The sunrise scene in my screenplay opens on a blank page. I’m trying to figure out my dialogue and my action.
What comes after the money shot?
Well, in porn they don’t show you, but you gotta clean up the mess. In real life, the same applies, and it’s called the reckoning.
As blinding sunlight blares through the window the next morning, I lie awake in the cushy hotel bed, eyes wide open, wondering what the hell to say when Nolan rouses.
I’ve been lying here for thirty-four minutes.
Thinking.
With a sigh, I stare into the doorway to the living room. I want to get out of bed, check my phone, do some work. But what if that wakes him? What would we say about last night?
Reckonings involve mouths and talking.
Also, weirdness.
The morning after you sleep with your best-friend-turned-business-partner can’t be anything but weird.
Maybe I don’t need a script to tell me there’ll be inevitable lines like: Thanks for the O. Want some pancakes? Or That was cool, but you don’t expect that to happen again, right? Since I have a date with a hot new Tinder hookup.
Or worse . . . nothing.
My stomach flip-flops. But what did I expect? We’re not going to become a thing. Time to put the genie back in the bottle so we can stay friends and move forward as business partners.
No matter how weird it’ll be. That’s the price to pay for last night’s fun.
And was it ever fun . . . and good . . . really good . . . and kind of amazing. I shift around, unwilling to leave the warm bed quite yet. Plus, the view. With my head propped on my elbow, I savor the scene a little longer. The deepest sleeper in all the land, Nolan’s still conked out, face-planted on his pillow, dark hair sticking up in all directions.
My heart glows a little because he’s so damn cute.
And sexy.
I lift a hand reflexively, wanting to run it down his smooth back, to learn how his golden, sun-kissed skin feels in the morning light. To discover if that little scratch I left on the side of his neck smarts. If I can soothe it with a soft kiss.
To ask, too, if he’s bothered by all the biting, scratching, clawing.
Except I know the answer, how much he was into it. A spark wiggles down my belly, a treacherous and beautiful reminder of how good it felt to tangle our bodies together.
Feelings kick around in me, and I’m an electrified bundle of nerves again. I long to hear gravelly morning-after words like That was so good, You’re incredible, and Did it feel that good for you too?
Risky feelings.
I glance at the clock again. I’ve been here for forty-one minutes now, which means only three hours till our flight. Prepping to go will keep me busy and help us avoid a long, drawn-out reckoning.
Quietly, I pad to the bathroom, snick the door shut, and make quick work of getting ready. I brush my teeth, enjoy a quick shower, and get dressed while he’s still asleep.
I head to the living room, grab my phone from where I left it last night, and take it off do not disturb.
My home screen is littered with notifications.
An email from my parents; the preview says That’s our girl!
A text from Jo in New York, saying, Can I say I knew you when? So proud of you!
Is this happening? I click on the next icon. The pane reveals a note from Hayes, our talent agent. Thanks for making my life easier. All those meetings I had about you guys are going to get a lot more interesting!
My skin prickles.
I shudder with want.
There’s one more email to click open. A message from YouTube itself blinks in the corner of my screen. It’s like I’ve been summoned to the top of Mount Olympus, and I walk in, reverently, head bowed, dropping to one knee in supplication at Zeus’s feet. I am at your service.
I swipe it open, my heart in my throat as I read.
* * *
Dear Nolan and Emerson,
Congratulations! Your How to Eat a Banana collaboration with Dot and Bette is a shining example of creativity among two top partners. We’re so pleased to feature you on the home page. Please note, this is a rolling contest with new entries accepted from other creators throughout the dates of the competition. You are ineligible to enter again, but we did want to congratulate you on being the first winners in the collaboration series.
YouTube
* * *
I inhale sharply. Hold the breath. Shake my head. Close my eyes. Open them.
I read the note one more time to make sure it’s not a joke and check the email address too. Yes, it truly is from the site.
Then I exhale.
My chest handsprings.
I click to the home page of the world’s biggest video site. A moment later, I slap my palm over my gaping mouth.