{"id":78,"date":"2016-03-31T13:56:35","date_gmt":"2016-03-31T13:56:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/?page_id=78"},"modified":"2023-06-19T15:40:04","modified_gmt":"2023-06-19T15:40:04","slug":"anthologies","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/books\/anthologies\/","title":{"rendered":"Free Reads"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Unwrapped | Sloan & Lars<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\"MFW<\/figure>
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This short story originally appeared in the Midwest Fiction Writers’ anthology Love in the Land of Lakes<\/em><\/strong>. Fans of Kiss the Girl<\/strong><\/em><\/a> will recognize Sloan & Lars, whose journey to happily ever after definitely deserved a story of its own. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Scroll down to join them!<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Lake Superior, midnight<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan Leighton huddled deeper into the filthy rag that passed for wardrobe on a Lars Von Heller picture and wondered what had been so bad about being a movie star. Extravagant trailers? Personal chefs? Her own team of makeup artists? What exactly had she objected to? Maybe she\u2019d never won an Oscar, but hey, she\u2019d never frozen to death either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sat shivering on a damp slab of granite not ten feet from the moonlit gnash of Lake Superior\u2019s teeth and glared at the man responsible for her imminent hypothermia. For her ridiculous decision to abandon stardom for acting<\/em>, and at fifty years old, for heaven\u2019s sake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lars Von Heller\u2014legendary director and current pain in Sloan\u2019s numb ass\u2014only frowned and ordered yet another adjustment to the lighting for the next shot. She sent him a poisonous smile. He didn\u2019t notice. He never did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Typical, she thought bitterly. He was a serious director<\/em>, after all. And if the wrinkled shirttails and the haystack hair didn\u2019t give it away, there was always the fact that he\u2019d cheerfully allow his stars to die of exposure rather than film a night scene with improper lighting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAny idea on when we\u2019ll shoot, Lars?\u201d Sloan called sweetly. \u201cIf it\u2019s going to be another two hours, I\u2019ll go ahead and sell my soul for a cup of coffee and a pair of wool socks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re getting there. Christ.\u201d Lars strode past her without a glance, a muscular pair of headphones still covering one ear, a clipboard clenched under one stout arm. \u201cKeep your damn shirt on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I will.\u201d Sloan gave a tinkling laugh. \u201cYou haven\u2019t even bought me a drink. A girl has her standards.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ignored that\u2014ignoring Sloan was one of Lars\u2019 many talents\u2014and disappeared into the mouth of the mineshaft where they\u2019d shoot their next scene. The light crew scurried after him like he was Jesus on the mount and they didn\u2019t want to miss a word of the sermon. Sloan sighed. Had she really fallen in love with this man?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, yes. It beggared the imagination, but there it was. She, Sloan Leighton, the movie star of her generation (though not, it had to be noted, the talent,) had somehow fallen in love with Lars Von Heller, a short-tempered, thick-set auteur of a director who spoke to her exclusively in surly growls. When he spoke to her at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Love, she thought with grim amusement, was a mysterious thing. She had no idea how or even when it had happened. All she knew for certain was that if Lars ever caught the barest whiff of it, she\u2019d have to kill herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then again, what did it matter? She was probably going to freeze to death within the hour anyway. She glanced at her co-star lounging on the damp slab of rock next to her own. Not him, though. No, Justin Stone all but vibrated with youthful enthusiasm beside her, as impervious to the elements as a well-trained hunting dog. She didn\u2019t hate<\/em> him, she told herself. She hated his youth<\/em>. Surely that was it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He caught her glance and returned it with the soulful smolder that sold movie tickets by the bushel basket. \u201cSloan,\u201d he said, leaning in confidentially, \u201cyou have to tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell you what, darling?\u201d Were her lips blue? She bet they were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe secret.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf your success. I mean, you\u2019re fifty<\/em>.\u201d He grimaced sympathetically and Sloan decided she did <\/em>hate him. \u201cHappy birthday, by the way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d She managed a smile at that. \u201cIt was the happiest one I\u2019ve ever had.\u201d And it had been. A woman\u2019s only daughter didn\u2019t get married every day, after all. Nixie had been hesitant about getting married on Sloan\u2019s birthday\u2014her fiftieth, no less\u2014but Sloan had insisted. How else was a woman supposed to survive such a mortifying milestone? Sloan had wanted a distraction, and her darling daughter had provided, big time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMost women your age can\u2019t get a role to save their lives,\u201d Justin went on. \u201cBut you? You\u2019re still selling magazines and headlining movies. And for Lars Von Heller, no less.\u201d He spoke the name with a hushed reverence that strained Sloan\u2019s smile. \u201cSo you\u2019re clearly doing something different,\u201d he went on relentlessly. \u201cSomething right<\/em>.\u201d He leaned in as if he hadn\u2019t just insulted her with a smile on his handsome face. Probably didn\u2019t realize he had. Good smolder, Sloan thought. Not overly bright. \u201cAnd I want to know what it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, darling, I\u2019ll be frank.\u201d Great. I\u2019ll be Ernest<\/em>. She paused but the kid missed his line. \u201cMost of it is luck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLuck.\u201d He made the word a verbal eye roll.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s true. I was blessed with good bones and a decent figure.\u201d And the miraculous return of the girdle but, God, I miss wine.<\/em> She put her smile on the slow burn. \u201cBoth of which the camera loves.\u201d If I hand-pick the photographer and diva out over the lighting, anyway.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt sure does.\u201d Justin leaned in a touch farther, met her smolder halfway. God, this kid was exhausting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut mostly,\u201d she said, \u201cit\u2019s because I follow three simple rules.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He all but jumped into her lap. \u201cRules?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, darling. Rules.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd they are…?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She bit her lip and looked away, a reflexive bit of coy reluctance. Nothing good was ever free, and Sloan was better than good. She was amazing. Then Justin\u2019s gaze went from soulful to hot, and Sloan dropped the pretense with a horrified jolt. Oh, dear God, did he think she wanted him to kiss<\/em> her? She was an aging sex pot, yes, but she wasn\u2019t a desperate cougar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Which was evidently splitting hairs to Justin\u2019s way of thinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A greasy exhaustion lapped at her. Oh, screw it. She was just going to tell the kid the truth. Not that it would matter. Nobody listened when Sloan talked. The Cassandra Effect, her late husband Archer used to call it, after that poor Greek woman doomed to foretell the truth only to be disbelieved. But in Sloan\u2019s case, it was more distraction than disbelief. She could pony up a solution to unrest in the Middle East and people would only smile vaguely and keep staring at her boobs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everybody except Archer, who had been strangely and blessedly immune to her cleavage. And Lars, she thought sourly. Who appeared immune to both her cleavage and<\/em> her conversation. Which made her miss Archer that much more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because more even than the occasional glass of wine, she missed having a man in her life who talked <\/em>to her. Who listened when she<\/em> talked. And she hadn\u2019t had that since Archer. Losing him had put her soul into a twenty year deep freeze, one she hadn\u2019t even thought about fighting until she\u2019d realized how close she was to losing their girl, too. And Sloan, by God, had lost enough. She wasn\u2019t about to lose Nixie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Coming back to life had hurt but not as much as she\u2019d feared. Grief still sucker punched her at the odd moment here and there, but it was a bittersweet ache these days rather than the devastating slice she remembered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And sometimes\u2014like now\u2014it was just the warm glow of remembered love. Good old Archer. He\u2019d have enjoyed the hell out of this conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRule number one,\u201d Sloan said. \u201cNever mistake being lucky for being special.\u201d Justin nodded wisely. \u201cThis means being on time every day, having your lines cold and treating the crew like fellow human beings.\u201d The nodding slowed and Sloan could see she\u2019d have to be more specific. \u201cLearn their names, Justin. Ask about their families.\u201d She waved a hand. \u201cBring them cupcakes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCupcakes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTrust me. The ladies in makeup like their sugar.\u201d She aimed a finger at him. \u201cRule number two? Never screw your fans. Know what they want from you and give it to them.\u201d Even if what they want from you is a love life that would exhaust Elizabeth Taylor<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Justin opened his mouth and Sloan cut off the protest with a lifted hand. \u201cListen to mommy, darling. For every actor who played against type and won an Oscar, there are fifty others who can\u2019t get a used car commercial anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Justin shuddered and closed his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know, right?\u201d Sloan blew on her numb hands and delivered the biggie. \u201cAnd rule number three? Never fall in love on the set.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Justin stared, too shocked to smolder. Then he laughed. \u201cJesus, Sloan, you had me going for a minute there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan laughed, too. \u201cDid I?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve met, like, five of your husbands on movie sets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She lowered her eyes demurely. She did not look at the mineshaft. \u201cTrue enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019re playing a hag in this film. An actual witch. Which\u2014in case you hadn\u2019t noticed\u2014is way against type for Chat Magazine<\/em>\u2019s Most Beautiful Woman Alive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan grimaced and plucked at the filthy dress clinging limply to her thigh. \u201cI\u2019d noticed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd the wardrobe ladies think you\u2019re a whiner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I am. Justifiably. Look at what I\u2019m wearing.\u201d Sloan smiled winningly. \u201cBut I bring them cupcakes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A girl appeared at Justin\u2019s elbow. She had bad skin, colorless hair and a clipboard clutched to her big, fluffy parka. \u201cMr. Von Heller is ready for you guys,\u201d she announced breathlessly, her eyes skating away from Justin\u2019s smolder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you, Madison.\u201d Sloan envied her that parka with her whole soul. She cut a look at Justin and mouthed names<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re something else, Sloan.\u201d He pushed to his feet with an admiring chuckle and held out a hand. \u201cPeople warned me about you, you know. They said you were a man eater, a diva. They said you were dangerous. Nobody said you were funny.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan came to her feet with a toss of her trademark cinnamon curls. They slapped her cheek in a damp tangle. \u201cLaugh while you can, darling.\u201d She squared her shoulders and aimed herself at the mouth of the mineshaft. At the scene they were about to shoot. The one she was pretty certain would end in utter disaster. \u201cIt may be your last chance for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three hours later, Lars shouted \u201cCut!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes Sloan hated being right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He dragged off the headphones and shoved away from the camera. \u201cFuck it, Sloan, you\u2019re killing me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t I wish.\u201d She gave him a thin slice of a smile. He jammed big square hands into his hair until it stood up in tortured gray tufts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cListen to me, Sloan.\u201d He released his hair and pressed his palms together in front of his nose, as if praying. \u201cThis is very important.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m all ears,\u201d Sloan said. As was everybody else. Privacy was hard to come by when you crammed twelve people into a shoot the size of a walk-in closet. They were filming in a damn mineshaft, for heaven\u2019s sake, and two-thirds of the space was taken up by a freaky stone altar of ancient and unknown origins. Even if she wanted to have this conversation privately\u2014and God, did she ever\u2014there was no place to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then, of course, there was the Jesus factor. When Lars talked, people listened. Breathlessly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou,\u201d he said, \u201care an ugly old crone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, Lars. You say the sweetest things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ignored that. \u201cMr. Handsome over there\u2014\u201c he jabbed a thumb at Justin \u201c\u2014is the strapping young man who thinks you\u2019re nothing but a kooky old lady.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I believe I read something about that in the script.\u201d Sloan didn\u2019t smile. \u201cMy agent helped me with the bigger words but I got the gist of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lars ignored that, too. \u201cBut he\u2019s wrong about you. Dead wrong. Your magic is real, and your body\u2014your body<\/em>, Sloan\u2014is the channel. It\u2019s the portal, okay? It\u2019s the gateway through which all that dark magic flows.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know<\/em> that, Lars.\u201d And she did. Her body was the reason she\u2019d landed this job. It was the reason she landed any <\/em>job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. You know what? No.\u201d He rubbed both hands through the air between them, as if erasing an invisible blackboard. \u201cIt\u2019s not dark magic. It\u2019s earth<\/em> magic.\u201d A feral smile split his square, ruddy face, and those blue eyes glowed like fire. He eased toward her, oddly graceful for such a bulky man. His hands danced in the air like he was weaving a spell that would call forth the woman he was seeing inside his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, right<\/em>. This is why I fell in love with him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man was blunt, rude, stocky and plain. And he didn\u2019t think much of Sloan when he bothered to think about her at all. But when he started talking story? When he cracked open the treasure trove of his imagination and started painting word pictures? God. She was so cooked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEarth magic,\u201d he murmured again. Almost crooned it, really, his voice a rough, low drag across her nerves. \u201cNatural magic. It\u2019s fecund. Sexual. Miraculous. It\u2019s the first green shoots after a brutal, deadly winter. It\u2019s the ancients making love in their fields under an equinox moon, in the hopes that fertility will beget fertility. It\u2019s neither good nor bad. It just\u2014\u201c He clenched those hands into big fists and Sloan suffered a punishing spasm of lust. \u201c\u2014is<\/em>. It\u2019s life and what it costs.  Blood and violence, effort and sweat. Our ancestors knew that price and paid up, fair and square. But not us. No, we\u2019ve cut down, burned up and beaten back our wild places until we don\u2019t know what wild even is<\/em> anymore. And we think we\u2019ve won but we haven\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He narrowed the space between them further yet, until she could feel the buzz of his energy on her own skin. \u201cBecause it\u2019s inside us, Sloan.  Nature isn\u2019t out there, it\u2019s in here.\u201d He thumped his barrel chest. \u201cIt\u2019s in here<\/em>.\u201d He tapped a finger lightly against her breastbone and there was that spasm of lust again. God. \u201cIt\u2019s this insatiable drive<\/em>\u2014to eat, to fuck, to survive<\/em>\u2014buried down deep, right next to our infinite capacity for violence. Life and death, light and dark, hand in hand. That\u2019s the source of your power. That\u2019s<\/em> what you call forth with your blood and your body and your soul. You\u2019re the conduit for want itself, and young Justin here is powerless before it. Before you<\/em>.\u201d His voice dropped to a nearly subsonic growl that Sloan felt in her thighs, at the tips of her breasts. \u201cI want that kid on his knees<\/em>, Sloan. And I want you to put him there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She blinked once, twice, found her mouth open and dry. She jerked herself back to the moment and tossed an automatic smolder Justin\u2019s way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy specialty,\u201d she cooed. Justin didn\u2019t even notice. He was too busy worshipping at the Shrine of Lars. She had to sympathize.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFuck it, that\u2019s the problem<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan jumped at the sudden roar, and the vehemence behind it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want your goddamn specialty<\/em>.\u201d He turned his back on her, speared both hands into his wild hair again, and gripped his scalp hard. \u201cFuck your little winks and tricks and wiggles.\u201d He stalked to the far wall, spun back and glared. \u201cI don\u2019t want you to seduce<\/em> him, for Christ\u2019s sake. I want you to compel <\/em>him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her chest ached, and\u2014oh shit, shit, shit<\/em>\u2014tears threatened. Failure was a bitch, and Lars wasn\u2019t helping it go down any easier. \u201cI\u2019m trying!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, you\u2019re not! You\u2019re…you\u2019re…\u201d He paddled the air with those big hands. \u201cYou\u2019re vamping<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She felt her mouth drop open. \u201cVamping?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes!\u201d He narrowed those eyes and shot a finger her way. \u201cI need power and you\u2019re serving up fluff. I need sex and you\u2019re giving me a strip tease. I ordered the three-inch thick porterhouse and you\u2019re delivering a goddamn chicken nugget! Now what the hell<\/em> is the problem?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou.\u201d The word was out before she could stop it and horror jacked up her throat. But she didn\u2019t take it back. He was<\/em> her problem, one she couldn\u2019t work through or around, and it looked like she was finally going to tackle it. A perverse relief threaded through her horror. It would suck, but maybe afterwards she\u2019d be free. \u201cYou\u2019re the problem, Lars.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shut his mouth, for once stunned into silence. The entire set went still and breathless, and Lars just stared at her. Sloan\u2019s heart beat in her ears, in her palms, and a great gob of nervous laughter wedged itself in her throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he was in motion. It took only two of those impatient strides to cross the mineshaft, and the urge to flee replaced the laughter. But where would she go? Where could she hide from this<\/em>? From this man and all that he made her feel? From the piercing shame of doing her best for her beloved and coming up so laughably short?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nowhere. There was nowhere far enough, nowhere safe enough. So she stood her ground, shored up her smile and let him crowd her. He wasn\u2019t an overly tall man, for all that outsized presence of his. He barely had to bend to put his nose about four inches from hers. She managed not to draw back, not to retreat even an inch, though it took a supreme act of will. She simply let one brow rise, slowly, arrogantly. And if he thought she wasn\u2019t a good actress, he could go fuck himself because this was the performance of her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClear the set,\u201d Lars growled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClear it<\/em>!\u201d he roared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They cleared it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan let her smile slide toward mocking as she eyed the crew pelting for the door. \u201cDarling,\u201d she murmured. \u201cPeople will talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t do that.\u201d He didn\u2019t back away, and Sloan didn\u2019t breathe. \u201cDon\u2019t pull that shit on me. I\u2019m too old.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re fifty, Lars.\u201d Now the mockery was directed at herself. \u201cJust like me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExactly. Which means you\u2019re too old for that shit, too. That\u2019s what I\u2019m trying to tell you, Sloan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat I\u2019m old?\u201d She flicked back a curl with one delicate fingernail. \u201cLovely. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He ignored that and searched her face. Seriously searched<\/em> it, like he was looking for something and didn\u2019t know if he\u2019d find it. \u201cYou know,\u201d he mused, \u201cten years ago\u2014hell, maybe even five\u2014you could\u2019ve turned in this performance and everybody would have applauded.\u201d That curl drooped wetly onto her cheek again, and he poked it back himself with one impatient finger. The shock of his touch detonated in her palms and soles, then raced inward, and Sloan dredged up a desperate laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, maybe not applauded<\/em>…\u201d She dropped her eyes with mock modesty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lars only shook his head. \u201cThey wouldn\u2019t even have noticed anything wrong. You were too beautiful, like the sun or something. People went blind just from looking at you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan fought a burst of juvenile pleasure. He thought she was as beautiful as the sun! Or, wait, used to. She narrowed her eyes. \u201cWere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWere.\u201d He lifted one of those blocky hands again and she braced herself for the punch of adrenaline and desire his touch seemed to wring from her. With incongruous delicacy, he laid a single fingertip to the corner of her eye, and her lids fluttered shut completely without her permission. It trailed across her temple, that fingertip, then traced the parenthesis beside her mouth. \u201cNot so perfect anymore, Sloan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d It was both an admission and a liberation. She\u2019d given up perfection when she\u2019d chosen her daughter over her ice-cold grief. Real emotion took its toll on a woman\u2019s face. \u201cI\u2019m not.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd thank God for that,\u201d he said promptly. \u201cI\u2019ve been waiting thirty years for all that perfection to get out of the way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have?\u201d She blinked. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause I couldn\u2019t see past it. I couldn\u2019t see inside<\/em> it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She frowned. \u201cWhy would you want to?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo reasons. One, I\u2019m a man. And men\u2014real men\u2014when presented with a box wrapped in total smoking hotness, want to open the damn thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Untrue<\/em>. She hadn\u2019t been unwrapped since Archer. Nobody else had so much as picked at the tape. Not until now, anyway. Not until Lars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She forced herself to lift a cool brow. \u201cAnd two?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo, I have a movie to make. A fantastic movie. The movie of our generation, maybe. The one I\u2019ve been waiting my whole career\u2014and most of yours\u2014to make. One that requires everything\u2014and I mean everything<\/em>\u2014in your damn box.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A jolt of terror flooded her, but not surprise. Lars didn\u2019t do halvsies. Never had, and she knew it. She suspected she\u2019d taken this role for that very reason. Lars would force her to do what she was too cowardly to do alone\u2014turn in a genuine performance. Which meant taking a brutal inventory of her heart\u2014what was left of it, anyway\u2014and using the whole thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Which now seemed like a remarkably bad idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she managed. She knew she should pony up some excuse, something plausible and slick, but panic kicked like a mule in her chest and she was down to syllables. \u201cNo. I can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBullshit. You won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI won\u2019t, then.\u201d She sucked at the thin air\u2014cold, stingy, useless\u2014and pressed a fist to her banging heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause of me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t bother to deny it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d He shoved his hands into his pockets and glowered fiercely. \u201cI know I\u2019m not gentle or kind or anything but I\u2019m not cruel and I\u2019m not stupid. I\u2019d take care of you, Sloan. I\u2019d…take care.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, Lars.\u201d Her throat tried to close on a wave of pure, aching love and she sank down onto the altar behind her. It was warm and inviting under her, comforting. \u201cIt\u2019s not that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou want all<\/em> of me,\u201d she said helplessly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes. God, yes.\u201d He plunked down on the altar beside her, took her cold hands in his two hard, warm ones. \u201cEvery last shred.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I want to give it to you.\u201d Tears threatened and Sloan willed them back. \u201cI do. But\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you want me for your movie.\u201d She shrugged miserably. \u201cAnd I just want you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou want\u2014\u201c His voice cut out with an abruptness that would\u2019ve been comic in less pathetic circumstances.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2014you.\u201d She tried for a smile. He simply stared so she let it go. \u201cI want you.\u201d She swallowed with a dry click and soldiered on. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Lars. God, I am. I didn\u2019t mean for this to happen. I thought I could do this, you know? I\u2019ve been playing sexy for thirty years, and I\u2019m damn good at it. But you asked me for more than sexy. You asked me for truth, for power and courage. You asked me for true sexuality, complex and earthy and needful. You asked me to draw it all with my body and on my face. You asked me for something I thought I buried with Archer. Something I did<\/em> bury with Archer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sighed wearily. \u201cBut then you went and told me a damn story. You went and wove your magic tale and you waved your magic hands and I just…fell.\u201d The corner of her mouth tipped up wryly. \u201cWhat can I say? I\u2019m a story whore. You had me at once upon a time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOnce upon a time.\u201d  His face was still blank with shock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shrugged her assent. \u201cAnd now I can\u2019t separate your story from my truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA good story is<\/em> truth,\u201d he said. \u201cJust not your particular truth.\u201d Knee jerk<\/em>, she thought fondly, but he was coming around. Her confession had thrown him, sure, but nothing could knock Lars off script when it came to storytelling. Not for long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s my truth this time.\u201d She drew her hands from his slack ones and patted his knee. \u201cThat\u2019s<\/em> what\u2019s in my box, Lars. And that\u2019s why I\u2019m having a tough time getting emotionally naked enough for you. That\u2019s why I\u2019m quitting. You need a pro on this, and I\u2019m not\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you remember that first picture we did?\u201d he asked abruptly. \u201cYou, me and Archer? Must\u2019ve been, God, thirty years ago?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course I do.\u201d She frowned at him. \u201cArcher and I met on that movie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo did you and I.\u201d He gave her a crooked smile. \u201cI watched you and Archer fall in love on that film.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou and the whole world.\u201d She smiled back, and hers was crooked as well. But there was no pain in the memory. Only warmth and gratitude.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour work on that shoot was astonishing,\u201d Lars told her gruffly. \u201cTrue and vulnerable and completely unprotected. You slapped your soul<\/em> on the screen, Sloan. Everything in your box, and then some. Archer fell like a stone.\u201d He took her hands again. \u201cSo did I.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sloan\u2019s mouth dropped open. In her mind\u2019s eye, her lungs shriveled up like raisins. \u201cYou fell\u2014\u201d She stared helplessly, beyond words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2014in love,\u201d Lars finished. \u201cWith you. Yep. But Archer was luckier, better looking and quicker on the draw, plus any idiot could see you were crazy about him. Then there was the fact that I loved my wife. Still do, God rest her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou adored Emmy,\u201d Sloan managed. \u201cEverybody knew that. You\u2019ve never looked sideways at another woman, not even since she\u2019s been gone.\u201d She squeezed his hands. \u201cAnd I\u2019m so sorry she is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d He smiled briefly. \u201cI miss her. But it\u2019s not exactly true that I never looked. I definitely looked. I\u2019m a man, like any other.\u201d He shrugged. \u201cI just never touched.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat makes you unlike quite a lot of them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe so. All I know is that love\u2014real love\u2014is a rare and precious thing. But it\u2019s not easy and it\u2019s never simple. I felt what I felt, for her and for you. I just put what I\u2019d promised Emmy on the front burner, and what I felt for you on the back. It was easier after Archer died.\u201d His eyes came back to hers, and there was understanding in them. He knew her grief. Maybe he was the only one who did. \u201cBecause when he died, that light inside you, that incandescent courage, it went out. Went out forever, I thought, and God, I mourned. I mourned Archer\u2014I loved him, too\u2014but God help me, I mourned you more. Because him, we buried. You, we buried alive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t buried,\u201d she murmured. \u201cI was frozen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019ll work, too. But it wasn\u2019t as complete or as permanent as I originally thought. Because every now and then, I\u2019d see something. I don\u2019t know what, just something<\/em>.\u201d He pinned her with those eyes\u2014bright, hot, demanding\u2014and canted himself toward her. Leaned in until she felt the heat of his words on her own lips. \u201cAnd the older you got\u2014the older we both got\u2014the more often I\u2019d see it. At first I thought it was just age. Your dazzle fading enough for people to look straight at you for the first time in thirty years. Who the hell knows? But then I thought maybe<\/em>, you know?\u201d He gripped her hands hard, a little too hard, but Sloan didn\u2019t mind. Because, God almighty, they were trembling. His <\/em>hands were trembling. \u201cI thought, Jesus, maybe she\u2019s coming back to life. Maybe it\u2019s finally time to make my fucking movie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis movie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis movie.\u201d He slipped from the altar, put himself on his knees before her. Sloan\u2019s heart thundered, and now her hands shook, too. \u201cAnd this movie needs you.\u201d His voice was a long stretch of gravel road that she wanted to drive forever. \u201cIt needs your body, yeah, and that face of yours. Not because they\u2019re beautiful but because of the way your heart and your truth shine through them.\u201d He rested their joined hands on her knees and gazed up at her. \u201cBut more than that, I<\/em> need them. I need you, Sloan. I\u2019ve loved you for thirty years, I\u2019ve mourned you for twenty, and for the past five, I\u2019ve hoped for you. And now, tonight, I need you.\u201d He shook his head helplessly and she thought he\u2019s doing it right now. He\u2019s telling me a story. Our story<\/em>. Wonder and gratitude blew through her, scattered her words like leaves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI need you, Sloan. Not as a director, not for my movie, but just because I love you. I love your courage and your strength and your smart, sexy mouth. I love your crow\u2019s feet and your wrinkles and the way you don\u2019t take my shit. I love all of you, and I want you to give it to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Good old Lars.<\/em> So direct<\/em>. But joy blossomed inside her like a rare and precious flower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow and forever, Sloan. None of this \u2018let\u2019s fuck and see how it goes\u2019 business. We\u2019re too old for that shit. If we\u2019re going to do this, I want to do it right. You\u2019ll have to marry me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A delighted laugh gurgled out of her. \u201cSo romantic, Lars!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s me. Mr. Romance.\u201d He grimaced. \u201cYou want to answer the question, Sloan? My knees are killing me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor heaven\u2019s sake, then, get up.\u201d She watched him shove to his feet, then she slithered to hers like the sexpot she used to be. He frowned down at her, but Sloan could see past the bluster now. Could see all the way to the uncertainty and the hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said, \u201cWell?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stepped forward and pressed herself into his body with a languid deliberation that wrung an appreciative hiss from him. His hands\u2014those big, warm magic-makers\u2014slid tentatively around her hips and she suppressed her own hiss of pleasure. She wound her arms around neck, put the bow of her mouth right next to his ear and murmured, \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then his mouth was on hers, taking and giving and promising with all the straightforward energy she adored. And she was giving and taking and answering with all the wonder and love and hope in her heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Happily ever after, <\/em>she thought as the story unfolded petal by dazzling petal between them. Forever and ever and ever<\/em>. Amen.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Want to see Sloan in action & meet her daughter Nixie? <\/p>\n\n\n\n


Check out Kiss the Girl<\/em><\/strong>, available free & exclusively on KINDLE<\/a>. <\/a><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Unwrapped | Sloan & Lars This short story originally appeared in the Midwest Fiction Writers’ anthology Love in the Land of Lakes. Fans of Kiss the Girl will recognize Sloan & Lars, whose journey to happily ever after definitely deserved a story of its own. Scroll down to join them! Lake Superior, midnight Sloan Leighton…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":162,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-78","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/78","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=78"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/78\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":949,"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/78\/revisions\/949"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/162"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansey.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=78"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}