We finish the scene and Sam steps back, hands on hips. “That was good,” he approves. “Good enough.”
Good enough for Sam is fantastic for me, and I can’t stop grinning. That was satisfying to do. I had such a rush, like being in total flow.
“The next scene you’re safe from dialogue.” He coughs. “We need to kiss.”
I rear back as if a cobra dropped down from the ceiling. “Sorry, I think I misheard.” A kiss was not on page 47 of the script.
“It’s a later scene,” he explains as if it’s the time continuity I’m stuck on. “We’ve both accepted we’re in love.”
“We need to kiss.” I cross my arms. “Tenderly? Passionately? With sweet regret?” I think I know the exact scene but I want it confirmed.
“Passionately.”
“I am not prepared for this.”
To my surprise, he bursts out laughing. “No one is, ever. It’s the most awkward thing in the world. I use about a bottle of mouthwash.”
Jesus, I hadn’t even thought about my breath. Another worry. “Do we have to?”
“Is it better to know I’m self-conscious as well?”
“Yes?” Not really, because he’s Sam fucking Yao and of course I want him desperate to kiss me but in private and because he wants to, not because of a script direction. “There’s no way to get out of this?”
“I’m sorry.” He sounds genuinely regretful. “I tried.”
I take a deep breath. This may be my last time helping them, so I might as well go out with a bang. “Okay.”
“We can practice.”
“Great.”
Either he doesn’t sense the sarcasm or decides to ignore it. He comes up to me and he’s so close.
Mouthwash. All I’ve had this morning is coffee. “Excuse me.” I duck under his arm and run to the bathroom where I proceed to eradicate most of the skin from my tongue and the top layer of enamel from my teeth. I even brush my inner cheeks.
“Better?” he asks when I come out.
“Yes.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” No.
He leans in again, one arm dropping down to my waist to bring me close as the other hand lifts my chin. Dazed by his face so close to mine, I overstep and promptly stomp on his foot.
“Ow!” He drops me and leans to grab his toes, knocking his forehead against my chin in the process.
“Sam, watch it!” I rub my face as he glares at me.
“That hurt,” he says.
“You came at me too fast. I was unprepared.”
“Did I or did I not say the words Are you ready?” He straightens up.
“You did,” I admit.
“You said you were. You said yes.”
“I thought I was!”
He looks at me, suddenly more serious. “If you truly don’t want to kiss me, I won’t force you. This is up to you.”
C’mon, Gracie. I rub my arms to ground myself while staring at his lips.
“I kiss Fangli like this almost every day onstage,” he offers. “Try thinking of it like kissing a mannequin.”
“That’s not helpful but thanks for trying.” A mannequin. That might work. I motion him forward.
The moment his face comes close to mine, I see the issue. Mannequins are not people with warm lips and eyes that flicker across your face to see how you’re reacting. I burst out with nervous giggles. “Sorry.”
Sam has the long-suffering expression of a man who simply wants to get to work. “I see the mannequin idea was a bust. Glad you find this funny. We have an hour.”
“Right.” I try to wipe the smile off my face but when he gets close again, I have to squish my lips together to try to physically stop the cackling.
This time, Sam doesn’t give me time to recover. He takes my face in his hands and covers my mouth with his.
There is no action he could have taken to make me stop laughing faster. One hand traces down to my neck, and then around the back of my head in that move that looks so sexy when I see it on the screen but in real life always felt like being trapped. Not with Sam. With Sam, it feels as good as I always thought it would, possessive but gentle. He’s claiming me.
How can you not respond when a man kisses you like that? I stop thinking that this is a character named Jimmy fake kissing a character named Lin for a fake scene for the marketing team because Sam is kissing me. Instead, I step in closer, my hands running up his arms. His muscles tense under my touch.