I grab my lunch to go and run back to my trailer, slam the door behind me, and actually breathe for the first time since my moment with Tanner. My mind is racing. My body is shaking. I want to jump up and down and scream. I want to re-live every second of it over and over again. But I also wish I’d never done it at all.

Honestly, I have no idea how I feel.

I’m a mess.

On one hand, I have never felt so powerful – so badass. On the other, confrontation has always left me quivering and anxious, my stomach in knots and my thoughts tangled up-- and that’s when it doesn’t involve Tanner James.

Thank God Walter made me practice my speech a thousand times, practice it until I knew it backwards, practice it until I didn’t have to think about the words that poured out of my mouth as naturally as though I’d only just that moment thought them.

Because being that close to him again, smelling his cologne?

It made me remember all the good things about him, too.

I just cannot believe I actually pulled it off.

I shoot Walter a thumbs-up selfie text, complete with a praise hands emoji, so he knows I didn’t choke. Even though when I saw Tanner’s sculpted face, that artfully tousled hair, I almost did. Almost fled to my trailer to cry. Almost leapt into his arms and started stripping.

Ten years, and I still want to kill him and fuck him all at once.

I grab a Pellegrino that I so wish was something stronger from the trailer fridge and sit down on the couch to try and relax. Get my head clear before I go do my job. After all, that’s why I’m here, I remind myself. Not because of him. Because of work. I only have fifteen minutes before they’re scheduled to call me for my very first scene of my very first day of my very first leading film role.

I could scream with excitement over that, but I know that I’m already dangerously close to losing my cool. I’d always thought by the time I broke into acting, I’d be confident and cool, but every corner I turn makes me feel like a giddy teenager. A terrified, giddy teenager.

My emotions are all over the place. I grab my script, and try to focus on my lines.  

Of course, I have no luck. My mind is trapped in a loop, reliving the scene between us over and over. Did Tanner notice that it was totally rehearsed? Could he see the pounding of my heart through my chest? Did he notice how I swayed when he spoke—his Australian accent making me weak in the knees like it always did? Was that weird look on his face shock or anger…or delight?

And why can’t I remember what happened in that moment when I’m having zero trouble remembering what he looked like from top to bottom as I approached him on the lot?

I knew it was a mistake to let my eyes explore him as I walked up to say my piece, but they were drawn to him like a magnet. His tight t-shirt revealed some pretty serious pecs underneath, much bigger than I remember.

Tanner always worked out like a fiend before starting on a new film project. I remember loving those times when we were together. He would wake up before the crack of dawn, run to the gym for a session and then come home to me sweaty and full of energy. Did he still spend his mornings that same way? And if so, who did he come home to now?

My excitement settles thinking of Tanner with other women. It’s been ten years—how many have there been?

I’ve tried not to read about him, and I’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding most gossip about him, even though I’ve watched every one of his films. Several times, if I’m honest. Now I’m overcome with a powerful need to know every detail of his life, compare it to the one I once shared with him. To trace his path away from me, pinpoint what his new women have that I hadn’t. Or was I just the first in a trail of broken hearts?

I pick up my phone to start a search but stop myself when his face comes back into my mind, unbidden, the slow confused blink he gave before accepting my handshake.

His t-shirt wasn’t quite long enough to tuck into his crisp, dark jeans so I caught a glimpse of the white ridge of his boxer briefs sticking out from the top of his waistline. Calvin Kleins, as always. Tanner had done a Calvin ad back when we were dating and they’d given him a lifetime supply of underwear in gratitude. He used to wear them around the condo with absolutely nothing else on top or bottom while doing his impression of Mark Wahlberg, the original king of the Calvins. I’d always catch him flexing in the kitchen while doing the world’s worst Boston accent.

The sight of that thin cotton stretched against his tight ass and large bulge is seared in my brain, so much so that it was one of the first images that popped up as I walked over to him today, ten years later. I wonder if he feels as good as I remember...

Focus, Jenna! And not on that.

Doing a Google search on his life isn’t going to be helpful either. I trade my phone for my script.

But I know these lines, I’ve been running them with Walter for six months and my mind goes back to marveling at the fact that I pulled off my speech without melting into a giant puddle. It was a win, and a first in many ways. I don’t do conflict. I never have.

One time I’d mustered enough courage to tell off a mean-girl model who’d been treating Hair and Makeup like her personal servants backstage at a Roberto Cavalli show, but then I stuttered my speech to her like a two-year-old and ran away in tears while every single model in the show stood staring. And that was basically the one time I ever tried. It’s not only that I hate confrontation, I’m just plain bad at it.

That speech to Tanner? It was not only my first successful confrontation, but it will likely be my last. I got it all out, and I’m proud of myself. But now I’m done.  

You know playing it safe is the fastest way to the middle, Jenna.

I hear those words in my head as if Tanner was whispering them in my ear right here in the trailer. It makes the hair on my neck stand up. Tanner always wanted to push me outside my comfort zone. He believed that I could handle anything, even my greatest fears. When we were together, I believed him, too.

“I can’t read your mind, Jenna,” he’d say. “You have to tell me how you feel, even if you’re afraid it’s going to make me mad. You’re safe with me. We’ll figure it out.”

He made me feel like I could take risks because he would be there to pick me up if I fell. And he always was--right up until he wasn’t.

My thoughts wander back to the past, to days I haven’t let myself think about in a long time. I was seventeen and a virgin when we met. He was two years older and experienced. We had the spotlight in common—how many people could possibly know the loneliness of being a teenager in the public eye all day only to come home at night to an empty hotel room? His family was half a world away. My mother was too busy raising my three siblings. Our friends from before we’d become famous didn’t understand. We got each other when no one else did.

That summer, I was riding the high of my first Vogue cover, wearing a million-dollar dress I’d inspired my favorite designer to make. I was on my way to being a star. But Tanner? He was a comet, blazing fire. At first I was self-conscious, worried that my inexperience would turn him off, but it only seemed to intrigue him more.

I was the luckiest girl in California.

I was the luckiest girl in the world.

And one morning I woke up and realized I was in love. Funny how the biggest mistakes come wrapped in the most beautiful packaging.

That night, he’d been honored with a huge award by the Producer’s Guild – Best New Acting Talent. The critics had raved about his performance in The Jet, calling it a shockingly human portrayal of the superhero no one thought had a heart. He’d single-handedly taken Jet from obscure comic about a frankly problematic character to the hottest new franchise on-screen.

And he was being recognized for that. It was the award that all Tanner’s idols had won, and he was over the moon. All his dreams were coming true, and I wanted to give him a gift of my own. After the ceremony, we attended the official after-party at the Infinity Lounge at Hotel Nitro on Sunset – the hottest spot to open that summer. It was on the thirty-fifth floor of the building, so high that you could see straight from the beaches of Malibu to the fully lit Hollywood sign. All the hottest actors, producers and directors were swarming around him with congrats and promises of even bigger projects, but his eyes were only on me.

I’d worn red, and he’d told me I was devastating in it.

“Five more minutes and then we’re running away,” he’d breathed in my ear, the warmth sending delicious shivers down my spine. I felt drunk on him, on the realization of the depth of my feelings, on the secret I was keeping—that tonight was the night. I only wanted to be with him, beneath him, in a gorgeous hotel room below all the party madness. I kissed him and told him I’d be waiting in our bed.

Our bed, he’d mouthed back, as it dawned on him what I was saying. He pulled me close and kissed me again, deeply, a promise of what was soon to follow, in front of everyone. Agents, producers, press, they all watched as he took my hand in his and together we ran, me in heels, gasping with laughter as he pulled me along and out of the party.

We didn’t head down to a hotel room, though. He took me back to his apartment. He said that he wanted me to be comfortable in his bed, our bed, he’d repeated my words, for my first time. His sweetness gave me the courage I needed to stand before him and offer myself.

The weight of his gaze as it swept up and down my body felt more valuable than the luxurious red silk puddled at my feet. I stepped out of it, still in my heels, toward him. In that moment, I was fearless. He held out his hand for me again, and together we walked toward his bedroom, him removing and then tossing his tie onto the sectional as we passed.

Once inside the cool confines of his room, Tanner pressed me up against his bedroom door. His breath was on my neck, then my lips, then at my ear, tracing a path I longed for him to follow with his mouth. Goosebumps sprang up all over my skin in response.

“Yes?” he asked.

“God, yes,” I said without a second thought. My legs quivered in anticipation of his next move. I wanted him to rip my lingerie off and place his cool hands on my now searing skin.  

But he didn’t. He moved slowly. He brought his lips to my cheek and kissed me so softly that all I could feel was more breath. I shivered as a jolt pulsed through my body, right down to my core. His mouth moved from my cheek down to my chin.

Another jolt.

Then he dragged his mouth ever so gently from my chin down my neck, mapping every inch as though it was precious real estate. I could feel myself growing wet, and I marveled that only a few such feather-light touches could have such an effect on me.

Moving along, he landed kisses on my collarbone, his tongue dancing along my clavicle, then tracing a path to my breasts. I hissed and threw my head back, not wanting anything to obstruct his path.

“Perfect girl,” he murmured. “So greedy for this. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

My breath came rapidly, and my head was already spinning as I whispered back, “There will never be anyone else.”

I had been worried that I wouldn’t know what to do – too inexperienced to meet his deft moves with my own – but in that moment instinct took over, I drew his mouth to my own, tugging at his bottom lip and teasing him until he grabbed my thighs and hoisted them to his own, lifting me into the air. I folded my legs around him, wrapped my arms tight around his neck, and we made promises with our kisses as he walked us to the bed.

He laid me down gently among the pillows, and I watched hungrily as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt to expose that superhero-perfect chest half of America was dreaming about earlier in the night. Wanting to match him move for move, to offer not only my innocence, but my willingness, I pushed myself up and removed my bra.

My breasts, more than a few runway casting directors had told me, were too full for my body, and I’d always been vaguely annoyed by that. Now, seeing the look of wonder on Tanner’s face as they spilled out for him, I suddenly saw them in a different light. Maybe they weren’t made for a runway. Maybe they’d been made for him all along.

He bent over me and drew one finger down the slope of my breast, watching my face carefully as he stilled at the very tip of my peaked nipple. I could feel my eyes and mouth growing wide, could feel that they were no longer controlled by me, but by the pleasure he gave me. Tanner must have seen it too, because he gave a wicked smile and pinched my nipple.

The noise that came out of my mouth was somewhere in between a gasp and a scream, and it only made him smile all the wider at me.

       “So responsive,” he said. “Can you feel your pussy answering me, too?”

I gasped again, at the word he’d used. In my world, pussy was a commodity, something the rich men at the fancy parties thought you owed them when they granted you the favor of allowing you on their arms.

I didn’t know it could sound so… sensual.

I tried it out. “My pussy… my pussy is so wet right now, Tanner. I want you.”

It had to have been the clumsiest attempt at dirty talk he’d ever heard, but it made him groan as his hand strayed toward the bulge in his pants.

       In that moment, I felt so powerful that I could cause this kind of reaction in The Jet.

In no time at all, he’d undone his pants and flattened his hands under his boxer-briefs to slide everything down his legs at the same time. Even as he bent over to remove them, I was straining to see that part of him he’d freed, to find things to say about it that would please him the way my last try had.

“Let me see your cock,” I commanded, my voice still containing the tiniest quiver that betrayed me. But Tanner stood up straight, taking me seriously, letting me take all the time I wanted to gaze at the way his hardness jutted proudly from his flat abs.

I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with his body, but the fumbling hand jobs I’d given him during hot makeout sessions were a far cry from being allowed to peruse his body like the work of art it truly was. He’d sculpted every inch of it himself with hours at the gym. And the pinnacle of everything, there, standing stiff and tall, perfectly pink and ridged was answering me the same way my pussy did for him.

“Do you want to touch?” he asked.

I nodded, biting my kiss-swollen lip and reaching out.

“Not me. You.”

I stared at him, ascertaining if he was serious, and his darkened eyes stared back. Perfectly serious, and perfectly lustful. I may have been a virgin, but I was no stranger to my own touch. This was a pose I had perfected, a show I knew just how to put on.

I mirrored his actions in sliding my hands under the sides of my lace panties, red to match my dress, of course, and bent my knees up to pull them off.

I lay there before him, completely naked, entirely exposed, wearing nothing but the sky-high strappy heels I’d worn beneath my gown. My eyes scanned his as I tried to decide how I felt. In fashion, model bodies are treated exactly the same way that mannequin bodies are. I’d been nude in front of hundreds of other models as we hastily changed backstage while the crew milled around us. More times than I could ever count, designers had watched me put on their clothing with nothing between me and it to create unnecessary lines.

None of that had ever made me feel vulnerable. If anything, it had made it easy to see my body as utilitarian, a thing that belonged to me and happened to be both useful and valuable.

What I decided, as my fingers stole down my waxed mound to the edge of my wetness, was that this didn’t make me feel vulnerable either. It made me feel at home in my skin in a whole new way. Now my body was a thing that belonged to him, too, and happened to be made for pleasure.

And when my fingers dipped and circled, as I parted my lips with my other hand, I showed him exactly how to give me that pleasure.

He watched me as I watched him. His eyes were on my hands demonstrating the places that I’d discovered made my toes curl, and mine were on his long, hard body as he crawled onto the bed and between my legs. When his face was right there, I let my hands fall away and almost screamed again at the sensation when he replaced them with his warm, wet tongue.

And, oh, how he’d paid attention to my lesson, as he first drew the flat of his tongue up my seam slowly before flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves he found with the tip of it.

When I’d circled my finger slowly around my entrance, he’d noticed and did the same with his mouth. The swirling of his tongue matched the feeling in my head that was somehow also building up from the tips of my toes. Before I even had a chance to say a word I was spinning wildly through space, barely registering that his first two fingers had slipped inside me just at my point of climax, giving my inner walls something to grip as they convulsed in ecstasy.

The satisfaction I felt as I slowly fell back to earth was short-lived, because Tanner was already kissing his way up to my breasts. The soft skin bruised before my eyes as he nibbled softly, reigniting the fire in my core.

He drew first one nipple into his mouth, then the other, as my hips bucked against him, desperate for more.

As delicious as it felt, what he was doing, I needed a more active role. I needed his mouth on mine. I needed to wordlessly say what I didn’t have the vocabulary for. My hands tangled in his hair, pulled his head up to mine, and he knew what I wanted. His arm snaked out to open the bedside drawer, to pull out the condom I was both glad he had and regretful to use.

With a final kiss, Tanner pushed up and away from me, so that we could both look down as he first rolled the latex down his shaft, and then lined up at my entrance. The pressure at my hole alarmed and aroused me at once, which he instinctively seemed to realize. He shifted his weight to his left arm so that his right hand could come play.

Only seconds later, my body was humming again, my legs falling farther apart as he strummed me with his fingers and pressed against the gentle resistance with his cock, until finally, with a cry, I allowed him entrance. He froze, inside me, fingers still alternating just the tiniest amount of pressure, playing my body like an instrument.

We stayed there like that, looking down at the place we had become one and then back into each other’s eyes, for an eternity, for a second, for as long as it took our heartbeats to synchronize.

When I was ready, I relaxed my upper body as my hips shifted slightly up. Slowly, slowly, he eased both all the way in and all the way down, so that we could kiss again as our bodies learned each other’s most intimate secrets. Gradually, he pushed and pulled, each motion tinged with the edge of pain, which gave way bit by bit to pleasure.

We rocked together, each other’s anchors, in the sea together now, until we spiraled into a hurricane as one, coming and coming and gasping our love into each other’s mouths.

After, we lay cuddled and entangled, as close as two people can be outside the act itself, and told other secrets. Tanner always worried he wasn’t a good actor and couldn’t believe anyone had taken a chance on him. With his gorgeous face and body, he’d frequently been steered toward modeling growing up in Australia, but he hadn’t been willing to settle. He’d wanted to engage creatively. He’d been passionate about wanting to make characters come to life. Standing and posing wasn’t going to cut it.

Hearing that gave me the confidence to tell him that I wanted the same. I held my breath, expecting Tanner to laugh or tell me I could probably get some parts based on my looks.

But he didn’t do either.

“Perfect girl,” he’d whispered, punctuating it with a kiss, “you’ll be the only one who will ever hold you back.”

At the time, I had closed my eyes and lost myself in his ministrations, but his words have returned to me a thousand times since.

Had he known me that well? Or was he just familiar with the same self-doubt? Or had the moment our bodies joined for the first time carried so much power that the words he’d spoken had life? A prophecy made real by emotion.

The last thing I remember thinking that night was how secure I felt in his arms. The knowledge that I was loved, and cherished, even worshiped. It gave me a sense of home I’d not had in three trips around the globe.

But all of that’s a memory now. One that I’d be better off forgetting. Just because Tanner encouraged me to get where I am today doesn’t mean anything. Just because I once called him home doesn’t mean there’s any place for me in his life anymore.

I’ll respect his personal space. We’re adults. We’re professional. We’re good.

I seem to have convinced Tanner. If I say it enough times, maybe I’ll believe it, too.