Page 44 of Love: Take Two

Three days.

The intimacy coordinator has been on set forthree full daysof filming. One day each for the scenes where both of the leads showed some skin, and a third for reshoots and a few risqué solo shots. I've never blushed so much in my life, or been more painfully aware of my self-imposed celibacy.

I understand the shots can be tricky. There are multiple angles and a thousand lights and sensitive mics that pick up everything from rustling clothes to a gaffer's sneeze, or a smothered giggle when someone stumbles upon a ticklish area. I know that once the edits are done, the color is corrected,and the score is mixed, these scenes will have me pulling the sheets up to my nose and hiding behind my hands. But right now? Right now I need a cold shower and to get away from the man I can't have but can't seem to shake.

Noah is engrossed in a call with someone from Majesty Films while Tabitha and Yong-rae talk next to the stage flat of Lucy's room. They're standing way too close for work colleagues, and when Yong-rae leans in to whisper something to Tabitha, she laughs like she's smitten. She might very well be.

Each time Lucy and Dean bared themselves to each other, I watched Tabitha's hard-won professional boundaries weaken. With each take, she and Yong-rae pushed the realism of their on-screen intimacy further, kissed deeper, took longer to disengage. Noah noticed it too; I think he even warned Yong-rae after the second day. But clearly, it changed nothing.

On-set romances are about as cliché as roses on Valentine's Day; unfortunately, they tend to be equally short-lived. I just hope Tabitha knows what she's doing.

"I'll be back in time for the afternoon filming," I call out to Rory. I get a nod in response before she taps the shoulder of a passing PA and gestures to a few unsecured cables on the ground. She runs a tight ship, and even though being exiled to the video village makes me feel like a rookie lawyer again, I can appreciate all the moving parts she has to manage.

I glance at my watch and curse; if I want to be on time for my lunch with Noah's colleague, Camila, my driver may need to run a few lights.

"So let me get this straight," I start, my voice coming out louder than expected after the second glass of Chardonnay. "You're Rory's sister?"

"Uh huh," Camila nods.

"You work with Noah?" I ask.

"Uh huh," she nods, smiling wide now.

"And you're about to be his sister-in-law?"

"You got it," Camila says with a laugh. I sit back in my seat and murmur a thanks when the waiter clears my empty plate.

That means Rory isalsogoing to be his sister-in-law. I grimace inwardly. Here I was thinking he invited her along with us for drinks to increase his chances of getting lucky. They have a way better rapport than we do, after all. Now I know he was just trying to be a good brother.

Tant pis. Getting the wrong idea about Noah is practically a hobby at this point.

"Wow. I know this industry can be incestuous, but that might be a record."

She drops her head into her hands briefly, then looks back up at me, chagrined.

"I know," she almost wails, drawing out the last word.

Maybe we'vebothhad a little too much to drink. I can't help that she's so easy to talk to. And it's not like I have any friends to speak of; my schedule barely allows time forsleep.

"But I promise I'm actually a lawyer. I'm not some glorified intern who got the job because my future brother-in-law works there. His brother and I weren't even engaged when I interviewed."

I sober at her statement, my expression turning serious.

"I don't doubt your credentials, Camila. I looked you up before we met and saw you worked several years as a paralegal at Bannister, Banks, Smith & Park. That's impressive all on its own. But when I realized you were going to law schoolat the same time? No one would put themselves through that unless they were really passionate about becoming a lawyer."

She preens slightly under my praise. She should be proud. Syracuse might not be in the same tier as Columbia Law, but they don't just give out law degrees either. I suspect this will be the first of many lunches together, assuming she wants to.

God, I hope she wants to!I'm so tired of spending every lunch eating at my desk or at a fancy restaurant with a client where I have to be "on" the whole time. Does anyone besides my parents evenknowme? Do myparentseven know me?

"It's not like you don't have your own connections on set," she says with a wink. My good feeling evaporates immediately. What does that mean?

"What do you mean exactly?" I ask aloud, dreading the question while simultaneously knowing the answer. But he wouldn't…He wouldn't tell her, would he?

"Noah told meallabout how you two met in college," she answers, confirming my fears with a suggestive wag of her eyebrows.

And this is exactly why I don't have close relationships. If you let someone get close, they can hurt you. Embarrass you. Lie to you. It's why, after Noah, I kept my relationships superficial. It worked for him. It worked for Angie on "Harlem" and Samantha on "Sex and the City". Why not me?

Years and several failed situationships later, and I found my answer: I'm not Samantha. I'm not even Carrie. I'm the workaholic of Miranda mixed with Charlotte's proper demeanor and need for romantic commitment. Despite falling for almost every man I went to bed with and putting my all into building something together, my feelings were never returned. So I decided no sex was better than sex with a side of heartbreak. That was almost a year and a half ago.