Page 42 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“There’s no current.” But her fingers were still digging into his shoulders. She hadn’t pulled away.

“Must be my imagination.” He steadied her, hands light at her waist, giving her room to step back if she wanted.

She shoved him instead. Water exploded between them, catching the dying light in a thousand droplets.

“You’re insane.”

“Probably.” He grinned, salt water dripping from his jaw. “Feel better?”

She answered by slapping a wave directly into his face.

He wiped his eyes, slow and deliberate. The cove had gone quiet. Just the lap of water against rock and the distant cry of gulls. “Vale. That’s how it is.”

She was already moving, circling him with a look he’d never seen on Anneliese Morgan’s face, unguarded, almost reckless. Water swirled around her waist, catching the gold of the sinking sun. He lunged; she dodged, quicker than he expected.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said.

“I’m tolerating it.” But the grin that cracked through her scowl said otherwise.

He feinted left, watching her weight shift. She didn’t fall for it—and sent a wave crashing into his chest before he could recover. The wave hit his skin. Warm and startling.

“Beginner’s luck,” he sputtered.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Their laughter rang across the empty cove, tangling with the sound of the waves. The sun was sinking lower now, painting the water gold, and for a moment, Martin didn’t exist. Nothing existed except the way she looked at him, breathless, unguarded, real. Wet hair plastered to her cheeks. Eyes bright with something that looked like joy.

He moved faster this time. His hands found her waist before she could twist away. Warm skin beneath cool water. She grabbed his shoulders, both of them grinning, chests heaving. Droplets clung to her lashes.

“Caught you.”

“You got lucky.”

The laughter faded. The space between them shrank. She searched his face, uncertain. The water lapped gently at their ribs.

He swept her legs out before either of them could think too hard about it.

She came up gasping, salt water streaming down her face. She shoved at his chest, sputtering.

“You—you absolute⁠—”

“Careful.” He was grinning. “That’s a Temmy nominee you’re insulting.”

“I’m going to kill you.” But she was laughing, really laughing, and the sound undid him.

The laughter faded. They were still too close, her hands braced against his chest, his arms loosely circling her waist beneath the water. The setting sun turned her skin to gold.

“I keep waiting for someone to figure it out,” she said, almost to herself.

He went still. “Figure out what?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“Look at me.” She didn’t. “You’re not failing because you can’t act. You’re failing because you’re overthinking.” He closed the distance. “Martin’s in your head. You’re so worried about being perfect that you’re not letting yourself breathe.”

A tear escaped down her salt-stained cheek, mixing with the sea water.

“You’re not a bad actress,” he said. “You just need to stop fighting yourself.”