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ferociously.
    “They interviewed me—said they’re doing a profile on me since I’m an up-and-coming actress.”
    “That’s wonderful, honey!” I said, though the throbbing part of me between my thighs only wanted to hear what had happened on her date that evening.
    “The director was saying how good I’ve been in the part, and how the chemistry I have with Aaron is so incredible….”
    “Fantastic!”
    Then she pulled away from me, her energy falling flat. “I kissed him,” she said.
    I felt a jolt of energy surge through my chest. “You kissed him?”
    She climbed off the bed, and I could see she was nervous. “I…I had a few drinks…we were both so over-the-moon about the Times interview…and I mentioned how we were going to have to kiss a few times in the scenes we’re about to shoot….”
    “So, what, you were practicing a little?”
    She nodded. “It just didn’t…quite seem like practicing.”
    She was leaning back against the window sill now, as though she needed distance between us, anxious at how I would react to her full confession. “I don’t know….” she said. “I guess he thought it was the next step for us…and we’ll be shipping out to Europe in a couple weeks, so we won’t be able to do much…are you angry with me?”
    I wasn’t angry, I was elated. But how could I tell her without making Hayley perceive me as some kind of freak. “Of course not,” I said. “It was me that told you to date him in the first place, right?”
    “You did.”
    “I knew there was a risk something might happen,” I said. “But I trust you, so….”
    “You trust me? But I kissed him!”
    “It’s just a kiss. And Jesus, you’re going to do more than that with him when you start shooting love scenes, right?” I felt it was my fantasy talking now, persuading us both that this was all great, that there could be no better conclusion that Hayley tumbling between the sheets with this Hollywood veteran. “This is just a work thing,” I added.
    “You’re not insane with jealousy?” Hayley said, standing up, taking a couple of steps over to the full-length mirror in the corner of our bedroom.
    “Should I be?” I asked her. “You’re not interested in him, are you? You don’t actually want to sleep with him.”
    “I’m a married woman.”
    “And even if you did, you wouldn’t want to leave me for him?”
    “Of course not.”
    I watched her looking at herself in the mirror, her hands running over her curves as though examining what Aaron Simpson might lust after—or what the audience in hundreds or thousands of movie theaters across the world would lust over when the picture was released.
    “So then…” I said.
    She laughed. “So wait. You want me to date my co-star, and I can kiss him if I like, and you’re not pissed at me at all?”
    “I said: I trust you.”
    She pulled her top up to reveal her fine midriff and her beautifully rounded breasts. What had happened to her bra? Then she slowly pulled it over her head. This was who I had sent out there to date another man. This is the exquisite beauty another man kissed tonight.
    “You know, I think it worked?” she said, gently stroking her breasts in front of the mirror. “Having dinner with him…making him think I was into him….”
    She turned to me, and I could see how hard her nipples were even in the low light from the single bedside lamp illuminating our bedroom. She enjoyed the effect she had on me when I watched her. The same way, I guessed, she enjoyed the attention of other men—including Aaron.
    I watched her pull down her jeans, and underneath her panties were almost transparent. Jesus. I did get a little shiver of pleasure at getting to see such a thing when impressive men like Aaron Simpson could not.
    “It makes him want you,” I said.
    “It makes our performance more credible,” she corrected me as she came to sit on the bed next to me.
    “So you have any more dates lined up?”
    She shook her head.