It’s well dark when she pins me for the tenth time, arm across my chest, learning to follow my fall without adding unsafe force.
Her eyes catch mine. Somehow, that hasn’t happened yet; we’ve been so focused on the movements.
Even in the dim light, her eyes are electric, unsettling blue: a sky blazing with sun, the halo of a lightning flash, the iridescence of a butterfly’s wing.
Amidst our heavy panting, the pressure of her arm against my chest sends a deep calm rippling through me.
For the briefest moment, her breath over me is like a hot sea breeze, not just salt and ocean but something quiet and wild.
Andy’s voice jolts us back to our senses. “Well done. That’s a good place to stop for today. Your next assignment is a good night’s sleep.”
Christine stands, then holds down a hand to me.
I take it and let her pull me to my feet, if only in appreciation for her taking the task seriously.
A couple production assistants are still nearby to shut off the lights and close down the set, and Andy stays behind to help them, shooing me and Christine toward the end of the trailers where a car waits for us. I duck into the stunt team trailer to grab my bag, then rejoin Christine.
As we crunch over the gravel, she asks, “Excited to get into the rig tomorrow?”
“I won’t know until I get in there whether we’re going to have a love or hate relationship.”
“Hm.”
She’s quiet for a few paces.
I guess I can accept this peace offering—temporarily.
“You nervous?” I ask.
Her laugh is quick and condescending. “Of course not. Eh. How hard could it be?”
I immediately return to my scorched-earth mood. “You’ll find out,” I bite. I put it my headphones, catch up on the notifications on my phone, and ignore Christine for the rest of the ride.
Well,almostthe rest.
As I get out, I turn over my shoulder and say, “Have fun in your palace, princess.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
CHRISTINE
When I arriveat the gleaming, modern hotel gym at two AM, there’s a finance bro type finishing up.
On his way out, he flashes a smile and looks down at where I sit, adjusting my shoes.
“Jet lag, huh?”
“Yeah,” I reply, despite the fact that I’ve been here for over a month. Twenty-four-seven gym access might be the reason I haven’t tried harder to switch to a hotel closer to the rest of the crew.
I finish tying my shoes and stand to my full height—which reveals that I have a couple inches on this finance bro.
His flirtatious smile flattens, and he turns and leaves without another word.
Typical. I’d mop the floor with him, anyway.
The gym is better than my room, but it’s still so empty and quiet. I put headphones in and turn on a podcast so it doesn’tseem so lonely. At least the rowing machine and I have become good friends.
