Page 101 of Burn the Script

Miguel rolls to his side, and we stare at each other for a long time. My hands rest on my sticky stomach while he runs his fingers through my hair, around my ear, and down my neck.

Over and over, he repeats the hypnotic path before speaking in a soothing hush. “I love you so much, Graham. Don’t ever doubt it, even when I’m at my worst.”

“Believe in me. Believe I’ll hold you through whatever comes next and won’t let go, especially on your worst days. Tell me when you’re feeling scared or anxious. Let me love you in return, and don’t ever leave me again.”

Scooting closer, he lays the sweetest, softest kiss on my lips. “I promise. And you have to promise you’ll never stop being so wonderfully you.”

43

MIGUEL

NOW

Wednesday, March 15th

I haven’t been sleeping well, and not only because I rocked a movie director’s world in bed the past two nights. I’m in a strange bedroom in an unfamiliar house in a city and state I’ve never visited.

On a whim, I took a week off work and flew to Austin to be with Graham while he ties up loose ends on the production. Fuck the baby steps, sort of. On Monday, I snuck into the house after dark when no one would see me.

Sitting crisscross at the foot of the bed, I bring a mug of coffee to my lips and slurp as loud as possible. My sleeping beauty stirs at last, rolling to his back and stretching. Eyes closed, he mumbles something along the lines of “Miguel, you’re too far away. Come closer, or I’ll shrivel up and die without you touching me.” Or he’s asking about the time. One of the two.

“I’m thinking of doing a thing,” I announce.

“Why are you thinking at”—he squints at the alarm clock—“seven in the morning?”

“Hear me out.” Slipping off the bed, I set the mug on the nightstand and pray the homeowner won’t be upset because I’m not using a coaster. “If I leave the collective, temporarily, I’ll have one less thing to stress about while we get our relationship back on track. It’ll be like a sabbatical.”

He adjusts the pillows to prop up his lazy head. With perfectly messy hair, come-hither bedroom eyes, and a sliver of sheet covering his dick, he looks ready for a provocative photo shoot. Chances are high he’ll be face down on those pillows soon.

“Leaving the collective in someone else’s hands won’t add to your stress? You put a lot of time and effort into it.”

“That’s where my idea takes a weird turn.” I chew on my lip, unsure how to phrase the epiphany I had while taking my morning piss. “I might want to quit.”

He sticks an arm out and makes a grabby hand, flexing his fingers. “Come snuggle.”

I sprawl out on top of him while he rubs my back. It’s not that I don’t love being an architect or that I want to stop working. The problem is I hate being away from Graham. Where he goes, I want to go. I just have to figure out how to make this new dream possible.

“You don’t have to make any big decisions right now,” he says.

“I wasted enough time not making decisions and have a year’s worth of catching up to do.”

Graham slaps both hands on my ass and jiggles it. “Can we start with the sex? By my count, you owe me four hundred more orgasms.”

“Be serious for one minute. We need to start thinking about the future. You make movies. I make babies. Based on my previous experience, you’re a full-time job. I don’t know if I can handle the collective, you, and the babies.”

He pouts. “Why can’t I make the babies?”

“We can both make the babies. My point is we’re not getting any younger.”

He rolls us onto our sides. I sneak my tongue out and flick his nipple. I mean…it’s right in my face. Might as well say hello.

Grabbing my ass again, he tugs me closer. “I never thought I’d say this, but we don’t have to rush anything. Today, the only item on our agenda is a road trip to Walford.”

I groan and roll to my back. “Why? It’s enough that I got on a plane and flew to Texas. Now you want me to ride in a car with Maisy behind the wheel⁠—”

“I’m driving.”

“Even worse. At least she drives above the speed limit.”