Page 64 of Resisting Isaac
Production made it clear to everyone that they were blocking intimate scenes this week and needed as much privacy as possible. But when they said they needed extra towels and blankets in the barn, I volunteered.
I tell myself I’ll leave them at the crew tent and walk away.
That was the plan. But there’s no one in the tent and then I hear it.
Elena’s laugh.
Not the polite kind. Not the forced actress one. The real one. The one that always hits me low in the gut, like a sucker punch because until this moment, I thought it was reserved for me.
I round the corner inside the barn and freeze.
There she is.
Standing barefoot in a mock outdoor shower rigged with fake steam and soft lighting, hair slicked back, body pressed against Eli James like they’ve done this before.
Which they probably have.
I know it’s fake. I know the script. Hell,I lived the script.Or had a front row seat to it anyway.
But none of that stops my blood from going molten.
Especially not when Eli leans in and grins at her like heknowsher. Like he’s been inside the private parts of her mind that I’ve only begun to crack.
Especially not when I hear him say, “You like that, sweet girl? Right there, is that the spot?”
I can’t see his hands. The makeshift shower stall is blocking my view.
My brain blanks after that.
And then I’m moving.
Before anyone can stop me, my fist collides with his jaw. Elena shrieks in surprise. Almost making a chicken sound of some sort.
Eli stumbles back, slamming into the fake stall wall, causing it to crash to the ground. Water sprays me but I don’t care. He glares at me, one hand to his face.
“Jesus,” he mutters, gripping his jaw. “The hell was that for?”
I attempt to cobble together a sentence about respecting women on this ranch while breathing heavily through my nose like a dragon. “It—I—you were?—”
“Is this about Willow,” he breaks in, looking as freaked out as I feel.
“Willow?” Now I’m confused. And my hand is throbbing like hell.
“What the actual fuck,Isaac?” Elena’s voice slices in, sharp and furious.
I turn back to look at her and notice Sophia the hen in her arms. The missing puzzle piece snaps into place in my mind.
Eli wasn’t fondling Elena. He was petting Sophia while Elena held her. She must’ve wandered onto the scene while they were blocking.
“If it’s not about Willow, you sure are mighty protective of your chickens,” Eli says, rubbing his jaw, somehow still managing a grin. “My bad, man.”
“Chickens,” I say stupidly, unable to accept how big of an ass I just made of myself.
I glance around at our audience but there’s only silence.
Awkward, stunned silence. Ivy and a few members of the film crew eye me warily as they scramble to fix the shower wall.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say to him, then swing my gaze to Elena because she’s looking eighty shades of pissed off in a black tube top bikini that makes my mouth go dry. “Hey.” I reach for her, but someone grabs my arm.
