Page 49 of Wicked Temptations
The fight played out on screen to a chorus of gasps at every grab, every pin, every moment where the choreography blurred into something more real. The camera caught the instant before we’d separated, that breathless pause where we’d stared at each other like the rest of the world had stopped existing.
The chemistry was undeniable. Even I could see it.
“Your transition there is sloppy,” I said, mostly to break the silence. “You telegraph the reversal about three seconds before you commit to it.”
Jude’s head turned slightly. “You’re one to talk. You nearly ate shit on that spin.”
“I adjusted.”
“Barely.”
Parker let the video play, probably waiting to see if we’d keep sniping at each other, but something shifted. I watched myself recover from that near-slip, saw the way Jude had compensated without missing a beat, like we’d rehearsed it a hundred times instead of making it up on the fly.
“The crowd went insane for that part,” I observed.
“Because they thought you were about to break your neck.” But Jude’s tone lacked its usual edge. He leaned forward slightly, studying the screen. “The fog machine puddle. We both almost went down.”
“Yeah, I felt you slip too.” I had. God, I had. I’d been unsteady on my feet, but I’d seen his body jerk, his shoes skid, and my heart had leaped into my throat. I’d never reached for him so fast in my life. On screen, the way I grabbed his shoulder holster and spun him around looked intentional. The audience couldn’t have known it was us saving each other from wiping out in front of three hundred people.
“Made it work, though,” I said.
“We usually do.”
I caught the ghost of a smile on his face, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it.
The next clip showed the moment we’d stalked each other through Riley’s setup, that tense circular movement that had the crowd completely silent, waiting to see who’d strike first. I remembered the weight of Jude’s attention on me, the way my pulse had hammered in my throat.
A guest in the foreground of the video had their hand pressed to their mouth, eyes wide. Someone else was filming on their phone, trying to capture the same moment.
“They’re eating this up,” Parker said.
“Yeah, I can see that.” Jude’s voice was flat, giving nothing away, but I noticed his fingers tapping against his arm. Nervous energy, maybe. Or just restlessness.
Parker showed us several more clips, a lot that we’d both seen anyway. And the comments section that often made me blush and wonder what was wrong with people. But they weren’t all thirst traps, and some had people debating whether our fights were choreographed or real. There was speculation about our “backstory,” like we were characters in a movie instead of seasonal employees at a theme park. Someone had made a compilation video set to aggressive music that had racked up an absurd number of views, likes and reposts.
“Park management wants more of this,” Parker said. “Whatever you two are doing, it’s working.”
If only he knew.
I glanced at Jude, who was still staring at the screen with that blank expression of his. His jaw worked slightly, the only tell that he was processing this at all.
On the monitor, we watched ourselves fight again. This time I noticed other things. The way I tracked his movements even when I wasn’t supposed to be looking at him. The way he’d positioned himself between me and a group of drunk guests who’d gotten too close, subtle enough that it looked like coincidence but deliberate enough that I could see it now.
“Your footwork is better here,” Jude said, nodding at the screen.
“You gave me more room to work with.”
“Had to. You were about to clip that support beam.”
“I saw it.”
“Last second doesn’t count as seeing it.”
I bit back a smile. This felt nice. Comfortable, even. Talking shop, analyzing our performances like colleagues instead of whatever messy thing we’d been doing for the past week. No fighting, no sexual tension crackling between us, just two people who were apparently very good at their jobs watching footage and noting what worked and what didn’t.
Parker clicked to one more video, and this one made my chest tighten. It was the final fight sequence from tonight, the one where Jude had tackled me and pinned me and confessed he wanted everything. The audio was muffled, the crowd too loud to pick up what we’d actually said to each other, but the intensity was obvious. The camera had caught Jude’s expression in the strobe lights, something raw and desperate before the sequence timer had ended and I’d disappeared into the fog.
He looks wrecked.
