Page 29 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“At least I maintain more than just my body.” She caught herself, channeling Anneliese. “When’s the last time you read something without pictures?”

He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell water and salt on his skin. “I read scripts. I read people.” His voice dropped. “I read you.”

A sharp clap cut through the air. Jax, the stunt coordinator, stood at the edge of the mat, expression as animated as concrete. “If you two are done with whatever this is,” he said, gesturing between them, “we have a fight sequence to block. Unless you’d prefer to keep verbally fondling each other all morning.”

Erika’s cheeks burned as Jax circled them on the practice mat.

“Right hook,” he demonstrated with a quick jab that stopped inches from Stefan’s jaw. “Block. Grab. Twist. Bear hug from behind. Then—” he dropped his center of gravity suddenly “—weight shift and flip. Questions?”

Erika gave a short, tight shake of her head, aware of how close Stefan stood, his chest rising and falling in an irritatingly steady rhythm.

The first attempt, her knuckles brushed his stubbled jaw when he blocked too late. The second, his fingers circled her wrist, lingering a half-second too long. She catalogued the calluses on his palm—not actor-soft, rougher than expected.

“Again,” Jax barked.

By the third run, her brain had abandoned all choreography. All she registered was the press of his chest against her back, the band of muscle tightening around her waist, his palm hot against her skin. Focus, damn it. This is a fight scene, not a romance novel.

On the fourth run, Jax exhaled like a man who’d spent decades watching beautiful people pretend to hit each other. “Adorable. Really. Now do it like you’re not auditioning for a perfume commercial. At speed.”

The air changed. Stefan lunged—no hesitation—his fingers digging into her wrist just shy of bruising. The sudden sting punched the breath out of her. His pupils blew wide.

“Too slow,” he murmured.

She twisted under his arm, using her whole body weight, feeling the burn across her shoulder. “Too predictable,” she hissed, ripping her arm free with enough force that his fingertips left white marks that bloomed pink.

He recovered instantly, spinning behind her. His arms locked around her rib cage, crushing the air from her lungs. Her back collided with his chest. “Got you,” he whispered. “Nowhere to run.”

“That’s what you think,” she grunted as she coiled her muscles for the counter-move. She dropped her weight, twisted—and felt her foot slip on the mat. For one lurching second, they both teetered. Stefan’s arms tightened, hauling her upright before they could fall.

“Careful, Princesa,” he breathed against her ear, steadying her. “Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty face.”

Princesa. The word ignited a heat low in her belly, which made no sense. She was supposed to despise him. So why did her body keep forgetting?

She shoved out of his grip, breath ragged. “I had it.”

His smirk said otherwise.

Jax didn’t even blink. “Touching. Now do it without the trust fall.”

She wrenched free, but his fingers caught her wrist.

“Finally waking up?” He leaned closer.

“Just matching your ego,” she shot back, pushing him away.

He slipped behind her, pinning her against him. “Easy.” His voice was a vibration she felt more than heard. “Your claws are showing.”

“Once more,” Jax said, tapping his watch. “And this time, convince me you actually want to kill each other.”

She ducked under his arm, dropping her center of gravity like a stone. Too fast. Too sharp. His foot slid across the mat.

“Shit—” he growled.

They were falling. For real this time.

“Stefan!” The name tore from her throat before she could stop it.

They crashed onto the mat, the impact rattling her teeth. Stefan’s full weight pinned her, his chest crushing against hers with each ragged breath. The world condensed to pressure points: his hipbones against her stomach, his forearms caging her shoulders, their noses nearly touching.