There’s no way in hell Jenna is going to be here when I open my eyes. That was the last thought I had before I fell asleep. I usually love being right.

Not this time.

I ended up spending the better part of the morning lounging around the hotel room wasting a shitload of time flipping through the movie channels. Finally I gave up on the idea that Jenna might come back and hit the gym. I thought about nothing else during my time on the treadmill, nor during my weights, and by the time I got back up to my shower, I was eaten up with need.

I jerked off in the shower, but it wasn’t anywhere close to the real thing.

Afterward I texted her, but got no response. But then, I’d understand if she was freaking out. After all, so far every single time she’s drawn a line, we’ve hopped right over it. Or in the case of last night, fucked it out of existence altogether.

I pull on a pair of Calvins and flip through the room service menu, idly thinking about eggs. Idly thinking about Jenna. She used to love a posh hotel room, and she lived for room service.

“What could possibly be more decadent than eating in bed, and not being the one to clean up the crumbs after?” she’d always said. “This is how to live.”

And boy, did we used to live.

Jenna and I used to have a ridiculous tradition of ordering two breakfasts apiece and then sharing, creating our own little buffet so we wouldn’t have to leave our bubble. At first, between her modeling gigs in New York, Paris and London plus my shooting schedule there were months where the only time we saw each other was for a 48-hour fling in a hotel room followed by that gargantuan breakfast. Toward the end, that had changed, but the tradition remained. Jenna used to say that we had the kind of sex that worked off enough calories to make our heaping platefuls null and void.

She was right.

Last night was maybe even a tad conservative for us, only going two rounds instead of the four we could do a decade ago. But, we were younger then. Still, I wouldn’t mind the challenge.

I glance at my phone about five more times, giving her plenty of chances to remember that we should be eating right about now, but she never texts back. I start multiple messages inviting her to breakfast, but I delete every one. I don’t want to be desperate.

So instead I just order one breakfast. And I limit the carbs. And I’m bummed.

       As I wait for my western omelet with a side of fruit, I vow to stop fiddling with my phone and finally tune back in to what’s on the TV: fucking TMI. A pang hits my stomach like a quick gut punch. TMI is the show that ended my relationship with Jenna. If I were the kind of guy who believed in signs, I’d say this is definitely one—but would it be good or bad?

Would this be my cue to finally tell her the truth from back then, or a message saying that it’s already over before it’s begun? And was last night an indication that something new truly has begun? I don’t want to presume, especially with the unanswered text situation, but I can’t imagine that we won’t find ourselves in bed together again. And again.

And then what?

       My mind finally flips away from thoughts of what’s next with Jenna, but it heads over to the memory of what happened ten years ago.

I was on set with the sequel to The Jet in LA while Jenna was walking fall Fashion Week in Manhattan. It was one of those long stretches where we were apart. We’d been apart a lot that summer and into the fall. She’d booked a giant contract with Marissa’s Closet and started flying around the world to shoot lingerie ads in what felt like every castle in Europe. I was stuck in LA training for the next installment of the movie.

Both of us were frustrated with the constant distance, but I had the sense Jenna was also jealous. I got it. I would have been too, if I’d been in her shoes. She’d confessed to me that she wanted to act early on in our relationship, and I think it was getting harder and harder for her to see me in the world she wanted but couldn’t yet have. Modeling is impossible as is, but she was half in that world and half in mine. I knew she preferred my lifestyle to her own, and I knew it was hard to just be the girl on the arm of some movie superhero that people were fawning over for no reason. I felt bad for her.

But I was frustrated with her, too. She was frequently turning down opportunities to audition so she could be with me, so she could be part of my movie lifestyle instead of building one of her own. I didn’t argue with her about it—of course I didn’t, she never let us have a conversation that was at all heated—but there was an underlying tension that seemed to bleed into our days away from each other. I wanted her with me, but I didn’t want her with me if it was taking her away from her dreams. So sometimes I made excuses that I was too busy to see her, hoping she’d take a bit part or book a role that might lead to something bigger. More often than not, she just felt like I was pushing her away.

It didn’t help that my publicists wanted me out every night of the week. Apparently the producers were nervous about launching the sequel in a year already hyper-crowded by comic-book movies. They needed me to be as visible as possible to help drive people to the theater.

“People don’t go see movies,” I remember the head publicist at the time saying, “They go see movie stars.”

I’ll be honest. I was riding high with the thrill of being that star. I’d hit the sweet spot where guys want to be you and girls want to screw you – Celebrity Magic, my agents explained. I couldn’t risk losing that momentum, especially with a huge movie on the line.

That was where my head was when Natalia Lowen approached me about the kiss-cam charity event. I was thinking about my career, not my relationship. I was thinking about my job.

The setup was innocent enough. Pairs of celebs were selected to compete against each other in an on-camera kissing contest for a big cash prize they would ultimately donate to the charity of their choice. At the time I’d just started working with St. Anselm’s Children’s Hospital, so this felt like a great way to start the relationship off on the right foot.

Of course, that meant I had to win the contest.

And winning meant being one half of the hottest kiss among twelve sets of celebs.

I was paired with Natalia, which did not help matters when it came to Jenna ultimately finding out. Natalia was a model who had successfully transitioned into acting--living Jenna’s dream. She was also smoking hot, objectively speaking, and the opposite of Jenna looks-wise. Natalia had blonde hair to Jenna’s deep brown and dark blue eyes to Jenna’s soft blue. But that’s not where my mind was when I agreed to kiss her for this dumb charity.

Her looks weren’t anything I thought twice about, because the most beautiful girl in the world was already mine.

I specifically asked if the shot was going to be on TV, and the crew that approached Natalia said, no.

That was a lie.

Actually, the whole thing was a lie. There wasn’t a kissing contest. There wasn’t even a charity event. The film crew were just pranksters who’d convinced Natalia they were doing a good deed so they could get scandalous celebrity footage and sell it for top dollar to TMI.

Not only did it air on TMI’s primetime show before I had the chance to explain the whole charade to Jenna, but also it looked completely like I was kissing Natalia for real.

It was all over their website too. Is Janner over?! Tanner James makes out with Natalia Lowen while Jenna Stahl is lonely in New York. They paired the really hot, kissing video—when I make it good, I make it good—with footage caught of Jenna walking alone, makeup-less, wearing sweats and a ragged sweatshirt I used to wear in high school. It made her look lonely and pathetic. It was brutal and deceiving.

I later tried to get TMI to air my rebuttal, but no one wanted to pick up my side of the story. Cheating scandals earn more viewers than misguided attempts at raising money for charity. That film crew, whoever they were, knew just what would sell. They orchestrated the whole event perfectly.

And I fell for it, hook, line and sinker. I had to be the best. I had to win. So I really went for it with Natalia. The footage of me kissing her looks incredibly real.

I would have believed it were real if I were Jenna.

Within hours of the video hitting the Internet it was absolutely everywhere, including Jenna’s phone. I tried to call her, but she wouldn’t answer my calls. When I wrapped The Jet sequel a few days later and got to our apartment, she’d moved out.

I had another shoot right away back home in Australia—a movie I’d been looking forward to because I’d get to be back home for a period of time for the first time in years. The timing with the video was the worst. I was pissed that I was too busy to deal with it. I was pissed that Jenna knew my schedule was crammed and still wouldn’t answer my calls. I was pissed that she’d given up on us so easily, so I decided to just give myself a few days to cool off before I tried to figure out how to best reach her. Then I heard through the grapevine that she’d booked a spot as a judge on a reality show. Even mad as I was, I was excited for her. It wasn’t the acting break she wanted, but it was something. It was a beginning. I’d been out of her life barely two weeks, and she’d landed her first real non-modeling gig.

That’s when I realized I had to let her go.

I told my friends I didn’t have time to keep chasing her and stay focused on my acting. The truth was I believed she didn’t have time for our relationship and her career. She’d been giving up so much for me, and if I explained the truth about the video to her, she’d go right back to sacrificing again.

So she ran, but I let her go.

I let her go, and I don’t regret my reasons, but I regret losing her.

And I regret that she thinks that I cheated on her, that I would ever hurt her like that. I want to punch the smarmy host right in the TV screen about now. And then find those asshole pranksters that set me up for the Kiss Cam charade and punch them. And then maybe even chew out Natalia for being so gullible.

But I know I should be kicking myself in the ass, too. I’m not only responsible for what happened that day, but I’m also responsible for what happened after. For losing her. For losing us.

I just kept thinking I’d find an opportunity to make it right, but I never did.

And the worst part is that it was all for nothing. Even stepping away, her career hasn’t blossomed the way it should have. The way I hoped it would. So, when Three Spot Films took me up on my suggestion to co-produce a Janner reunion film, I knew they agreed because of the money that could be made from the publicity. But I put together this opportunity because it was time for the world to see the star Jenna was meant to be. And because I was tired of waiting for the universe to offer me a second chance. This time, I made my own chance, and I’m determined not to screw it up.

I don’t have any scenes on the shooting schedule for today, but I decide to head to set anyway. When you’re in production mode and away from home, there isn’t much else to do. I can’t risk heading to the beach; I might get a sunburn and the make-up department would rake me over the coals. I’d rather not hang around town because paparazzi will probably swarm with questions about filming. And there’s also the fact that Jenna is on set…shooting a scene where she works out with her character’s best friend…wearing what I can only imagine are skin tight spandex pants and a sports bra.

I find a spot to successfully hide out and watch while Jenna and Kit shoot the scene. I’m pretty sure the camera guy hiding me knows exactly what’s up, but I don’t give a shit. He has an even better view of Jenna in action.

I was right—the wardrobe is skintight black spandex pants and a hot yellow sports bra. Jenna looks fucking amazing. And she’s doing an amazing job. I can’t take my eyes off her in this scene. She’s a natural, like I always told her she would be. Watching her I’m filled with this weird sense of pride – like that’s my Jenna getting it done out there. It feels good to have that connection to her again. It feels good to be around her every day again.

Why the fuck did I wait so long to try to make things right?

That decision makes zero sense as I stand here now, eyes fixed on the gorgeous, perfect girlfriend I let get away all those years ago. I don’t want to lose her again. And I definitely don’t want to lose the chance to feel myself deep inside her over and over and over.

Maybe that’s where I’ll start, and maybe I can appeal to the new actor in her. I can convince her that if we keep having sex it will be good for character chemistry.

Is that conniving?

A little.

But it’s a necessary means to a beautiful end. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I prepare to chat with Jenna after her scene. I’ll casually stroll up to her in the crafty tent and tell her I just came to set to pick up something from my trailer. Then I’ll just as casually propose this little plan.

To my surprise it’s Jenna who finds me near the taco truck fifteen minutes later. She walks right up. There’s a determined glare in her eyes, which can only mean one thing—It’s “never again” spiel time.

But I’m prepared to cut her off and change the game. I’ve got my own spiel.

“Hey,” Jenna says with a smile that totally throws me off. “I didn’t expect to see you on set. I’m glad you came. Did you see my scenes? I think it went well.”

“Uh…” She’s so easygoing. So laid-back that I nearly forget my lines. “Yeah. I did. I came to grab something and I caught the last few takes.”

“Oh good.” She brushes her hair behind her ear. And did she just take a step closer? “I was actually going to head back to your hotel room later if you weren’t on set.”

“Yeah?” My voice sounds too high. And my mind goes blank.

“I want to talk to you about something.”

Here we go…Shit. I have to pull myself together. “Right. Listen, Jenna,” I say before she can dive into whatever she means to say. “I know that you’re nervous about us continuing to…you know, but what if we think about it differently?”

“Oh. I’m not nervous. I’m fine with it. More than fine, in fact. I just wanted to set some sex ground rules.”

I’m so fucking shocked that I don’t reply.

I just stand there with what I assume is my mouth open while Jenna says something about only having sex during the shoot and keeping all this from the press and being super secretive.

And then she drops the line that truly blows me away: “It’s good for character development,” she says, “Like method acting, right?”

Wait.

That was the argument I was going to make! I stare back at Jenna, half confused, and half wondering how long I have to wait to start method-acting another sex scene.

I mean, I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Should we maybe do some ‘character work’ in your trailer? Maybe right now?” I ask.

And Jenna replies with a smile.

Thank you, universe.