SKYE

I step out of the makeup chair and am rushed over to wardrobe. The ladies hem and haw for a moment about finding something in my size before handing me a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a faux-leather top that fits like a T-shirt. They hurry me off to the dressing room and I sigh as the door closes.

What the hell am I doing?

My phone buzzes and I realize it's probably Greg's response to my awkward previous text message. It was something along the lines of: "Hey are you cool with me pretending to be Jackson's girlfriend for a music video? Model dropped out. Thnx."

Greg: LOL. Are you serious?

Not exactly the response I expected, but to be fair, I didn't really know what to expect.

Greg: They want you to be a model?

I roll my eyes. You can think that I'm not model material, but you aren't supposed to say it out loud.

Me: There's nobody else.

I slip the shirt over my shoulders and with a few hops and shimmies I manage to stuff my thighs into the jeans and button them up.

Greg: I guess so. I mean - it's acting right? You're not going to be naked or anything embarrassing, are you?

Me: Embarrassing?

Greg: I just don't want to have to explain it to my parents one day.

Well I might consider that a problem if your parents even knew I existed.

It's stupid to feel like this, but part of me wanted him to get jealous. I wanted to get an emotional reaction from him—something that showed he cared. Is that healthy? Almost certainly not. But I can't help it.

Me: It's a music video, not furry porn.

Greg: Do you have to kiss him?

Oh. I didn't even think about that. André didn't mention anything about kissing.

Me: Idk

I wait for a minute, tapping at the vanity with my fingernails. I have no idea what his response will be to that. Heck, I hardly know my own response. My phone buzzes and I jump slightly at the sound.

Greg: Ok. Have fun.

Well there goes my last excuse for not doing this.

*****

In the last hour, I have demolished a TV with a baseball bat, smashed three lamps against the wall, and taken a knife to a couch. It's been a bad day for living room furniture, but a good day for working out my stress.

I'm called off the set as they prep for the next shot and I sit down in a folding chair. All eyes in the room are suddenly drawn to the corner and I follow everyone's glances to Jacks walking in. He's wearing a half-tucked dark denim shirt with the top three buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His jeans are tightly fit and in a matching shade. It's the kind of look that most people could never pull off, but on Jacks it oozes sex appeal.

It's moments like these that I'm reminded of how inhuman he really is. He commands attention with everything from the sway of his walk to the deep hum of his voice. People can't help but stop and stare.

He scans the room and stops when he catches my eye, giving me a wave and walking over in my direction.

"You look..." he says as he takes in my outfit and makeup. "Wow. I like this on you."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry about uh... Dré roping you into this. I appreciate you taking one for the team today."

"It's okay. It's not like he had any control over the model showing up."

Jacks pinches his lips together slightly and almost looks like he's trying to hide a small smirk.

"Yeah," he says. "Of course."

"Jackson, we're ready for you," someone calls.

He gives me a small wave and makes his way to the set. The director guides him to the middle of the demolished model living room, looking straight at the camera. They talk for a moment before the director calls for quiet and a slow pop beat starts playing.

They didn't have music playing when they were filming me, though I'm not sure what the difference is.

Jacks's voice starts playing through the speakers as he lip-syncs the words. His eyes are soft as he looks into the camera with a surprising level of emotion. The preview screens show the camera slowly zooming toward him.

♫ I keep time by the sound of your heartbeat

It stands still every time that our eyes meet

Gravity is your voice on the phone

Calling me, pulling me home ♫

The music builds in tempo and with every line I'm overwhelmed by the sheer intensity.

♫ I break and I drown in your sea

You're the one, you're the thing that I need

I'm haunted

Cause I want it

And I know I'll never get enough ♫

I feel slightly uncomfortable and my stomach clenches.

Did he write this song for the same girl he took the photos for?

It's stupid to feel this way, but I still don't like the idea in my head of him with someone.

You're literally engaged, Skye. What the hell are you doing right now?

I walk away and head back into the dressing room and close the door. I just need a moment to clear my head and get it together. I was already confused about Greg and my feelings for Jacks. Now I'm letting these thoughts about Jacks cloud my mind and I'm starting to lose my sanity.

I am not dating Jackson Ford.

I am not ever going to date Jackson Ford.

I am literally engaged to someone else.

And yes, I am in the middle of a very specific situation where I will be pretending to be dating Jackson Ford. For a music video. But I should not allow that to confuse me.

I take a deep breath in and slowly let it out.

I pull out my phone and start browsing the internet so I can focus on anything except my current predicament. It manages to work for an hour or so until I'm called back to the set.

As I walk out, the director is already talking to Jacks and waves me over.

"Alright, you two," he says. "This part is probably the easiest of the whole day. We're going to have you basically move around the space, give each other sexy looks, have you run through some poses, then we'll call it a wrap. Sound good?"

I nod, unsure what else to say.

"Where do we start?" I ask, turning to Jacks.

"He'll give us instructions. Don't worry, I'll walk you through it."

"I guess you're a pro at these now, huh?"

"You could say that." He smiles wide, exaggerating the dimples in his cheeks.

"Alright, Skye—right? You stand on one side of the room, Jacks will be on the other. Walk toward each other slowly."

We get in position and the song starts playing, but at a lower volume than before. We start to walk toward each other. Most days, I would feel ridiculous doing something like this, but Jacks is looking at me like a cheetah stalking its prey and it's making other feelings bubble to the surface. When we reach each other, I pause for a moment, not sure what to do.

Do we start over? Are we supposed to walk into one another? That feels wrong.

Before I can think too hard, Jacks grabs my hand in his and jerks me toward him. My arms fly up to catch myself and my palms land on his chest as his hands grab my waist and tug me to him. Our foreheads are nearly touching and our eyes are locked, both of us nearly holding our breath.

My heartbeat thumps as if his touch set off fireworks inside my chest.

"Whoo!" the director cheers. "That was hot. I want that same thing again."

Again? I barely survived the first one.

Jacks releases his grip and we return to our starting positions. After a moment, we repeat the motion. Just as before, it is way too easy to fall into Jacks's arms. Every move he makes is smooth and effortless, like he's practiced it a dozen times. That's just who he is.

"Now this time," the director says, "we're just going to have you two sit in the center of the room. Sweep away any debris if you need to. Jacks, why don't you sit down first."

Jacks pushes away a few pieces of torn pillow and a ceramic shard before sitting.

"Now Skye, you straddle him with your knees on the ground."

Our heads both snap to the director at his request.

"I uh..." Jacks mumbles. "I don't know if that's too much. I don't want to make Skye uncomfortable."

"We're not going for overly sexy," he says. "This shot will be more sweet."

"Uh... okay," I say.

This is just acting.

I hover over him for a moment lowering myself so that my legs are at his sides.

"Now I want you to cuddle, talk amongst yourselves," the director says. "Jacks—hug her, touch her, just act like you're madly in love with her."

Jacks swallows hard and looks at me, his eyes wide and questioning.

"You're okay with this?" he asks. "Because if you're not, that's alright. We don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"It's fine," I say with a nod, trying desperately to ignore how much contact there is between our bodies right now.

The director starts the scene and the cameras begin to roll.

Jacks wraps his arms around me and nuzzles his face into my neck. I giggle at the sensation.

"That tickles!" I say.

"Are you ticklish, Buttercup?" he asks, pulling back with a devious smile.

"No."

It's a trap. There's no right answer to that question. No matter what you say, every person who has ever asked that question is about to tickle you.

He immediately starts to tickle my sides and I lean back in a fruitless attempt to escape. I squirm and giggle uncontrollably and the director urges us on. Jacks laughs as I try to wriggle out of his hold and his eyes catch mine for a moment. His hands scoop around my ribcage and pull me closer and he licks his lips.

What's happening right now?

I'm suddenly very aware of the bulge in his pants pressing up against me.

He pinches his lips shut and cringes. He turns to the director and leans away from me slightly.

"Uh, um... Stop, stop. Can we cut?"

"Cut!" the director shouts. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah I um... I need a minute." He moves me off of him and takes off for the dressing rooms like he's on fire.

What was that about?

The crew looks around at each other confused and a couple of minutes later Jacks returns.

"Sorry," he says to the director. "I uh... I injured my back last week and it uh... kinda seized up there for a second. I'm good now."

The director poses us for several more shots, sitting on the couch, dancing together. It's surprising how easy it is to get used to Jacks's touch. It feels natural. We continue for about an hour until we set up for the final shot.

I'm instructed to lean against the wall as Jackson leans into me with a hand on the wall over my shoulder, hovering with his face just inches from mine.

"Just give her those bedroom eyes like you've been doing," the director says, before instructing the cameras to roll.

Our eyes meet and he gives me a smirk, then leans in to whisper in my ear.

"This is awkward, isn't it?"

I giggle and he smiles, brushing a lock of hair from my face.

"Just a little," I whisper back.

"Now lean in as if you're about to kiss her, but you don't have to actually kiss," the Director says.

Jacks puts his hand around the back of my neck and leans in with his eyes almost closed. Our lips are just centimeters apart and he hovers.

The director stops us and Jacks steps back.

"Let's do one more of those, shall we?" he asks. "But this time I want you to talk for a moment, then lean in and almost kiss."

Jacks nods and returns to the same position as the shot starts again.

"I hope today hasn't been too miserable for you," Jacks says with a soft, unsure smile.

"Are you kidding? I got to break stuff and hang out with you. It was the worst."

I smirk and he scrunches his face.

"You're cold-hearted, you know that, Buttercup?" He brings his hand up and wraps it around the back of my neck.

"I'm joking. It was fun. I like pretending I could be a model."

"No pretending necessary. You're stunning."

I feel heat rush to my cheeks and I know I must be turning five shades of red right now.

"That's very nice of you to say."

"I'm not being nice—just honest."

"Now lean in for the almost-kiss," the director says.

He leans in and my eyelids instinctively close as he gets near. I can feel his warm breath against my lips followed by something I don't expect—his lips pressed to mine. His kiss is soft yet desperate, and I find my body melting into his.

He breaks away and steps back. His eyes seem to search my face for a reaction, but I'm stunned and completely frozen in place.

Jackson Ford just kissed me.

I did not see that one coming.

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