Chapter XI
XI
Levi
We’re mid-hand-to-hand combat when Francesca’s voice echoes across the soundstage. “More pankration, less boxing!”
Prior to this film, I would’ve guessed that pankration was a type of pastry, not an ancient martial art. Now we all know better.
“Levi, get lower so you can drag him down by the waist. That will help open up the shot.”
I take the note and plow into another stuntman, leading with my shoulder before wrapping my opposite arm around his trunk and pulling. We fall to the mat beneath us.
“Cut! That was much better, thank you. Colt, places!”
He takes his spot next to me. This is the first time we’re running a scene side by side, with one camera trained on Colt to capture up-close frames and another pulling wide to cover the fighting happening between Ares—me—and Odysseus, on behalf of Athena.
While we wait for Francesca to roll camera, Colt tells me my work looks sharp.
Then he catches my eye. “Did you see the girls earlier?” He means Ana and her double, who were also filming side-by-sides this morning.
And I did—it was a masterclass in working together to capture the exact emotional and physical mood Francesca wanted for the scene.
She seemed thrilled by how it was turning out in real time.
I was mesmerized watching Ana in her element. Powerful, intentional.
When each scene cut, she rallied the troops, grabbing bottles of water for her castmates from craft services and shouting words of encouragement.
She was also quick to throw an arm around my waist and lean her head against my shoulder when she found me there watching her.
It felt good to tuck her against me for a moment, to kiss the top of her head, before sending her back.
It seemed like every eye in the place was on us, or every eye but Colt’s.
“Oh, yeah. They did a great job,” I tell him, stretching out my lower back, stiff from all the crouching.
“Better than I expected,” Colt says. “I’ve never thought Ana was right for this role. Between you and me, I pushed to get her replaced.”
Pushed to get her replaced. “Yeah, that Hollywood Star rumor must have been . . . not great for you,” I say.
“No, before that.”
I start to ask him what he means when we hear, “Roll camera!” and it’s too late.
The day we met, Ana told me that Francesca was considering recasting her role to prevent more negative press.
But Colt trying to get Ana fired, wanting her gone?
That feels different. As Colt slips back into character, he clears his throat, like what he said was casual, but unease drips through me.
His words sit in my stomach, loaded and leaden.
When Francesca yells action, I channel every bit of my building discomfort into the poor guy working opposite me. My mind is a threshing drum trying to sort through my thoughts.
Maybe it’s ultimately the same thing, what he said versus what Ana told me.
Would I want to know if a coworker—not the director, but a peer—tried to undercut my career?
It’s possible Ana already knows this about Colt. She probably does. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
But what if she doesn’t know? Should I tell her?
If I do, she might go to Francesca to talk about it. It may get back to Colt.
I’d look like a snake. He could convince Francesca to choose someone else for the next film.
Maybe I’m overthinking the whole thing.
What a shitty fucking thing for him to do to her.
The thought of Colt trying to mess with Ana’s job flares in my chest, and the white-hot frustration comes out through my fists. It’s not until Francesca yells, “Cut, Levi. Cut. CUT!” that I realize the scene ended and I’m still slamming this poor guy into the floor.
“Shit, sorry! Sorry.”
Francesca raises her hands like she wants to shake me. “Go take a beat.”
When my anger finally burns off, what’s left is embarrassment. That, and awareness of something I can’t ignore: I feel protective of her. Whether or not I should.
The internal warning system I expect to go off, the one that should be telling me to slow down, instead says, Is it really so bad? It’s not bad to want the best for someone, a friend or a coworker.
Focus on what you can control. The phrase comes to mind in my dad’s voice, nagging and unwelcome.
He must’ve said it, and I must’ve heard it, fifteen thousand times growing up.
Though it kills me to admit—and I would never, not to him—it’s solid advice.
I can’t control what happens if I share Colt’s remark.
How Ana would respond. How Colt would react.
I can control doing excellent work on this film and showing up with Ana, both things I agreed to.
I can double down on what’s working and keep my attention there.
That feels safe for both Ana and me.
Though, if I’m honest, my feelings are starting to feel less safe by the day.
Three raps on Ana’s trailer door turn into eight before I finally hear a “Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s me—can I come in?”
She opens it up an inch, enough to peek an eye and one side of her face through. “I’m not dressed yet.”
“Even better.” I wink, and she knows it’s a joke—of course, it’s a joke—but the way she flushes isn’t.
“What I mean is I’m not in my next costume yet. I’m not naked, I have a robe on.”
“Perfect. Open up.”
She swings the door wide and sucks in a breath as I glide up the stairs and into her trailer. “OK, you’re naked.”
I’m not—I’m in costume, but the scene requires more, in the words of the wardrobe department, “glistening skin” than actual garments.
Bare chest. A lot of quad. I clear my throat.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, we’re about to reset, but I thought you .
. .” I stop before I say, should know what Colt said.
Because, no, dumbass. That’s not what I should say.
I’m focusing on what I can control. Instead, I manage, “I thought you’d like this idea I had.
” I’m fumbling, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
This is the first time we’ve been alone on set since filming started. It feels at least ten degrees warmer inside this trailer than it did outside. She crosses her arms over her chest before looking me up and down. “Actually, I have an idea for you too.”
“Oh yeah?” This is good, because my idea? I still need to come up with one.
“The photos of us kissing took off. Should we stage one in here? People love a BTS.”
“The . . . boyband?”
She raps a hand against my abs. “No, Farmer Jim, behind the scenes. B-T-S.”
“Farmer Jim? Really?”
“If the muck boots fit . . .” I notice the twist of her lips and the laugh caught in her throat.
“And what do you know about muck?” I reach over and toy with the soft terrycloth belt of her robe. It makes it too easy to tug her closer to me, and she comes willingly.
“Just that that’s where we’ll be stuck if people start to doubt that we’re dating. Are you in?”
“Whatever you want,” I answer, because I don’t trust myself to say yes without sounding overeager. Of course the answer is yes. I’ve been thinking about our kisses at the hospital, and the contented hmm that came from her throat, for days now.
She pulls me over to her couch and yanks me down to sit next to her.
She positions her phone in the center of a stand with a ring light.
Adjusting the height to capture us on the couch, she flips to the front camera and scoots left on the cushions with a tug for me to follow.
“How’s this?” She gestures to the two of us on the screen.
I laugh. “It’s a lot of my abs.”
“That’s half the point. We’ll do a video.
I’ll grab a still.” She leans forward to press record, and I realize we should’ve made a game plan, because now we’re just looking at each other.
I can’t stand the silence, and I hear myself say, “Game on,” as I bring a hand to her jaw and lean in.
I miss the chance to regret the words because her eyes flutter closed, her hand grips my forearm, and she brings her mouth to mine.
She starts with one, two, three light presses of her lips.
I can see us frame by frame in my mind, and it looks like a stage kiss.
It feels like a stage kiss. I move my hand to the back of her head and grip.
“I know you can do better than that,” I whisper into her mouth.
She leans away to catch my gaze, to watch my expression as she drops her hand from my arm and glides it up my thigh.
She doesn’t wait for me to respond before diving back into the kiss and pulling my bottom lip between hers.
The sudden pressure of her fingertips and the hot slide of her tongue against mine is more than I meant but exactly what I need.
My fingers thread through her hair and pull; my groan fills the space where her breath catches.
When she walks her hand over my hip to the exposed flesh of my stomach and runs her fingernails along the skin, my control snaps.
I bring a hand to her chest and push to lay her down, chasing her mouth as I hover over her.
She tightens an arm around my neck to keep me there.
Buzz.
The vibration of the text message feels as startling as a gong. Ana gasps and pulls back her arm; I sit up and shake out my shoulders. She scrambles to her feet and reties the belt of her robe before reaching for her phone.
“I guess we were out of frame for some of that,” I say. It’s stupid. She doesn’t want to talk about how not fake the moment became.
“Yeah. Pretty, uh, convincing though.” She takes a deep breath. “Good work.”
I run a hand through my hair. “You too.”
Awkwardness hangs in the air like fog. We’re back to staring at each other with no plan forward. It’s then I remember that I’m supposed to have a scheme myself.
“So um. My idea,” I start, and something thankfully materializes. “Since we’re off tomorrow and I need groceries—maybe you could come with me.”
“. . . To the store?” Her raised eyebrow says no but I continue anyway.
“Yeah. It’ll be fun. A normal couple activity, like a casual date.”
“Getting coffee is a casual date. Getting groceries is a chore. At best, an errand.”
I lean against a shallow counter and cross one ankle in front of the other. “An opportunity to show people we’re happy together, even doing something mundane.”
One side of her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth as she considers the idea. I keep my eyes on hers. She fiddles again with the belt of her robe.
“OK,” she agrees with a nod. I try to keep my grin from spreading too wide.
As I walk toward the trailer door, I tell her I’ll text her about logistics. I hop down the stairs, stop at the bottom, and turn back. “And Ana?”
“Yeah?” She’s leaning against the doorframe and peering down at me. She meets my eyes, and her face brightens.
“Anything can be a date with the right intentions.”
@anabarlow Happy.
@ashley_robb WOW WOW WOW yes girl get it!!
@erika17warren I thought this was Colt for a second @annie.warren
@annie.warren LMFAO
@starbucksandstardust Colt isn’t trashy enough to post something like this
@heykellyhey I didn’t know a 12 pack was a thing
@tiptops10 what exactly did you pray for @anabarlow
@gemma_kt I need THE EXACT WORDS
@tampabayby Oh you are RICH rich
@andy699669 is he available for weddings? Like as the groom? I’m married but we aren’t that serious
@healthnut148 happy for you, he seems nice
@allie_ccccat this bitch is back on her bullshit for attention @jojonewton
@jojonewton she’s got mine BARK BARK
@trish.john.murphy no one cares @anabarlow
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