Better as Friends

“Are you ready, Jack?” I blink down at Frances, the PA who has come to get me for my scene. Frances looks faintly red, like she’s trying to diffuse her blush with sheer force of will. Everyone is a shade embarrassed today, I guess. When I arrived this morning, one of the gaffers couldn’t look me in the eye when I said hello. I nod at her and made a noncommittal sound, following blindly as I do up the last buttons on my white button-down shirt. As we enter the set, I see cameras set up on all sides of the fake house exterior. We’re using rain today, and all the production team is wearing wellies even though it is a dry day in England. I glimpse Delia Browning, my agent, in the back corner of the room speaking with our intimacy coordinator. Today I am filming my first sex scene. 

“Alright, J?” comes a sweet, feminine voice to my right as I sit in my chair and get touched up by makeup. Ginny Friedrich, my gorgeous co-star, is flashing me a smile. I can tell she’s not nervous at all for today, despite it being her first on-camera sex scene too. 

“Yeah, I’m all good!” I tell her, and it’s true. We went over everything for weeks with the intimacy coordinator and I know my blocking as if it were instinct alone. I don’t want to say it won’t be a big deal, but I’m not stressed. Ginny and I chat a bit more as the set designer checks on last-minute details. 

When they call places, Ginny runs inside the fake building so she can shout down at me from the window. This is the scene in Flames Flicker Eternal, a BBC film with zero buzz that probably no one will see, but I am determined to excel in nonetheless. Delia worked hard to land me this role and I want to prove to her, and myself, that I’m worth it. So when the fake rain starts waterboarding me at a rate of who the fuck knows droplets per second, I square my shoulders, snap into character, and wait for the Action!

They don’t tell you how awkward this is. 

Okay, that’s not true they definitely do tell you how awkward this is but I never really believed them. Actors are gold medalists in fake humility, so when they say something is “not as glamorous as it seems!” I usually assume they’re concealing a bit of the truth. Like when popstars say it’s draining to be on stage every night as if the sound of tens of thousands of fans screaming their name doesn’t electrify their veins (points to Harry Styles, he never hides how much he loves the stage). 

Naturally, I thought that faking sex with my hot co-star would be at the very least not awkward– Ginny and I have a great rapport, I’m even attracted to her. Plus, I feel confident in my body thanks to Delia’s insistence I start with daily gym sessions about 6 months ago. 

Why then, is this so fucking awkward? 

I think the modesty garment I have on may be the most unflattering piece of cloth to ever grace my body. And I had a motorcycle gang phase in high school. Seeing Ginny’s fake moans and reactions may be the worst part of the scene, seeing her fake so well makes my mind wander to the girls in my past before I self-correct and try to be a professional. 

Ginny is now back in my arms and they’re burning from strain. What good is benching her weight plus 50 if I can’t even hold her up for five minutes? 

“I think you can put me down while they reset,” Ginny whispers in my ear. She’s been unreadable in between takes as they made us go again and again, unhappy with the lighting or the way her shirt bunched when I picked her up, those types of things. 

I chuckle a bit and slowly release her down to the floor. “I can handle you,” I say cheekily, going for a bit of banter. Immediately, Frances rushes towards us, offering a towel in one hand and water in the other. I wave her off and she retreats. When I look back at Ginny, she’s giving me a skeptical look, like maybe she heard my muscles screaming when I held her. 

I puff out my chest a little and say, “I can,” with more severity this time. 

Her eyes twinkle, “Mhmm. Now how much longer do you think they’re going to make us do this?”

We both turn at the sound of the director calling our names. She’s very nice off set, but when Victoria Kent is working, it’s all business. 

“Listen up, both of you, we need to run it one more time. It’s just the bit where you carry her over the threshold and then throw her on the bed. Let’s go up until your full frontal, Jack, good?”

“Yep,” I reply, never one to question a director. Victoria has a real vision for Flames and I am going to see it through. Even if that vision includes a full shot of my—

“Reset!” At Victoria’s yell, Ginny and I take our positions and I pick her up again, willing my muscles to get over it. 

Someone yells Action! but I am already staring into Ginny’s eyes, both of us connecting to our characters instantly. We kiss, and I carry her into the flat and throw her on the bed. My biceps weep in gratitude as I undress her before moving to unbutton my shirt and trousers. I lock eyes with Ginny as I pull down my boxers and ignore the camera on the other side of the bed that is totally zoomed in on my hips. 

“Cut!” 

Somehow, Ginny and I are tucked into a small booth at a ritzy bar in London after wrapping for the day. It’s dimly lit with velvet everywhere, on the seats and adorning the tassled lamps, art deco cocktail glasses clinking warmly as patrons chat amongst themselves. The bar is fully stocked, with two bartenders who look like they’d call themselves liquid libationists if asked. It’s pretentious but I kind of like it. 

It feels nice to be dry after my perpetual waterboarding earlier. I was starting to feel like my entire body had gone soggy and no amount of Frances’ fresh towels were going to help. Now, my worn in jeans and boxy white tshirt (off duty actor uniform!) feel like silk in comparison to my waterlogged Flames wardrobe. Ginny met me in our hotel lobby wearing tight, dark jeans and a beaded tank top with heels that make her the same height as me before we cabbed here together. 

I take a swig of my Montezuma on ice and try to decide if I’m into Ginny or if it’s just the tequila warming me from the inside out. She swishes her second martini around in her glass and tells me about her agent’s newest scheme for catapulting her to fame. 

“Then, Walt tells them I’m an equestrian! When I showed up to the audition, it was just outside of the Cotswolds and they hauled me up on a bloody horse and asked me to canter. To canter!” 

Ginny laughs and the sound reminds me of her fake moans from our scene earlier. This laugh is genuine. Real. Those moans were fake. Something about filming blurred the line between her faking it because it was her job and made me feel as though she was faking it for my benefit instead. The idea of the latter makes my skin start to itch. For the first time since I met her, I think about what it would be like to have sex with Ginny Friedrich and make her show me what it looks like when she’s actually enjoying it. 

“I imagine you didn’t book the role?” I smile at her. 

“Er, no, Jack I did not book the role. I’m lucky I didn’t break anything when I fell right off!” She gives me a look like she thinks I’m an idiot, and that itch begins to turn into a burn. 

“Is that when you booked Flames?”

“Yeah, after that Walt was on the hunt for something else, and Flames came up and I booked it. He’s still stressed about a big break. Small time BBC flick isn’t exactly the gateway to fame.” She says this airily, like it’s not a big deal, but I understand what she’s getting at. 

We’re actors, we’re all striving for that constantly moving target called success. And when you have a team, an agent, publicist, and more, the pressure to succeed extends beyond just you. 

“Yeah, Delia is cutthroat too. It’s sort of nice to know she wants it as bad as I do, you know?” I look away for a moment, surprised by how emotional I’m getting.

“Well, you’re good Jack. I wouldn’t worry, Bridgerton will probably be knocking down your door next.” Ginny’s head tilts and her lips turn up into this cute pout that reminds me of kissing her on set. My tequila-aided horniness is starting to reach a point I can’t ignore. 

“Sorry for the nonsequitur, but what did you think about the scene today?” I try to give her what my mates joke is my “Felgate Smolder”, and when her pupils dilate I know it worked. 

Ginny looks away before answering, “You’re definitely packing more than I thought you were.” 

I can’t help but pause at her words. The very first conversation we had in our intimacy coaching meetings was about comments that would be inappropriate after we inevitably saw each other naked. Ginny and I have never crossed the line before but right now, all I want to do is grab her and step across. 

I pick up my tequila and drain it. 

“Is that so, Gin? Should I be offended?” I lean in a bit closer to her, hyper aware of her body language. 

When she leans toward me in return, my brain goes into overdrive. “All I meant is you exceeded my expectations, and I had big ones.”

Okay. I am going to have real sex with my Flames Flicker Eternal co-star, and I don’t care that it’s clichè. 

We flirt back and forth as I pay the tab and we make our way back to the hotel. At this point there’s a buzzing in my ears and this singular focus on Ginny and her reactions. 

I open the heavy glass door for her when we get to the hotel and the click of Ginny’s heels is muffled by the red carpet in the lobby. We bypass the desk with a polite nod at the man standing there, and I put my hand on her waist to pull her into the elevator. 

As soon as the doors close, a tense silence falls over us. Ginny looks up at me and opens her mouth to speak. 

“J–” I crush her lips to mine without waiting to hear what she has to say. This was building back at the bar and it feels so good to release all my pent up anticipation. I already know what her lips feel like, what she tastes like, but somehow it’s different. There’s intention behind it, in the way she grabs my waist, gasps into my mouth. Before it registers, I’ve hauled her up into my arms and she immediately straddles my hips. She kisses me while I walk us to door 831, my room. 

When I scan the key and walk across the threshold with her still in my arms, it dawns on me that we’re mirroring our Flames blocking. It actually gives me a sense of sick satisfaction to know I’m rewriting that memory with the real thing. 

My hands tighten on her thighs before I lay her down on the bed. When I pull back, I see she’s giving me a look that means she also noticed the similarity and is judging me for being a caveman. 

“Fine then, you can take your own clothes off this time.” I say with mock indignation, a smile breaking through without my consent. 

Ginny throws her head back on the white sheets and laughs, yanks off her heels, then starts shimmying out of her jeans. It takes me no time at all to strip down and join her in bed. 

When I go to kiss her again she stops me, leans close to my ear and whispers, “You want to see the real thing, don’t you?”

I didn’t think it was possible to be more turned on but I’ve had a lot of surprises today so what’s one more?

In the morning, Ginny and I will look at eachother and laugh. We’ll go to breakfast and decide what the hell? We may as well try being a real couple. 

Three months from now, we’ll decide we’re much better as friends and part amicably. 

A year from now, Walt and Delia will sit us down and “mansplain” PR relationships to convince us to use each other for more fame. Hell, a couple years from now I will even use my experience with Ginny to know when a woman is into me for real, and not because I’m a name or an actor. 

But right now, as Ginny pushes me against the bed and begins kissing down my chest, all I can think is that I am about to hear what Ginny Friedrich sounds like when she’s not acting.