This is exactly what I needed, I think as my shoes click against the floor to the dressing rooms by Stage Three. My body is on fire with anger. And embarrassment but I push that aspect aside. The anger is so much easier to hold onto. It fuels me to keep walking with purposeful strides.

So many people turn to look at me as I storm up to his room, but I don’t give a single one of them any attention. They don’t know a damn thing other than the whispers going around the set.

Everyone saw the way Nathan looked at me as if he was accusing me for his shitty acting. And they all heard what Julie said and the implications.

It is not my fault that Nathan isn’t focused.

To top it off, Lydia let me know the “he said she said” that’s going around now: Nathan told Julie you’re a former flame and it’s a problem you’re here at all.

I haven’t had a soul even start a conversation with me before last night. Yet nearly a dozen people have come up to prod me about my relationship with Nathan. I get this anxious feeling in my gut every time… like he’s talking shit about me or trying to get me fired.

And I’m not going to stand for this.

My knuckles have to be white by the time I raise my hand to his door, but before I can get any satisfaction out by pounding my fist against it, the door swings open.

At first, Nathan’s surprised, simply because someone happened to be right there when he opened the door. I’m a bit taken aback as well. But then recognition dawns on him and his eyes narrow. I don’t give him a chance to turn me away. I walk right in, brushing against his hard, hot body, ignoring how the heat races through me from just that little touch. My hair sways against my shoulders as I turn around to face him. I’m rocking back and forth from foot to foot slightly as the urge in me to fight wanes little by little.

I hold on to the fire, clenching my teeth, and focusing on exactly how I was going to start.

His motions are slow, deliberately slow. He takes his time closing the door, even taking a moment to glance out and see who’s watching. My self-consciousness gets the best of me for only a second. Maybe a split second. Until the door closes, leaving us alone and I remember exactly what happened.

“What’s going on?” I ask him evenly, although I’m sure he can tell I’m pissed. “You can ignore me all you want, but fucking up your takes and blaming it on me is not okay.” My throat feels hoarse as I finally get the words out.

His brow jolts up and he cracks his neck to the left, seemingly unaffected. Bastard.

“I didn’t come to the set to disturb you or,” I raise my hands in the air dramatically, “or get you off your game.”

He’s quiet. He’s always done this to me. He leaves me to be the one to carry on the conversation. He likes to see me squirm, but I’m not willing to play his game right now.

“I didn’t even know you’d seen me!” I screech and the rawness of my voice hurts my throat as the words escape.

Nathan stands there, so much taller than me, muscular and brooding in ways that should intimidate me. Maybe even threaten me, but all it does is make me angry.

He wanted to hurt me.

My teeth grind against one another as I take two steps forward and shove my palms against him. His muscles are firm and unmoving; the shove doesn’t make his hard body move in the least. But it provokes him. It accomplishes exactly what I knew it would.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, looking down at me as his body sways with the need to move. His feet are planted though. He’s only giving me the tiniest bit. And it hurts.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say and my throat closes. My fight is practically gone.

I loved him. He’s the first man I loved. My first in every way.

“I find it hard to believe,” he says.

“Fuck you,” I spit at him and take half a step back. “If I wanted to see you…,” I start to say but he interrupts me.

“You’d have come days ago. I know.” His eyes heat and his expression morphs from disinterest to pissed off. “Yet you didn’t and now you’re here. Why is that?”

He’s angry I didn’t come see him? He’s got to be kidding me.

“You knew I was here. Didn’t you?”

His eyes flash, he tries to play it off but I saw.

“This isn’t on me. This is on you,” I say and push my pointer finger into his chest. “You’re the one who ended it and said to stay away.” You’re the one who left me when I needed you. The memory comes back and I practically choke on the words. “This is on you,” I say and try to make the words come out strong, but I’ve never sounded so weak in my life. I’m back to being the frightened girl that night. Left alone and abandoned and having no one to help me.

He should have been there, even if it was my fault.

I hate what he does to me. I hate how much I crave it too. He’s silent and that’s what makes me shove him again.

It destroys his last bit of restraint.

“Is this what you wanted, Harlow?” he lowers his head and closes the space between us, grabbing my hips and pushing me backward. If I wanted to, I could let him do it. I could let him push me onto the bed. But I don’t. I smack his hands away, my heart racing wildly. Yes, it’s what I want. But he’ll never know that. I won’t let him know what he does to me.

“Why are you such a dick?” I sneer at him. “I didn’t do shit to you,” I tell him as the tears prick my eyes. I won’t cry though, I never do. I just bury things deep down, right where the memories of us belong.

His brows raise in feigned shock. Me?” he asks, pointing to his chest. “What the hell did I do to deserve that, Harlow?”

It shouldn’t get to me like it does. I pictured this happening in so many ways. I didn’t think he’d still hate me though. I thought maybe time would ease some of the tension, but it’s so raw and right in front of us. It won’t be ignored.

“You told me to stay away and I did,” I tell him.

“But now you’re back.”

“Some would say you’re back.”

“So, now I need to stay away from the entire East Coast?” he says sarcastically, filling the space between us by taking another large step. It’s not lost on me that I’m nearly backed into a corner. And that’s exactly how I feel.

All because of one night that I so desperately wish I could take back.

“It’s been ten years, Nathan.” There’s a softness in my voice I didn’t intend to have. “I wish I could change the past, Nathan. Even if you hate me, could you just…”

I can’t finish, I want to. I want to plead with him and try to get on some neutral ground. But he beats me to it and silences me in a way I can’t refuse.

He crashes his lips against mine and it’s more than I can bear. My body goes weak, each nerve ending on fire and so very aware of the heat of his body. His hands travel down to my waist, his blunt fingernails scraping against my skin and making my back arch.

I’m breathless when he pulls away, a flurry of emotions consuming me and taking me back to when I was his and he could make everything better.

“Hally,” he whispers my name in the space between our lips, his hot breath overwhelming me, leaving my head spinning with nothing but want and gratitude. My fingernails drag up his shirt along his back up to his broad shoulders. It’s like I’m home. His warmth, his touch, the reverence when he says my name.

I hold onto him with everything I have, holding him close to me like I wanted to do that night. And he does the same. Soothing me and cradling my body against his.

This is crazy. We’re crazy. I guess some things don’t change.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers as he lowers his lips to the crook of my neck and nips me in an admonishment. The action is directly linked to my clit, making it throb with need.

He pulls back slowly, both of us catching our breath, and he stares into my eyes. I lean into his touch as he brushes the hair away from my face to cup my cheek. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

My heart stutters in my chest. Skipping its rhythm and then another as it tries to figure out how it’s supposed to beat. I search his eyes for something. For the anger that pushed me away. For forgiveness, I’m so desperate to have. But all I see is desire. And that’s something I can hold onto. I can be consumed by it. I was before. Blindingly so.

“It was an accident,” I tell him. He licks his lower lip and my eyes are drawn there before I meet his eyes again. “But I think it happened for a reason.”

“We should talk,” I tell him as though it’s a suggestion, but really, it’s a question. One I desperately need him to answer. So many unspoken things between us. It eats away at me, drowning me in an abyss of unknown. And fear. I had to live with it all on my own. I don’t want to, I never wanted to.

“Not right now. Not yet,” he answers me and looks back with pleading eyes. He’s the one with all the power and both of us know he doesn’t need my permission, but he craves it and like a moth to a flame, I’m addicted to giving it to him.