Chapter 6: Too Close for Comfort
534 Words
Lena had faced many challenges in her career—gruelling auditions, demanding directors, and more than a few late nights memorizing lines. But nothing had prepared her for the absolute torture of standing next to Noah Sinclair for a photoshoot.
"Alright, let's get some promotional shots for the movie posters," the photographer called, adjusting the lighting. "Noah, Lena—closer, please."
Lena reluctantly stepped forward. Noah, of course, took that as an invitation to slide his arm around her waist, pulling her in as if they were actually lovers.
Her entire body went rigid.
"Relax, rookie," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "You're supposed to like me."
She forced a smile, though her fingers twitched with the urge to elbow him. "That would be much easier if you weren't so—"
"So what?" His voice was low, amused.
She exhaled sharply. "Annoying. Smug. Infuriating."
"Charming?" he added, grinning.
Lena rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"Perfect!" the photographer called. "That tension is gold! Lean into it—Noah, tilt her chin up a little."
Noah obliged without hesitation, his fingers brushing her jaw. Lena swallowed hard, resisting the urge to flinch at the warmth of his touch.
It was unfair how easily he got under her skin.
"Alright," the photographer continued, flipping through the shots. "Now, let's do the romantic ones."
Lena's stomach flipped.
"Let's have you two forehead to forehead—soft, intimate. Like you can't breathe without each other."
Lena braced herself as Noah turned to face her fully. She had spent weeks preparing for on-screen chemistry with him, but this was different. No script. No lines. Just them.
Noah's hands rested gently on her waist, his touch featherlight, as if testing her reaction. His forehead pressed against hers, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
Lena forgot how to breathe.
The photographer clicked away, muttering praises about the intensity between them, but Lena barely heard it.
All she could focus on was the heat between them. The way Noah was looking at her now—serious, unreadable, like he wasn't acting at all.
Her pulse raced. Was it possible to hate someone and still be this affected by them?
Noah smirked, his breath ghosting over her lips. "Careful, rookie. You almost look like you're enjoying this."
Lena snapped out of it instantly, stepping back and forcing a tight-lipped smile.
"Dream on, Sinclair."
Noah chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself.
Lena turned to the photographer. "Are we done?"
"Almost! Just one more—Noah, kiss her forehead."
Lena's eyes widened. "Wait—"
But before she could protest, Noah's hand slid up to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as he dipped down and pressed the softest, most deliberate kiss to her forehead.
It was nothing. Just a simple kiss.
So why did it feel like her heart had just been set on fire?
"Perfect," the photographer announced. "That's a wrap!"
Lena exhaled shakily, stepping back like she had been burned. Noah just winked at her, completely unfazed.
"See you at rehearsal, rookie."
Lena watched him walk away, her heart pounding.
This was bad.
Very, very bad.
- Writer
