Page 109 of Felix

Christian simply hums. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

He disappears again, and I rinse my hair. I give my body a quick pass before turning off the water.

When I pull the curtain aside, Christian is standing there, still in his tutu, looking like a gorgeous wet dream, whereas I likely look like a drowned rat. I avoid eye contact as I pluck the towel from his hand and dry myself off in record time. Christian gives my arm a tug as soon as I’m done, and I let him pull me over to the mirrors. He plugs in a blow dryer and sets to work on my hair, fingers drifting through the strands as I clear the water off my glasses.

My eyes catch his once in the reflection, but I look quickly away.

As soon as the blow dryer shuts off, I grab my clothes and round the bank of lockers. I redress as Christian follows me.

“Specs.”

“We’re gonna be late,” I say, fixing my glasses as my heart does its best to drown everything else out.

“It’ll be fine,” he says calmly.

I shake my head, not wanting to get in trouble with Jerome but mostly not wanting to hear whatever it is Christian needs to say. I don’t want him to tell me he doesn’t feel the same. That it’s too much, too fast.

Why did I think it would be a good idea to date a coworker? How am I supposed to work with Christian if we break up? I can’t do…whatever this is before our scene.

I head for the door, and Christian makes a sound behind me. “Specs.”

I’m halfway down the hall when he catches up.

“Stop running,” he says, grabbing my arm. “Just…stop for a second.”

“Can’t,” I say, heading for Studio 3. “We have to get on set.”

“Jerome will understand if we’re a minute late,” he says, walking briskly beside me.

“I can’t do this,” I get out, my voice nearly breaking. “I just can’t, okay? Don’t make me do this right now, Christian. Please.”

He lets go of my arm, and I heave out a breath, opening the studio door. Christian follows me through without a word, and when Jerome catches sight of us, there’s relief on his face.

“Cutting it close, gentlemen,” our boss says, waving us on set. I hastily scoot onto the bed, my pulse racing, my stomach feeling hollow.

“Sorry,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair to straighten the strands.

“Holy shit,” I hear Marco say. “That skirt is sick.”

Christian huffs a laugh. “Thanks. Made it by special request.”

“You made that?” our boom operator says, sounding impressed. “Damn. Think you might be able to make one for my niece? She loves ballet.”

“Absolutely,” Christian replies, his weight settling beside me on the bed. I keep my head down. “I’d be happy to. Just let me know her size.”

“Awesome, thanks,” Marco says. “I’ll pay you, of course.”

“If we could,” Jerome says loudly. “We’re a minute out. Quiet on the set.”

The crew shuffles around us, getting into place. Christian’s hand brushes mine, but I keep my gaze resolutely on the bedspread near my knee.

“Emil,” he says softly.

I hum.

He puffs out a tiny breath. “Are you okay to do a scene today?”

“Of course,” I say quickly.

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