26
Considering how little sleep he actually got, Shane woke up surprisingly rested. His humiliation the night before was barely on his mind—not with Lilah curled up naked in his arms. If he’d had his way, they wouldn’t have left that bed for another few days at the earliest. But they were due back on set on the other side of the country early the next morning, so moments after waking up, they were propped against the headboard, limbs still entangled, sorting out the logistics of the day ahead: packing up his room, grabbing Lilah’s things from her hotel, trying to change their tickets to get on the same flight back to L.A.
Lilah’s alarm blared relentlessly from somewhere in the outer room of the suite, so he dragged himself out of bed to dig their phones out of their discarded clothes. When he slid back under the covers and handed Lilah hers, he caught a glimpse of her screen, flooded with notifications, the Hags group chat right at the top (forty-seven unread messages). She looked at it and groaned, dropping her head back against the headboard with a clunk, which was his cue to lean over and nip at her exposed throat, unable to contain himself, overwhelmed that he could.
They didn’t really have time to have sex again, but all it took was Lilah innocently asking what he wanted for breakfast, and before he knew it he was flat on his back, her thighs straddling his ears, her breath escaping in helpless gasps as she gripped the headboard. Once she came, he flipped her onto her stomach and slid into her from behind, sinking his teeth into her shoulder as he pinned her to the mattress.
After that, they really had to hurry.
Somehow, they made it to the airport with time to spare. As they waited at the counter to check his bag, he developed a gradual awareness of something that had slipped his mind in the mania of the past twenty-four hours.
He was comfortable with the level of fame he had now. He’d had years to get used to it, and it was nowhere near its most frenzied peaks—the first season of Intangible, his relationship with Serena. For the most part, he was able to live his life relatively unbothered, minus the awareness in the back of his mind that he might be photographed at any time. But he could handle a sneaky picture here, an approach from a fan there. He liked talking to fans, actually, because he liked talking to pretty much everyone.
But the level of attention they were getting as they made their way through the terminal almost felt like that first season again. People were openly pointing, taking pictures without even trying to hide it, giving him that caged-zoo-animal feeling for the first time in years. It made sense: the two of them together were of much greater interest than either of them were separately, even to people who didn’t watch the show. After last night, they were kind of asking for it.
He glanced over at Lilah, who was still wearing her sunglasses, her posture rigid, mouth set in a thin, humorless line. He wanted to reach for her hand to reassure her, but he wasn’t sure if that would make things worse. She returned his glance and smiled tightly, taking his hand herself, giving it a squeeze.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “We knew this was going to happen, right?”
Once they made it through security, they were able to escape into the airline’s VIP lounge. Shane hunted down some snacks and coffee as Lilah scouted a secluded corner by the window. When he returned, she was scrolling through her phone, a perturbed look on her face.
“You better not be reading about us,” Shane said, settling into the armchair next to her. She scrunched up her face guiltily.
“It’s wild. Like, I knew people would care, but I didn’t think they’d care this much. Jasmine just sent me a fucking New York Times thing about it.” She turned off the screen and placed it facedown on the table next to her, gratefully accepting the paper cup of mixed nuts he offered her.
“It’s just because it’s new. I’m sure people will get over it in a week.”
She shrugged, but her gaze was distant. “Yeah.”
He stretched his legs straight out in front of him, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. “Is it time for us to talk now?”
“About what?”
“You know.” He waved his hand between them. “Us. The future. We kind of just dove headfirst into everything.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. It was possible she wasn’t thinking about everything they’d literally dove into headfirst over the past twelve hours, but now he sure was. “Right. That would probably be the responsible thing to do.”
“What about marriage?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a proposal?”
“Trust me, if it was, you’d know. But it has been nine years, some might argue it’s overdue.”
He could tell she was fighting back a smile. “So, what? You just want my thoughts on the institution in general?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want to assume. I could see you as the live-together-for-decades-without-ever-putting-a-ring-on-it type.”
She settled back into her chair, casting her eyes to the ceiling as she thought about it. “I’m not against it. But I’m not taking your name.”
He snorted. “I don’t care about that. I’ll take your name, who gives a fuck.”
“Maybe we should just take each other’s names. Like, fully switch. First, middle, and last.”
“We can save that for when things quiet down and we really need some attention.” He took a sip from his water bottle. “So, do I need to start looking into converting to Judaism?”
“Not unless you want to get in good with my grandparents. And they’re all dead, so. That’s gonna be an uphill battle already. What are you now? Catholic?”
“In theory. But I’m like you, I really only ever went to Mass with my grandparents.”
“Of course you are,” she said with a wry smile. “Catholic guys are always obsessed with me for some reason. Maybe they can sense we have that shared culture of guilt in common. Or maybe they just think I’m Irish.”
“Well, all those other Catholic guys are gonna have to get in line.”
“At least they’re used to it.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping low. “They’re used to being on their knees, too.”
She grinned, but he could see her cheeks redden. “Don’t sound so excited. We’re in public, remember.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. Maybe I’m still talking about proposing.”
She laughed again, her blush deepening, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his stomach do a strange flip.
She loves me.
The thought popped into his head involuntarily, for what felt like the thousandth time since the previous night. It was still so hard to wrap his mind around that all he could do was repeat it over and over like a mantra.
Gradually, though, her smile faded.
“What about kids?” She glanced down as she said it, and he sensed her apprehension behind the studied casualness.
He leaned back, scrubbing his hand over his beard. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt like it was my life’s purpose to be a parent or anything. Or like something would be missing if I didn’t. But I’m not against it, either. I kind of assumed it would depend on whoever I ended up with. Whether they wanted them or not.”
He saw her shoulders relax. “Okay. Good. That’s good.” It was only when he heard the relief in her voice that he understood how nervous she’d been to hear his answer. “I think…” she continued. “I think it can be easier to want them if you’re not the one who would have to give anything up.”
He lay his palm upright on the arm of the chair, and after a moment, she set her hand over his.
“I’ll never pressure you into anything you don’t want to do. You know that, right?” he asked quietly. She didn’t say anything for a moment, still looking into her lap. Finally, she looked up, her face sincere.
“I know.”
The trust and gratitude packed into those two words hit his chest like a battering ram, practically cracking him open. He turned her hand over and kissed it before setting it back on the chair, still intertwined with his. “Well,” he said. “Looks like we agree on the big stuff, at least.”
“That’s a relief. It would be pretty embarrassing if we went through all that bullshit for nine years just to break up after twelve hours.” She was smiling again. “Any other concerns we should get out of the way now?”
“Just one. Are you gonna let me take you out on a real date, or what?”
Her smile grew wider. “Like, in public?”
“That’s the idea. I don’t know if you heard, but the cat’s kind of out of the bag about us.”
“Hmmm. I’ll consider it.” Her expression turned mischievous. “There’s a lot of things I want to do to you in private first.”
He grinned, too, leaning in to kiss her. When they pulled apart, though, she looked annoyed. He turned his head and followed her gaze, catching a glimpse of one of the lounge employees hurrying away, slipping her phone into her pocket. He glanced back at Lilah, who smirked humorlessly.
“Should we ask her to send it to us? Maybe we can start a scrapbook.”