Page 27 of A Little Too Forward

SABRINA

Day one of shooting was a chaotic whirlwind. I loved every second of it.

Today was less of an action day and more of a touring and questioning day with his roommates/teammates, but that didn’t mean there weren’t moments of complete mayhem.

I got to the apartment on time—though according to a half-naked Max, I was ridiculously early, and he wasn’t ready—but the crew was late due to traffic.

The fucking traffic.

So because of that, setup took longer than expected, and we were a little rushed with the apartment tour. I was able to settle things down a bit when I did one-on-one interviews with Mason and Sidney, but Max was always just there, hanging around and watching.

It was silly of me to get annoyed by that. It was his documentary series, for crying out loud. Of course he was going to be around as we toured his apartment and talked to his teammates. But I guess I wasn’t prepared for the effect he would have on me for so long a period.

I’m a professional. A sports reporter who has been in a multitude of weird and wild situations. Being around physically fit and attractive men isn’t anything new. Looking at a bare chest and a hint of pectorals shouldn’t send my heart racing.

With Max, it does.

And I’m not a fan.

“And cut,” one of the techs calls out, snapping me out of my trance. Blinking, I realize I’ve been staring at a picture of Max on the wall. Spinning as fast as I can back in the direction of the crew, I notice everyone is packing up and moving on. For a split second, I don’t think anyone caught my moment of inattention…but I was wrong.

Across the room, leaning against the wall, is Max, smiling at me, looking stupidly good with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shaking my styled hair over my shoulder, I tilt my head up high and pretend like he’s not bothering me.

“See something you like?”

The haughty confidence I was aiming for as I walk past him falters and shrivels to death at his words. How the hell did he know what I was thinking? Did I say something out loud? Oh my God, no. He caught me at a moment of weakness. Shit, he can’t know I’m attracted to him.

“What?” I shout at him, still in a tailspin of panic.

His brow lifts. In amusement or confusion, I can’t tell because I’m still fixated on his lips. Pushing himself upright, he points to the wall. “The picture you were staring at.”

My shoulders relax, and I let out a breath of relief. “Oh. The picture. Yes. Fascinating.”

I know I’ve really fucked up when his lips twist into a full smile, and he laughs. The sound does things to my body I would rather not feel, let alone acknowledge. And his eyes…oh Jesus, they were hypnotizing the way they sparkled.

“You find a picture of my first magazine cover fascinating? Maybe you’re just talking about my magnificent six-pack.”

Chancing a glance over my shoulder, I scowl at the framed picture. He wasn’t bluffing. It is a shirtless picture of him, holding his hockey stick in a faceoff stance. His gaze is intense as he stares deep into the camera lens.

My brain scrambles for a comeback, a response, anything.

“Uh, it’s only fascinating in the fact that some editor thought having a prepubescent teen on the cover of their magazine was a good idea. I mean, yikes.” I try with everything I have to make my voice sound disgusted, but I know I’ve failed the minute the words leave my mouth. He knows I’m lying. There’s no hiding the fact that the man was and is ripped.

Even in his early twenties, when this picture was taken, he was in peak physical condition. Ten years have only added more appeal and definition.

If it’s even possible, Max’s smile grows even larger. My breathing shallows, waiting for him to call me out, but his timing is off.

“Hey, Sabrina. We need you over here to review the last take. We may need to rerun the intro with you.”

Elation and relief burst in my chest at the interruption. Giving Max a triumphant smile, I turn and walk toward production with a spring in my step. Saved by the bellow of a fellow crew member.

It’s quickly determined that I do need to redo my introduction to the apartment tour due to the lighting. At any other time, I’m sure I would have felt a little put out by the repetition of something I nailed the first time around, but with this redo, I’m thrilled. It takes about fifteen minutes to remark and reshoot the opening, just enough time to take us to the end of day one’s shooting.

And time enough to make Max leave the room and start preparing to leave.

The reprieve is a relief until one of the assistants waves goodbye to me and tells me to have fun on the road.

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