But even staying out of the way I’m a mess inside. Every second that passes brings me more and more dread. More and more anguish. It’s not fair that I feel this way, not to him. He was totally chill with my shoot with Kendi and, if he’d been upset about my het shoot, he didn’t let on. Well, besides the anger he expressed toward Bruce’s off-set behavior, but that wasn’t the same. He’s obviously better at his job than I am. He’s older—maybe that helps? He’s dated someone in the biz before.
It’s me. I know this. All me.
So once again I remind myself that I need to get my act together. I start by trying to rationalize through all the ways that our sexual relationship is different than the sex Logan has for his job.
1. We had sex without a camera.
2. We had sex in his bedroom.
3. We had sex without any money being exchanged—I mean, he’d given me money for Star-Crossed, but that didn’t pay for what happened between us last night. Or this morning. Or, really, any of it.
4. We had sex when I needed it. When I needed him.
It’s not like sex is what makes a relationship, anyway. It takes more than that to make two people compatible. Logan and I have more than just sex between us. We enjoy each other’s company. We love each other. We’re in love with each other. It’s the combination of all those things that makes what we have special. We shouldn’t have to be monogamous with our bodies to feel like we’re a couple.
My head knows these things. Understands them well enough to write a dissertation on the subject of why monogamy is an archaic expectation.
But it doesn’t matter what I know. Because my heart feels differently. My heart doesn’t get it. Especially when the action begins, and Logan’s standing over Bambi, making her kneel. Making her beg.
My heart is watching the man I’m in love with do very intimate things to a woman who isn’t me, and my heart is breaking.
Maybe if I caught his eye like he’d caught mine during my scene with Kendi. Maybe he could make me part of it, and I’d be okay. But I slip out before he has the chance to notice me at all because I can’t stand the possibility that he’d catch my gaze, and it wouldn’t change anything.
Or, even worse, that he’d get too lost in his performance with Bambi to think to look for my eyes at all.
18
My phone’s dead so, I plug it in as soon as I start my car. I’m still in Logan’s driveway when it buzzes with a string of notifications. Down deep, I hope one is from him, hope he noticed I’m gone, and that he stopped the scene in order to come after me, even if only by text.
But I’m afraid to check, in case it’s not him. I don’t want to find out how much that will hurt. So I start my car, and without looking back, I drive away from his house.
At the first stoplight, I can’t help myself—I check my phone’s screen. I sort through the messages, quickly determining that none of them are from Logan. Nothing else interests me at the moment, and I start to put my cell in my cup holder when I catch Raven’s name in a post that I’m tagged in on Twitter.
@theRealRaven How will this project fit into @number1Toole’s schedule with @DeviDare?
Logan’s tagged as well, and even before I’ve finished scrolling to the beginning of the conversation, I’m feeling dread.
The light changes before I find it, and I have to wait until I’m at another red light before I can look again. I find the original post easily—it’s a tweet from Raven herself. An announcement.
New project with @number1Toole CUMMING soon. #staytuned #bignews
“What the fuck?” I mutter out loud. I flip through the responses, looking for more info. I’m sure he hasn’t seen this or responded to it yet, and I’m dying to know what his answer is as well as what the hell project he has lined up that involves Raven in the first place.
I think back over what Logan said about Raven the night before. He’d seemed fairly irritated by even the mention of her, and definitely pissed that she’d confronted me. It wasn’t the type of reaction that led me to believe he’d work with her again. But, did he ever actually say how he felt about her?
He didn’t.
And if fucking is really just a job for him, then it stands to reason he might sometimes work with people he doesn’t particularly care for. People he once cared for quite a lot.
The thing is—I don’t like it.
He’d told me we needed to figure out boundaries; this is one of mine. I don’t want him fucking his ex.
At the next opportunity, I flip my car around, intending to go lay this request out for Logan, but before I get very far I remember he’s still doing his scene with Bambi Roo. Which is sort of a blessing at the moment, because after I think about it further, I realize that showing up all sorts of pissed about his job only a day after we declare our love would make me look like a petty girlfriend. Especially after skipping out early on the shoot he was doing this morning. I need to make boundaries, but I don’t want it to seem like I can’t handle his line of work.
And then it hits me—I can’t handle his line of work.
Oh, God.
This isn’t good.
This isn’t good at all.
I’m probably just emotional after what happened with Bruce Madden, and with all the intense interactions that have occurred over the last twelve hours between Logan and I. Of course I’m a bit unbalanced.
Except I’m more than a bit unbalanced. I’m upside down and inside out with jealousy. I don’t want Logan fucking Raven. I don’t want Logan fucking Bambi Roo. I don’t want him fucking anyone but me. Period. On camera and off. And, honestly, I’d rather the majority of it be off-camera because I want what he and I have to be just between the two of us. Just ours.