ynsrg

[ynsrg]

PRETENDING

CHAPTER 1

**Disclaimer: Hey, it’s an ‘actor meets actor and gets horny for them’ fic! I’m sorry for writing this but I’m down bad. Bo is just a character, I apologise profusely if this ever gets read by the wrong people, etc. etc. I also have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about – this fic is stupid, makes very little sense, and has a very thin plot from which I have dangled smut, like a garden trellis. I have another, much longer, fic in the works (25,000 words and counting) but I very much doubt it’ll see the light of day because my OC is American in it, and I’m legitimately terrible at writing American dialogue, so I wrote this about a scouse bird instead (it’s what I know) and did my best to make it work. This fic will include no family members because that’s really weird. Sorry in advance!**

Chapter 2: https://ynsrg.tumblr.com/post/660912110046429184/pretending

Chapter 3: https://ynsrg.tumblr.com/post/660912269314670593/pretending

Chapter 4: https://ynsrg.tumblr.com/post/660912544504004608/pretending

She misses Liverpool. It sounds ridiculous, and as the Californian sun beams down, making everyone and everything it touches look somehow glamorous, she feels ridiculous. This – here – is everything she’s ever wanted, everything she dreamed of, everything she’s worked for; but she misses her city, her home town, her Liverpool. L.A. is too sprawling, too lacking in soul, and takes itself entirely too seriously. She doesn’t really want to be here so much as a second longer than she absolutely has to.

Maybe acting isn’t the career for you, Catherine.

She sighs heavily and swirls the straw around in her drink. She doesn’t even particularly like iced coffee, the entire concept seems… off to her, but here she is with her iced coffee all the same.

“Am I boring you?” The sardonic voice from across the table interrupts her moping, and she responds with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, mate. I’m a little…” she grimaces, “… homesick.”

“Ah, yes. Because there is, somehow, an entire city full of people with accents like yours. It is a real place,” he smirks, “somehow.”

Catherine rolls her eyes and flicks her straw at him, pleased to note that she’s got some of the coffee on his white tee. “Gobshite.”

He snorts. “And just what the hell is a ‘gobshite’?”

“Look in the mirror and you’ll have your answer,” she replies flatly, leaning back and tilting her chin up in defiance.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m assuming I should be offended?”

“Probably,” Catherine shrugs. “But you seem quite hard to offend.”

“I’m actually very sensitive, Cath.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence falls between them again, and Catherine shifts in her seat, a little uncomfortably. He notices.

“So, tomorrow.” He runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair, which is something she’s noticed he does quite a bit when he’s anxious or nervous about something. Given the context of their current situation, the fact that he’s doing it now makes her anxious and nervous.

“Yes, Bo?” She responds wearily, and he eyes her like she’s a wounded, cornered animal that could lash out at any moment.

“Uh…” he taps his fingers on the table, searching for his words, which is quite unlike him. “So, I know we’re like, friends.”

“We are?” Catherine raises an eyebrow, working hard to keep a straight face.

Is he blushing?

“I mean, I think so?” He frowns at her, a little furrow between his brows, and her face cracks into a smile. “Ah, you’re fucking with me.”

“I am,” she says proudly, and he rolls his eyes.

“Anyway. So, friends means tomorrow might be, ah… weird,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and she fidgets in her seat again.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Bo,” she says cautiously, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach.

“I know, I know,” he replies quickly, picking up on her defensive tone. “Just, um… if anything feels… if you’re uncomfortable, just say the word, okay?”

Okay.

He’s avoiding Catherine’s eyes, fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist. “That’s sweet,” the words leave her mouth seemingly without any input from her brain and shit, she didn’t mean to say that out loud.

He huffs out a laugh. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’ve met someone more sarcastic than me.”

Thank fuck for that.

“Aye, I’m a proper cunt,” she nods, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she squints at him across the table.

“A fucking horror,” he agrees, trying and failing miserably to imitate her accent.

Catherine recoils. “What the fuck was that, Bo?!”

“Um…” he pulls a face, “scouse?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Never, ever do that again. Promise me.”

He laughs again, and there’s a bit of her that’s proud that she makes that happen as often as she does. Guy’s one of the biggest comedians on the planet and she makes him laugh on a regular basis. Bit mad, that.

“Catherine Mary McHale, I promise I will never, ever do that again.” He extends his hand across the table. Large. What a ridiculously large man, who remembers your middle name, for some reason.

She narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t believe you, but okay.”

She extends her much, much smaller hand and meets him in a firm handshake. The knot in her stomach returns immediately, but when he releases her hand, it doesn’t make her feel any better.

“Alright then,” he shifts his chair back and picks up his phone. “I’d better get back.”

Catherine nods a little dumbly, head feeling a bit fuzzy.

He rises to his feet – large, huge, why is this fella a giant – and cocks his head to one side, peering down at her with a weird expression written across his features.

“What is it?” Catherine frowns up at him. “Have I got shite on my face?”

Bo laughs again, loudly and his eyes are crinkled at the corners and he has a dimple on his right side, she noticed that within about 30 seconds of meeting him for the first time. “No, Cath, you haven’t got ‘shite’ on your face.”

Air quotes, seriously?

She keeps looking up at him, eyebrows raised, foot tapping impatiently. “So, why are you staring?”

He slips his phone into his pocket and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not staring.”

“You literally are. Here, you look like this.” She widens her eyes as much as physically possible and pulls a creepy face which she’s sure looks absolutely disgusting.

“You are a very attractive woman, Catherine,” he drawls, straight-faced, and he’s clearly and obviously being sarcastic, so she has absolutely no idea why her face is heating up.

“Fuck you, Bo,” she smiles up at him sweetly and he raises an eyebrow.

Weird.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Well, yes, pal. We’re acting in a movie together.”

He smirks. “Right.”

She nods. “Right.”

“Bye.”

“Ta-ra.”

Catherine watches his retreating form until he’s out of sight, and then she releases a shaky breath that she didn’t realise she’d been holding.

[ynsrg]

PRETENDING

CHAPTER 4

She closes the door behind them with slightly shaking hands. Excellent acting, Catherine. The audience will really believe that Emma is crazy about Ryan.

She turns to face Bo – Ryan – and he’s close to her, almost touching her, hunger written all over his face. Excellent acting, Bo. The audience will really believe that Ryan is crazy about Emma.

“You want a drink, Ryan?”

It’s a bit mental how easy she finds it to do a convincing American accent these days. She struggled with it for ages.

“Sure,” he breathes, and she swallows hard as she looks up at him for a moment, with dark eyes that are getting darker. She has this urge to place her hand on his chest, so she does, just for a second.

His pupils dilate when she does that, and that’s not something you can act.

If she left her hand there for longer, would she feel his heartbeat? Would it be racing as fast as hers is?

She reminds herself that they need to move this along, so she removes her hand and – somewhat reluctantly – takes a step back. “Coming right up,” she nods stiffly, working in the character’s social anxiety.

Pretty easy for you to do a convincing job of that, eh Cath?

She slips past him and walks ahead, knowing that the camera will be focusing on the dress – or lack of – at her back. She sways her hips a little, and chances a glance over her shoulder.

His eyes are fixed on her arse, and he doesn’t even notice her looking.

She snaps her head forward again, trying to calm herself down. The knot in her stomach that’s been a constant for her over the past few days has turned into a dull, hot ache which now sits low – far too low – in her abdomen.

No, no, no. This isn’t happening. You are an actor, you are a professional, you are not getting wet.

She walks into the ‘lounge’, to her spot, reaches for two glasses and picks up the bottle of ‘alcohol’, unscrewing the cap with trembling fingers, pulse thumping in her ears because she knows what’s about to happen.

A brush of long fingers against her lower back. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and tries not to whimper. Then that same hand, flat against her skin, and moving to her side – her waist – slipping under the smooth material as his other hand moves to her opposite side, her hip, and pulls her back into his body.

Her eyes flutter closed, for just a second, and she lets out a shaky breath.

“Forget the drink, Emma,” comes his voice, low and hoarse in her ear, lips brushing against her skin.

She wonders how far he had to bend down to do that. She can’t see what he’s doing because he’s holding her firmly in place.

She likes that, a lot.

Anyway. Acting. Script.

“Ryan,” she breathes ‘his name’ like it’s a prayer, doing everything she can not to say ‘Robert’ by accident.

His hand pulls at the clip holding her hair in place, and it tumbles down to her shoulders in waves.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, and it sends a bolt of electricity straight to her cunt. She allows a small moan to pass her lips, and his fingers dig into her hip by way of response.

Acting. Script.

Catherine turns her head to meet his lips, which brush against hers tentatively at first. She raises her right hand up and slightly behind her, to tangle in his impossibly soft hair and pull him closer. When his tongue seeks access with a small swipe across her bottom lip, she melts into it with a sigh.

Jesus fucking Christ, mother of God and all that is Holy, may the Lord strike her lapsed Catholic arse down, he’s an incredible kisser.

He removes his hand from her hip, her cue to turn around to face him, which she does with enthusiasm that isn’t coming from acting. She snakes her arms around his neck and her nails lightly scratch at his scalp, just above the nape of his neck. He moans into her mouth as his hands trail down her back to sit just above her pert, round arse – one of her better features, she has to admit, and it seems like Bo might agree – and when she nibbles at his bottom lip, that moan turns into a growl and then both of his hands are cupping it.

“Fuck,” she exhales shakily against his lips, and that wasn’t in the script. She feels him smirk against her. Oh dear.

It’s far, far too easy to let herself be backed up against the wall by him. Her back meets the cool plaster with a thud as his lips move to her neck, fairly chaste kisses at first but rapidly becoming open-mouthed, hot and wet, with the occasional scrape of teeth. Her small fingers work, numbly, at the buttons on his shirt as his hands slip the straps of her dress down her shoulders and his lips move down to the skin that’s been revealed. She dimly remembers that she’s not wearing a bra. She doesn’t care.

The heat between her thighs is really becoming quite problematic for her at this point, and when she writhes against him, pinned in place by his torso with their lower bodies frustratingly separated out of shot, it works well for the scene but she’s beginning to forget that she’s supposed to be someone else.

Please, Bo.

“Please, Ryan,” she pants, as his thumb grazes her hardened nipple through her dress, and she swears she sees stars for a second.

He captures her mouth again in a searing kiss, before pulling away just a little to murmur against her wet, swollen lips. “Please what, Emma?”

Not in the script, not in the script, not in the script.

She’s never seen his eyes so dark, pupils blown like saucers, and the lace of her underwear is hot and damp against her aching pussy. “Don’t make me beg,” she whispers breathlessly, looking him dead in the eye.

Decidedly, definitely not in the script.

There’s no cameras anymore, only them. He pauses for just a second, breathing heavily, searching her face for any sign of hesitation and finding nothing. He trails his hands down her sides again, over her arse, to her upper thighs, and she wriggles against him with a wanton moan. “Someone’s eager,” he chuckles darkly as she slips her hands under his shirt, and she should be embarrassed – they both should be – but it doesn’t come.

“Please,” she whimpers again, and something inside him snaps.

He stoops, just a little, his large hands slipping under her thighs to hoist her, and her legs fall open instinctively to allow his body – his whole body – to settle in between them.

His hips pin her to the wall, and she feels him hot and hard and fucking big, pressed right against her swollen clit. She pushes herself against him and his fingers dig into her so hard she’s sure they’ll leave bruises.

She certainly hopes so.

“Emma,” he pants against her lips, “baby,” she shudders when he calls her – Emma – that, “how can I give you what you need, if you won’t tell me what you need?”

Guess yous are just giving up on the lines altogether.

She whimpers and drags her nails down his back under his shirt, something the cameras won’t see, just between them. “Ryan,” she gasps, her head falling back against the wall as he shifts his hips against her, subtly – just a little friction and she’s horrified by how close she is to coming, just from this. “Ryan,” she repeats, “please fuck me.”

He groans against her skin, and she isn’t entirely sure but she thinks she feels his cock twitch against her through his jeans. She wants more than anything to get her hands, mouth, cunt around it, and she’s beginning to wonder if this is all some sort of fever dream because no man has ever had this effect on her.

“Bed,” he mumbles against her, and she takes the cue to tighten her legs around his waist, a distant part of her brain reminding her that this’ll be over soon and boy oh boy, things are about to get awkward between them.

But she pushes the thoughts away as he carries her – with ease, and surprising grace – down the little corridor and into Emma’s bedroom, and then they fall onto the bed. Her legs are still wrapped around him as he decides to be bold and slips his hand into her dress to cup her breast without any material barrier.

“Sorry,” he whispers in her ear, quiet enough to evade the microphones, but the fact that he follows that up with a nip at her earlobe and a jerk of his hips renders his ‘apology’ a little hollow.

“Liar,” she whispers back, head turned away from the cameras, tightening her legs again, pulling him hard against her and she’s glad that this isn’t a full sex scene because she wouldn’t trust herself not to slip his dick inside her while they were ‘acting’ under the covers.

Her face flushes with arousal as that particular thought worms its way into her brain, and as if he can read her mind, she feels him grinning against her neck. “Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet against her skin, and it almost tips her over the edge.

“Alright, guys, we can cut there,” comes Em’s voice, and the two of them freeze immediately.

Fuck.

Catherine’s arms fall to her side as she shakily unwraps her legs from around his waist, allowing him to roll off her before they both push themselves up to sit on the opposite sides of ‘her’ bed, legs hanging off the the edges with their backs to each other.

Catherine pushes the straps of her dress back up to her shoulders, and runs a hand through her hair, trying to make herself look a little less… 30 seconds away from an orgasm. She has a little glance over her shoulder, and Bo is buttoning his shirt back up.

And presumably willing his raging boner out of existence.

The corner of Catherine’s mouth twitches as she just about fends off the smirk that threatens to spread across her face.

“Jesus, you two,” Em huffs out a laugh as the crew shuffle around them, fiddling with cameras and cables and lights. “That was an easy sell alright.”

Catherine’s face is burning. “Sorry for the, uh… improv.”

Em raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, which makes Catherine blush even harder.

Bo clears his throat behind her, getting to his feet only a little uncertainly. “I’m just, ah… gonna go grab a coffee. I’ll be back for the run-through.”

Em wags her finger. “No need, we’re done for the day.”

The two of them snap their heads to the director and utter ‘what?’ in unison.

Em’s eyes are glowing with mirth. “I need to take Clem to the vets. Ear infection.”

Catherine narrows her eyes at her boss and Bo makes a cute little grumbling sound. “Right,” Catherine drawls.

Em smiles at them innocently, completely unphased. “Maybe you two can grab a coffee together?”

“Maybe,” Bo growls, and Catherine chews the inside of her cheek.

“And take the day off tomorrow,” Em squeezes Catherine’s shoulder, “I want you both to have a nice rest.”

If looks could kill, Em would be dead and Catherine would be a murderer.

“Okay, thanks,” Catherine forces the word out from behind gritted teeth.

“Great!” Em claps her hands together. “Well then, I’d better get going.”

“Uh-huh,” Bo grouses from beside Catherine, and Catherine whacks his arm lightly to say be nice. Em catches that, of course, and smirks.

“See you Thursday, Em,” Catherine tries to make her voice sound light and airy, but it comes out sounding quite weird.

“See you Thursday, hon,” she grins. “Behave yourselves.”

Catherine gives Em a death stare which melts into a fond smile, because despite the current situation, she does quite like and respect her. As Em gives them an exaggerated wave before she walks away from them, Catherine notices Bo shifting his weight awkwardly besides her.

“I’d better, uh…” he trails off, refusing to look at her.

Yep. Awkward, and faster than expected. Great stuff.

“Oh, yeah,” Catherine nods, trying to ignore the screaming inside her head. “Me too.”

He nods stiffly. “See you Thursday, Catherine.”

She nods stiffly right back at him. “See you Thursday, Robert.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a split second longer than necessary, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

As she begins to walk away, he calls after her.

“Really nice dress.”

And there’s still crew around when she turns to face him, walking backwards, a genuine shit-eating grin on her face. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Even from a distance, she doesn’t miss the look in his eyes. It’s the same way he looked at her when he had her pinned to the wall with his hips.

As she walks out of the set into the late afternoon sun, in the same dress, in the same soiled panties, eyeliner a little smudged, body on fire, she pulls out her iPhone and begins to type.

I’ll be in Accomplice, if you’d like a drink.

[ynsrg]

PRETENDING

CHAPTER 3 (it’s short soz)

“You remember what I said?” He leans down to her a little, giving her upper arm a squeeze.

“Up against the wall, got it,” she nods, staring straight ahead until his laughter shakes her out of her thoughts. She turns her head to the right and upwards, fixing him with a deadpan stare.

“Jesus,” he shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a little red again, despite his shoulders shaking with laughter. “No. Uh… if you feel uncomfortable, y’know…”

Her eyes widen and a flush of embarrassment washes over her. “Oh,” she squeaks, before clearing her throat and forcing her voice back down into its usual octave. “Yeah, yep, same goes for you too, obviously,” she babbles, and she wants to die.

He eyes her with something akin to suspicion, and emits a small, amused hum. Across the set, Em – the director – has appeared, and Catherine’s heart rate has rocketed.

“Hey, Cath?” He bumps her gently with her arm and she blinks up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Nice dress,” and his voice is lower than usual and for a second she forgets how to breathe as she tries to work out what exactly it is she can see in his eyes right now.

“Thanks, I’m planning on stealing it,” she whispers back, attempting to steer this ship back into calmer waters. He grins down at her and breathe, girl, he’s just getting in character – he needs to look like he wants to fuck you. Calm the fuck down.

“Hey guys, you ready to go?” Em strides towards them, clipboard in hand and headset equipped, and Catherine takes a deep breath, glancing up at her colleague who glances down at her.

“Yep,” they both nod, pretty much in unison.

“Excellent,” Em smiles. “So, you know the drill. You come in through the front door, lock it behind you, walk into the lounge, and…”

“The magic happens,” Catherine smirks, and Em chuckles.

“You’ve got great chemistry with each other, so it should be an easy sell.”

Catherine’s throat tightens and she wets her lips nervously. For a second she thinks she sees a hint of a knowing smile on Em’s lips, but nah, she’s imagining it.

To her right, Bo clears his throat, but he still sounds a bit strangled when he says, “Shall we?”

Feeling a little bolder than before – because this is her job and she isn’t scared, she knows what she’s doing – Catherine links her arm with his.

“Let’s go, lover boy,” she grins up at him and he quirks an eyebrow as if to say ‘you’ve changed your tune’, but he doesn’t protest as she pulls him after Em, who’s leading them over to their spot.

You’ll be fine. This will be fine. It’ll all be okay.

[ynsrg]

PRETENDING

CHAPTER 2

It’s all going to be okay. You know it will, Catherine, because you’ve done this before, and it’s always fine. It’s your job, it’s his job, it’s just another scene in another movie and everything will be okay. Everything. Will. Be. Fine.

“Earth to Cath,” Catherine flicks her eyes up to Kate, the makeup artist, whose reflection wears a quizzical and slightly amused expression.

“Sorry, Kate,” Catherine smiles weakly. “I was miles away.”

“Mm-hm,” Kate hums. Catherine twists her hands in her lap, trying to avoid Kate’s gaze, suddenly feeling a little like she’s under a microscope. “Happy with my handiwork?”

Catherine gives herself a once-over in the mirror before nodding, her smile a bit stronger. Her long auburn hair is in a messy updo, and Kate – who is very good at her job – has accentuated her features with a bit of eyeliner, a hint of shadow and blush. She looks really nice. “Eminently fuckable, thank you babe.”

Kate chuckles and squeezes her shoulder. “You nervous?”

Catherine freezes a little, for just a second, blinking a couple of times. “Uh, nah. I’ve done this loads of times.” She really hopes she sounds convincing.

“Right, yeah,” Kate nods, but there’s a glint in her eye.

“Spit it out,” Catherine sighs.

Kate grins and spins Catherine’s chair around to face her. “He’s cute.”

Ugh, come on.

“He’s freakishly tall and I’m probably gonna break my neck kissing him,” Catherine deadpans. Kate raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, looking a little unconvinced. Catherine sighs. “Just another scene, Kate. No biggie.”

“Okay,” Kate shrugs, and there’s a smirk on her face.

Note to future self, do not become friends with makeup artists. They will try to make you feel weird about doing perfectly routine sex scenes with your colleagues.

There’s a knock on the door and Catherine jumps a little. “Come in,” she calls out, not really understanding why she suddenly feels a bit flustered.

Ah, of fucking course.

He ducks through the door – freakishly tall – with his silly trademark ‘hiiiii’ and waves at the two of them a little awkwardly.

“Hello, Bo,” Catherine nods a little stiffly, shooting a dangerous glance at Kate, whose smirk has widened.

“Well, I think we’re done here,” Kate says lightly, zipping up her makeup bags and gathering them up with frightening speed and precision.

“Are we?” Catherine’s glare could melt steel.

“Yup,” Kate replies cheerfully. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”

“I’ll be sure to come and find you,” Catherine practically growls as Kate hurries out of the room, squeaking out a little ‘hi Bo’ as she ducks past him and leaves the two of them stood there, looking anywhere but each other.

“She was in a hurry,” Bo says flatly, and he’s doing the thing with his shoulders where he tries to make himself to look less tall than he is.

He mentioned to her once that it happened pretty much overnight, and she always gets the sense that he’s not quite used to it, even more than a decade later. Maybe she shouldn’t tease him about it anymore.

“Yeah, uh… yeah,” Catherine clears her throat and stands up, smoothing out the dressing robe she’s wearing and shifting her weight from foot to foot a little awkwardly, extremely aware of her bare legs. “Sorry, haven’t got ah, dressed yet,” she grimaces.

His big blue eyes widen. “Oh fuck, sorry,” he exclaims, and he’s running his hand through his hair again, like he didn’t notice the state she’s in until she pointed it out. “I should… I’ll go, sorry –“

“Bo,” she chuckles despite herself, “I let you in here, didn’t I?”

She can see him exhale heavily from across the room. “Yep,” his shoulders relax a little, “you did.”

Why does this feel so fucking weird?

“So.” Catherine takes a tentative step towards him. “I’m guessing there’s a reason you’re here?”

He bites his bottom lip. “Just wanted to, uh… run through the…” he gestures vaguely between the two of them, “… things.”

Catherine’s mouth quirks upwards. “The things?”

He laughs softly. “Yeah.”

Catherine leans back against the dressing table, crossing her legs in front of her. “Well, go ahead,” she presses, when it seems like he’s not going to elaborate.

“So…” he sighs, scrunches up his face, “I’ve been thinking about this…”

“I’m flattered,” Catherine smirks, and he rolls his eyes.

“What I mean is… uh, height difference. I think…” he looks almost apologetic, “I’ll need to have you up against the wall.”

Her stomach drops like a stone and her mouth goes dry. “Right,” she says quietly.

“So to speak.”

“I see,” she nods, heart pounding in her ears.

“With your legs, uh, around – “ and she swears there’s a little more colour in his cheeks than there was before.

She raises her hand to stop him, feeling a little dizzy. “I get it, thanks.”

He swallows, hard. “Then I guess I’ll just… carry you, uh, to the…”

“Bed,” she finishes his sentence with a croak and there’s a few moments of silence then.

This is fucking unbearable and a little unprofessional.

“Okay, well…” he clears his throat, moving back to the door and resting his hand on the handle, “I’ll uh, see you… there.”

Catherine nods, the hairs on her arms sticking up. “Yep.”

He opens the door and pauses for a moment, turning back to her with a lopsided, sheepish smile. Dimple. “Told you it’d be weird.”

“The weirdest,” she laughs a little shakily.

“See you, Cath,” he says softly.

“See you,” she repeats, feeling a little lost at sea.

He clicks the door shut behind him and she sinks back into the chair, limbs feeling weak. She’s never had a problem with this stuff before, so she doesn’t know why she’s struggling so badly now.

Catherine glances up at the clock on the wall, and then to the dress hanging up. Dark green to match her eyes, form-fitting, down to just above her knees with a back that plunges down to just above her arse. It’s cute, and it’s probably something she’d wear in real life, but right now the thought of putting it on is horrifying her.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself. Maddeningly, their two characters are friends who become lovers, and this scene is the moment they change from friends to lovers. It’s a bit of a sick joke, if you ask her. She’s been in much raunchier sex scenes in the past – this one is, frankly, going to be quite tame by comparison, there’s no nudity and they’re not even going the ‘whole way’ – but this is the one that makes her want to ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Why?

Because they’ve become friends while they’ve been making this film, and she’d quite like them to stay friends when it’s over. He’s a nice guy, and he’s talented, and she’d like to work with him again.

Why wouldn’t you and him stay friends?

She doesn’t really have an answer for that, just like she didn’t have an answer for the heat that consumed her body when he was telling her his plans for the scene.

She pictures Kate’s smirking face, and groans to herself.

Get a grip, Catherine. Do your job, get it over with in one take and then maybe find a bar tonight and drink yourself into oblivion, as a treat.

She looks over at the dress one last time and nods to herself. “Let’s go.”