Page 76 of Colliding with Ten

“That looked incredible,” someone said behind the camera.

I grasped her shoulder to steady her on landing. “Are you okay?”

She bent the left leg up and down to shake off the pain. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Guys, she can’t do that again,” I said to the photographer.

“I’m fine,” Ayla said, grabbing my arm.

“You’re in pain. I can tell, and it’s fine. We can shoot around it.”

“I agree,” the photographer said, nodding.

They began rearranging the set. A stool appeared. The director gestured for Ayla to step onto it, lifting her higher for the frame. It was capturing a similar pose, but without her having to work for it.

“Alright,” she said, “same energy, but hold it. Lennox, keep the ball spinning. Ayla, full extension on that split. Let’s capture the beauty without the power. We’ll take out the stool in the final edits.”

She placed her hands on my shoulders, balancing as she extended her leg again, her body defying physics. The stool bridged the distance between us. Now her face was right next to mine.

The photographer shouted instructions about angles, but it was all static behind glass. All I could focus on was her breath warming my cheek and the slight tremor of her muscles through her palms. Our eyes met again. Our breaths synced, spilling charged air between us.

Ayla held the pose. The moment stretched thin, heat and attraction tangling. If I leaned forward an inch or two, her lips were parted for me to taste her. Then the shutter clicked, breaking the moment.

“Beautiful,” the photographer whispered. “And cut.”

Lights dimmed as the crew’s chatter and the usual noises returned. But she kept looking at me.

I got rid of the ball before circling my hands around her waist to lower her back to the ground. My fingers tingled against the warmth of her skin, and her abs trembled beneath from the strain of holding that pose. Her hands slid down from my shoulders to my chest as she balanced herself and her feet touched the floor. Her fingers lingered there, neither of us in a hurry to let the other go.

“Got you,” I murmured, voice low so only she could hear.

Her eyes lifted to mine with a smile.

“A girl could get used to that,” she whispered back. “Are you gonna make a habit of it?”

“It’s already becoming one.”

Every nerve in me lit up. When she stepped back, I felt the loss, like stepping out of sunlight into shade.

The director called out behind us. “That’s a wrap on the photo portion. We’ll set up for the interview segment in twenty.”

The crew scattered. Ayla took two steps toward the refreshment table, and on the third, her knee gave. She didn’t collapse, but it betrayed every reassurance she’d given all day. Her face contorted, and the smile slipped.

I was there before she finished gasping. One arm circled her waist, the other caught her shoulder. Her body hit mine. For the second time today, we were face to face with nothing between us.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Stop apologizing. I’ve got you.”

I eased her into the nearest chair. She pressed both hands against her knee, breathing through her teeth.

“It’s fine. It just hurts sometimes when⁠—”

“When you push too hard. Yeah, I noticed.”

She looked up at me, surprised, not knowing I’d been watching.

I scanned the room and motioned to an assistant. “Can I get ice for her knee?”