Page 10 of The Singapore Stunt

“Bring it on.”

Chapter Seven

Kimberly

Mattias’ sidekick to my left leg causes me to lose my balance and fall flat onto the mat, the loud slap of my skin a common sound over the last five minutes. I smack away his hand when he offers to help me up.

We grapple on the center mat while working on a complicated punch, kick, punch combination that will punctuate a fight sequence at the Gardens by the Bay. He grunts for the tenth time. “Your balance is off.”

I push up on my hands and knees and blow a loose tendril of my hair from my face. Mattias towers over me, blocking the falling sun behind him. I’m dripping in sweat. The realization sweeps over me at the magnitude of the task in front of me.

“We got all night,” he grunts, and I fight the urge to sweep his legs and watch him tumble down to the mat.

I rise slowly and grit my teeth. “Again,” I shout a split second before throwing a right cross. He blocks it at my wrist, spins, and gives me a hip bump. It pushes me out of position. I’m too far away to perform the front kick. The hip bump is not part of the sequence. He’s added it to show how off-balance I am after throwing the punch. “Really?”

Mattias plants his hands on his hips and stares at me. “We can stop anytime you want.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I hear the frustration in my voice. I’m upset—but not at him. At myself. This sequence is probably the simplest of all the stunts I’ll need to execute here in Singapore. Yet I’m failing miserably.

“I’d like you to do it the right way. Or I can find a sequence you can do.”

I nod. Mattias is a hard-ass, and a large part of me appreciates this. This is what I wanted. What I needed. The last few years, my life has been like a dream. Back-to-back billion-dollar movies. Talk shows. Photo shoots. With acclaim came an unexpected side benefit. People kissing up to me. Telling me what they thought I wanted to hear. Hiding hard truths behind empty platitudes. I understand now why so many actors are insecure. They never know if what they are hearing is real.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, I wasn’t an overnight success, over a decade toiling in this industry, fighting for bit parts and being told I wasn’t worth anything. I learned to self-assess. And it’s this ability that clearly lets me know I’m missing the mark right now.

“Thanks,” I mutter in Mattias’ direction. Very few people are this direct with me these days.

For the first time since we’ve stepped on the mat, his determined gaze softens. “Can I show you something?” he asks with a gentleness I didn’t know he possessed. He steps into my personal space, his hands reaching out toward my hips. “Do you mind?”

I provide the consent he seeks.

“Throw the right cross in slow motion,” he says and adjusts my stance. I do as instructed. His powerful hands grab me around the waist. He twists them two inches back. “Hold it right there.” He’s slipped behind me, knees bent, our hips lining up next to each. His lips line up next to my ears. I feel the heat of his breath on my neck, and something in my stomach flips. We’ve been grappling for nearly an hour. We’ve punched at each other, kicked each other, and helped each other up from the mat dozens of times. I’ve felt his sweat on my skin, his breath on my neck. But for the first time, I take notice of his touch.

It’s gentle. He’s still being professional, but in my head, it feels intimate. It’s been too long since a man has touched me. I push away the distracting thought.

Mattias’ right hand releases my hip and finds its way to the front of my right shoulder. He applies pressure, forcing it to roll back until the back of my shoulder presses against him.

“When you throw the punch, keep your hips centered and this shoulder back. You don’t have to punch through as if you are in an actual fight. The angle of the camera will make it look as if you did.” I nod. I recall Ariana saying something similar on set back in LA. “Balance is the key. If you lose it, it throws off everything that comes after, including the rest of the team. Now, kick.”

I lean back, expecting him to step away, but he doesn’t. I press into his hard chest, his hand returning to my hip to steady me. I kick forward, and he matches my move, his foot landing just outside of mine. With his hands still on my hip, I don’t wait for his next command. I throw the final punch in the sequence. He mirrors my movement, his hands around my waist loosening, taking with him the heat.

“Again.”

I immediately toss out my right hand, mindful to keep my hips centered. I feel Mattias fading away from behind me. Kick, punch.

“Again.” The bark has faded from his command, an almost, dare I say, sound of respect filling it.

I repeat the sequence three more times, sweat dripping into my eyes but a smile finally on my face.

“Keep at it. I’m going to play your opponent.” Mattias steps in front of me as I’m throwing my cross. He blocks the punch at my wrist, but this time, I maintain my balance. He smacks both his hands to the center of his chest, giving me the target for the front kick. I hit him square, and he merely hangs his chin down, perfectly positioned for my punch. He rolls his neck like the professional he is and leaps into the air. His body spirals in the air, two full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spins before crashing to the mat.

My punch never touched him, yet I want to raise my hands in victory as if I’m the Hulk and have just smashed an entire army of villains. He lies silently on the mat, face up, arms stretched out to his side, in a chalk outline pose. I press one knee to the mat next to him. “Are you okay?” I whisper, fearful that he might have injured himself with his spin.

His right eye flicks open, staring up at me. “End… scene.” He slips both hands behind his head, interlocking them, and delivers a smile brighter than anything he’s shown to date. It’s brilliant, disarming, yet sexy. “I wish you could see your face right now.”

I smack at his arm. It’s like hitting a concrete wall. “I thought…”

“You’re not the only actor here.” He makes no move to rise, so I lower myself all the way to the mat. I cross my legs, ankle over ankle. “How did that feel?” His voice drips with compassion and concern. The way he asks, the intensity of his gaze, he’s not just asking about the physical execution of the move.

---