Page 16 of Steamy on Set

I hear Errol laugh when I take another step and almost tip over. I barely regain my balance before I start leaning again.

“Why don’t you put a few down?”

“I’m fine.” If you put aside the ache in my arms and shake in my legs.

“You don’t look fine.” He appears in my line of sight, his full lips lifted in a smirk. In his dark eyes, I see a glimmer of amusement.

“Leave me alone.” My heels wobble under my feet, and I bite back the yelp that comes out at the panic of one of them snapping. Seeing the clear fear in my eyes, he lets out a sigh.

“Let me help you.” He goes to take some of the rolls off of me, and I spin away from him to the detriment of myself. I take five steps to the side, doing the cupid shuffle as the weight shifts me in one direction.

“I got this,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You literally don’t.”

“Well, I don’t needyourhelp.” I refuse to give him the satisfaction of him assisting me with my work. Not after he already thinks I’m bad at it. One of the rolls starts to slide off, and I end up doing a waltz to get it back into place. He sighs again and steps into my path, stopping me from moving.

“You are being ridiculous Farrah, let me help you.”

“No.”

“Farrah.”

“Leave me alone.”

Running a hand over his dreads, he shakes his head again.

“I don’t even know why I’m asking.”

I think he’s going to leave, but instead he steps forward and grabs three of the bundles from my hands. The relief washing over me is so instant, it extinguishes any of the anger that should arise at him ignoring my wishes.

“I can take those too if you want.”

He sounds concerned, and I hate that he is saving me right now.

“I got them.” I raise my chin. I should be thanking him, but instead I look at him like he’s to blame for my current situation.

He laughs and looks too amused, before turning around.

“Where to?” he asks.

“Storage.”

We move in silence, not even glancing at each other as we make our way to the room. It’s not until we get inside that I bother to look in his direction.

“Don’t you have something to say?” He puts the fabrics on a work table and crosses his arms. I nudge something against the door with my foot to keep it open, before walking past him and putting down my own load. Turning to face him I place my hands on my hips.

“Yes, I do actually.” Ready to start a fight, the words building on my tongue die when I see the door start to close.

“No!” I rush towards it, but it’s too late—it snaps into place. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” He moves closer to me.

“Shit.” Even though I know it won’t make a difference, I shake the handle trying to get it to turn.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“What are you doing?”

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