Love Unrehearsed
Page 66
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One of the male makeup artists, a slightly pudgy and excessively hairy man we had been introduced to before by the name of Buckley, was busy fashioning a “cup,” for lack of a better word, over Ryan’s exposed privates.
“It’s called a merkin.” Ryan answered my questioning gaze, pressing the sides of the cup into his skin to assure its adhesion.
I envisioned him popping that thing off like a tent way too small for its support pole.
The adhesive would surely, painfully rip a few hairs from his skin. Ouch.
Nicole might get to touch his body intimately, but there was one flesh-toned package she’d never get to see—lesbian or not. Unfortunately, his nudity meant that those totally sexy muscular indentations in his incredible ass might get some screen time. That would definitely cause a few million “Charles Conroy” fans to blow a gasket for sure. Even more hype for Seaside III, which wouldn’t start filming until the fall.
Ryan turned to face me with his fists on his hips, looking like a life-sized, naked Ken doll with obscured genitalia. “So, what do you think?”
He was so adorable, smirkin’ in his merkin.
“And it’s not even my birthday!” I laughed. “I’m wondering how painful it will be when you have to take that thing off.”
“Just like a Band-Aid,” Buckley mumbled.
“Grit and pull.”
Ryan blew out a tense breath and slipped a gray flannel robe on, tying the belt securely like a boxer headed for a fight.
It was time for him to go pretend with another woman below him and I was going to watch.
Chapter 10
React
“Cut. Ryan, you need to drop your arm a bit.
You’re casting a shadow on Nicole,” Jonathan instructed, sounding irritated. “No, that’s still not working. We need to adjust the lighting. She’s got a dark shadow running right across her face.”
I watched the gaffer make a slight adjustment to one of the towering lights near the large bed, and was thankful for the momentary reprieve.
An hour ago, that naked body was between my thighs, loving me. Now Ryan was carefully seated between Nicole’s bare legs, nothing but flesh-toned merkins keeping their bodies from actually touching.
Ryan and Nicole were holding light conversation while the lights were adjusted around them, but the sight of him lying on top of her was almost too much for me to take in. Like a sick, masochistic voyeur, I stood there, watching. Watching my fiancé slip his lips over another woman’s body every time the director called “Action!” I knew it was fake, completely staged, but still.
Ryan pressed Nicole’s hair back from her face, gazing at her before crushing his lips down on hers. She gasped and the sheet that barely covered them rose and fell with the roll of his hips.
Slight tremors vibrated up through my shoulders. Instantly I was torn from the spot and pulled back in time, recalling every ounce of pain I felt when I walked in on my ex-fiancé, Thomas, grinding his naked ass into that emaciated slut, Cheryl Regan, with painful clarity. The overwhelming anguish blasted uncontrollably like lightning into my chest.
I had sworn to myself that day I had caught Thomas, made the most sacred of vows to the sanctity of my own soul, that I would never, ever allow myself to be hurt like that again. To step anywhere near a man who was capable of eviscerating my heart.
Loving someone should never end in all-consuming devastation.
But time and time again I set myself up to be ripped to shreds. And here I stood, torturing myself all over again watching this charade.
Certain moments were tolerable: those when filming had halted and Ryan and Nicole weren’t all over each other. But the moment the cameras were rolling, my hands tightened into fists and I wanted to puke craziness.
I knew Ryan was uncomfortable with my presence, peering at me through worried eyes every spare moment when his pretend make-out session wasn’t being carefully or-chestrated. Still, it wasn’t enough to end this insanity.
I don’t care how other women would handle watching their man fake sex with another woman; I twitched when Jonathan yelled “Action!” yet again.
Ryan’s mouth on her jaw, her lips, grinding her into the bed like he was actually fucking her looked so real that the heartache seared its way up my throat.
It’s pretend. It’s fake.
The sheet covering them slipped and a good sliver of Ryan’s ass was now in full view. No matter how many times I repeated my mantra it still didn’t keep the bile from rising up.
I could see Ryan desperately trying to reach that detached mental space he needed to go to to pull this off. He needed to be “in the zone,” so to speak, where he wasn’t Ryan Christensen anymore. The place where his character persona, Chase Sheffield, took over and deviant actions became inconsequential.
“It’s called a merkin.” Ryan answered my questioning gaze, pressing the sides of the cup into his skin to assure its adhesion.
I envisioned him popping that thing off like a tent way too small for its support pole.
The adhesive would surely, painfully rip a few hairs from his skin. Ouch.
Nicole might get to touch his body intimately, but there was one flesh-toned package she’d never get to see—lesbian or not. Unfortunately, his nudity meant that those totally sexy muscular indentations in his incredible ass might get some screen time. That would definitely cause a few million “Charles Conroy” fans to blow a gasket for sure. Even more hype for Seaside III, which wouldn’t start filming until the fall.
Ryan turned to face me with his fists on his hips, looking like a life-sized, naked Ken doll with obscured genitalia. “So, what do you think?”
He was so adorable, smirkin’ in his merkin.
“And it’s not even my birthday!” I laughed. “I’m wondering how painful it will be when you have to take that thing off.”
“Just like a Band-Aid,” Buckley mumbled.
“Grit and pull.”
Ryan blew out a tense breath and slipped a gray flannel robe on, tying the belt securely like a boxer headed for a fight.
It was time for him to go pretend with another woman below him and I was going to watch.
Chapter 10
React
“Cut. Ryan, you need to drop your arm a bit.
You’re casting a shadow on Nicole,” Jonathan instructed, sounding irritated. “No, that’s still not working. We need to adjust the lighting. She’s got a dark shadow running right across her face.”
I watched the gaffer make a slight adjustment to one of the towering lights near the large bed, and was thankful for the momentary reprieve.
An hour ago, that naked body was between my thighs, loving me. Now Ryan was carefully seated between Nicole’s bare legs, nothing but flesh-toned merkins keeping their bodies from actually touching.
Ryan and Nicole were holding light conversation while the lights were adjusted around them, but the sight of him lying on top of her was almost too much for me to take in. Like a sick, masochistic voyeur, I stood there, watching. Watching my fiancé slip his lips over another woman’s body every time the director called “Action!” I knew it was fake, completely staged, but still.
Ryan pressed Nicole’s hair back from her face, gazing at her before crushing his lips down on hers. She gasped and the sheet that barely covered them rose and fell with the roll of his hips.
Slight tremors vibrated up through my shoulders. Instantly I was torn from the spot and pulled back in time, recalling every ounce of pain I felt when I walked in on my ex-fiancé, Thomas, grinding his naked ass into that emaciated slut, Cheryl Regan, with painful clarity. The overwhelming anguish blasted uncontrollably like lightning into my chest.
I had sworn to myself that day I had caught Thomas, made the most sacred of vows to the sanctity of my own soul, that I would never, ever allow myself to be hurt like that again. To step anywhere near a man who was capable of eviscerating my heart.
Loving someone should never end in all-consuming devastation.
But time and time again I set myself up to be ripped to shreds. And here I stood, torturing myself all over again watching this charade.
Certain moments were tolerable: those when filming had halted and Ryan and Nicole weren’t all over each other. But the moment the cameras were rolling, my hands tightened into fists and I wanted to puke craziness.
I knew Ryan was uncomfortable with my presence, peering at me through worried eyes every spare moment when his pretend make-out session wasn’t being carefully or-chestrated. Still, it wasn’t enough to end this insanity.
I don’t care how other women would handle watching their man fake sex with another woman; I twitched when Jonathan yelled “Action!” yet again.
Ryan’s mouth on her jaw, her lips, grinding her into the bed like he was actually fucking her looked so real that the heartache seared its way up my throat.
It’s pretend. It’s fake.
The sheet covering them slipped and a good sliver of Ryan’s ass was now in full view. No matter how many times I repeated my mantra it still didn’t keep the bile from rising up.
I could see Ryan desperately trying to reach that detached mental space he needed to go to to pull this off. He needed to be “in the zone,” so to speak, where he wasn’t Ryan Christensen anymore. The place where his character persona, Chase Sheffield, took over and deviant actions became inconsequential.
