dips, his breath quickening in my ear and matching my harried heartbeats. When I feel him pressed hard into my belly, my knees go weak and I grip his forearms. The evidence of his arousal is more than I can literally stand, and I slump a little onto his chest, my head lowered to draw in his scent. He doesn’t wear the same cologne as before, but that natural essence his skin carries, the one I used to sniff my sheets in search of, hasn’t changed. It’s still addictive and I have to force myself to step back and out of his arms.
We’re not touching anymore, but the few inches separating us create this magnetic field, and it takes all my willpower not to wrap myself around him; not to lean into the heat, into the hold he still has on me. Our eyes lock, and I have never felt so fucked by a look. It makes me feel empty and I shift on my feet, so aware of him the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“That was fantastic!” Jill says, slipping into the space between us and embracing Monk. “Loved every bit of it.”
He returns Jill’s hug, but over her shoulder, his eyes never stray from mine, that stare hot and unwavering. My feet are cemented to this spot and I can’t make myself move. Body still tingling from his touch, panties wet at the merethoughtof him.
“Great job,” Canon says, patting my shoulder and finally jolting me into motion. “That Slim cameo really sets up the ‘Floogie’ number perfectly, Verity.”
“Thank you for listening and being open to the idea,” I manage to get out, though my tongue feels too big to articulate my thoughts.
The jubilation goes on. We leave video village tent to celebrate with the cast and crew. There’s food and when Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up” starts playing, some even dance, because how can you get a group of Black folks together andnotdance when that song hits? You’d think this was a wrap party instead of the prelude to Thanksgiving break, but we’ve put in as much effort these last few weeks as most crews do for an entire project. We deserve to blow off some steam.
“That was one of the most terrific scenes I’ve ever shot,” Canon says, addressing everyone as we form a loose circle around our Savoy ballroom. “I’m proud of all of you. You’ve worked harder and have been better than even I expected. And you know how high my expectations are.”
Amusement trickles through the crowd, the atmosphere loose now, with one of the most difficult sequences behind us.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Canon continues. “Go home. Enjoy your time off. Happy Thanksgiving.”
The crowd begins to disperse, everyone eager to get off set and start their holiday because before we know it, we’ll be right back here grinding again. I call out my goodbyes, gripping my bag, and trying not to be obvious as I scan the group for Monk’s face.
I’m headed off set, walking one of the streets lined with fabricated stoops and buildings, when someone grabs my wrist and pulls me into a narrow alleyway. I tug, resisting until I make out the familiar broad shoulders and the proud set of Monk’s head in the shadows. He looks back for a quick second, and the flare of desire in his eyes stokes an answeringresponse in me. We don’t speak, and we only walk for thirty seconds or so, but my body protests the delay. Every molecule screamsNOW. The echo of our footsteps and our heavy breaths are the only sounds in the world, as everything else fades, like we’ve lifted off into outer space and Earth, with all its concerns and other inhabitants, lies far below. Like we’ve left everything, even our complicated, painful past, behind.
When we reach our destination, it takes a moment for my lust-addled brain to compute where we are. Dessi and Tilda’s apartment. I don’t get to ask what we’re doing here. Monk pulls me into him by the waist, his hands spanning my back.
“If you don’t want me to kiss you,” he pants, his breath ragged over my lips, “say that shit now.”
I don’t waste time pondering the wisdom of this, or playing coy or wondering if I’ll regret it. I know I will. This can only end badly, but I want it to begin again. I want it so bad I’m trembling when I tip up on my toes and clutch his head, bringing him down until our lips slam together and open. As soon as our tongues slip, slide, tangle, I whimper. It’s our first kiss in almost twelve years, and I know for him, this is just lust. Mere animal attraction so strong, he’s set his reservations and my transgressions aside to pursue it, but something I’ve been barely holding together since the last time he kissed me breaks. It shatters and I can’t deny the way this feels like home, that he feels like something I never should have lost or left.
But Ididn’tleave him.
I didn’t have a choice.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears so they won’t fall. I roll my hips into him so he knows he doesn’t have to ask. I’m a hot, slickyes.
“Jesus, Vee,” he groans into the kiss. His hands trace down my back and over my hips to push under my skirt. He squeezes my ass and I dig my nails into his back. Walking us backward to Dessi’s bed, he eases me down and settles between my legs. I spread for him, no hesitation. My body throbs with a rhythm I never forgot, but didn’t realize I still knew. The kiss is all lips and teeth and craving. Wet and hot and desperate. He pushes my skirt up and slides his finger into my underwear, finding my clit unerringly.
I jerk out of the kiss to gasp and toss my head back to the pillow.
“Monk.” I roll into his touch. “I need… I can’t…”
“I know, baby.” He pushes my T-shirt up and pulls the cups of my bra down. “I got you.”
The tandem touch of his fingers between my legs and his mouth at my breast scatters all thoughts. I couldn’t string together three words to stop him if I wanted to, but I do not want to.
