“Mark my words, the MPAA will flag our film just because of that guy and his abnormally large tool,” Randall grumbled, not bothering to lower his voice. Thankfully, Noah was far enough away not to catch the remark, but several nearby crew members did, their stifled chuckles giving them away.

  Randall pinched the bridge of his nose. “Next time I make a movie like this, I’m asking my actors to get stark naked for the auditions. Fuck the SAG rules.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Nestor, the director of photography, replied calmly, adjusting the light meter hanging around his neck. “We’ll shoot the scene from multiple angles. Worst case, if the MPAA doesn’t agree to our appeal, we’ll just use the alternate take. For now, focus on what’s in front of you.”

  He nodded toward the two young actors, standing in the filtered sunlight. Despite their vulnerability, they appeared entirely at ease, bodies relaxed, skin catching the golden glow of the tropics, not a hint of self-consciousness between them.

  Randall sighed. He knew Nestor was right. There was no point complaining about things outside their control. Without another word, he made his way beside the camera and glanced through the monitor, zeroing in on his two stars. Then, with clipped authority, he called out, “Camera! Sound!”

  Normally, he’d have called for lights too, but the warm, dappled daylight pouring in through the trees did the job better than any artificial bulb ever could. The moment Randall’s voice echoed across the set, the atmosphere shifted. Laughter quieted, footsteps halted, and the chatter died. Everyone snapped to attention immediately.

  This was the first real scene of the shoot. Superstition or not, some believed that a clean, early take meant the rest of the production would go smoothly. Randall didn’t care much for omens, but if it kept the crew sharp, he wouldn’t argue.

  “And… action!”

  The scene came to life.

  Noah and Julie sat across from each other, their bare skin dusted with sand and sunlight, sharing a tropical fruit. Julie took the first bite, her expression coy as she passed the fruit to Noah. He bit into it slowly, his gaze never leaving her face. Their exchange continued. Bite, pass, bite, until it took on the rhythm of something almost intimate.

  From behind the monitor, Randall could feel the electricity building between them. Julie played the shy girl beautifully, her lips curled into a soft, innocent smile. But Noah? He was magnetic. His eyes followed her like a predator stalking prey: intense, hungry, and disturbingly convincing. Whether it was lust or something deeper, Randall couldn’t quite tell. But it was potent. Perfect for his film.

  For a moment, Randall wondered if the chemistry was real or if the two had fallen for each other when no one was looking. Whatever it was, it radiated off the screen.

  Noah leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Why don’t you kiss me?”

  As soon as the words left Noah’s mouth, Randal closed his eyes and groaned internally. The line itself wasn’t the issue; it was the way he said it. Flat. Lifeless. All the nuanced emotions Noah had built up through body language vanished in a second, as if a wooden statue had suddenly decided to speak.

  “Cut!” Randal called, sharp and immediate.

  The two teens turned to him, puzzled.

  “Noah, you’re doing great with the non-speaking part,” Randal explained, walking toward the camera with a hand raised in emphasis. “But you need to carry that same emotion into your lines. Your eyes are saying one thing, but your voice isn’t following through.”

  Noah gave a silent thumbs-up and turned back toward Julie, seemingly unfazed.

  “Action!”

  "Why don't you kiss me?"

  “Cut!”

  “Action!”

  “Cut!”

  “Action!”

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  “Cut!”

  Each retake fell flat. Noah's delivery didn’t improve, and Randal felt his patience thinning. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “It’s not good enough. Let’s run the whole scene as a rehearsal. Don’t worry about the performance being perfect, just feel your way through it.”

  He hesitated as he looked at his actors. Both were still fully exposed. Normally, he wouldn’t ask for a dry run under these circumstances, but he had little choice. They needed to break through whatever invisible wall was holding Noah back.

  Randal remembered the auditions. Noah had been electric, vulnerable, raw, and totally immersed. Where had that kid gone?

  If he had to guess, it was the camera. The pressure of a full crew. Maybe even the intimacy of the moment, or his nakedness. Whatever it was, Randal needed to sidestep it without breaking Noah’s confidence.

  He leaned toward Nestor and whispered, “Keep rolling. Let sound know, too, but make sure the actors believe we’re not filming.”

  Nestor caught on instantly. He strolled over to the sound team and the boom operator, murmuring low instructions.

  When he returned, Randal turned to the actors again. “The crew will stay in place so you’ve got a good reference for the scene, but we’re not shooting this time.”

  “Okay,” Noah replied casually, and something in him shifted. His shoulders dropped, his jaw loosened. That nervous tightness evaporated. He turned to Julie with a crooked grin. No, not a grin, a smirk. Teasing. Confident. The kind of look that didn’t need direction.

  “Kiss me,” he said, soft but assured.

  It wasn’t the exact line from the script, but it worked better. Seemed natural and intimate. More real.

  Julie, slipping into character as Emmeline, pulled back with a scrunched nose and a petulant huff. “But you’re all sticky,” she whined.

  “So what? Kiss me.” Noah raised an eyebrow, beckoning her closer with a tilt of his head.

  With exaggerated reluctance, Julie leaned in. Their lips met, tentative at first. Then Noah’s hand gently slid behind her neck, holding her in place. The kiss deepened. The crew watched in still silence as the scene blossomed into something raw and alive.

  Julie pulled back suddenly, breathless, and giggled. “Stop! I can’t breathe.”

  She gave Noah a playful shove in the chest, breaking the kiss and leaving them both smiling.

  “But I don’t want to stop,” Noah whispered mischievously, grinning as he pushed Julie gently backward into the sand.

  Still holding the fruit, he gave it a sudden, playful squeeze, sending a splash of juice across Julie’s cheeks and chin.

  Julie let out a surprised laugh, her face a picture of mock-outrage. “Ow! What are you doing, Richard?”

  Before she could wipe the juice away, Noah leaned in, trailing kisses along her sticky skin. His mouth followed the path of the juice, from her jaw to her neck, licking and kissing as Julie squirmed beneath him, giggling between feigned protests.

  The teasing gave way to a kiss, slow at first, their lips locked for five long seconds before parting slightly, their foreheads almost touching.

  Noah’s gaze searched hers. “I feel… something. I don’t know what exactly, but…” His voice trailed off, uncertain, but sincere.

  “Me too, Richard,” Julie replied, her voice soft.

  “My heart’s beating so fast,” he murmured.

  “Mine too.”

  (Censored)

  Randal exhaled slowly, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. This was the kind of shot that defined careers. The lighting, the chemistry, the raw emotion, everything was flawless. Hell, he could already see this very image splashed across theater posters, drawing audiences in with its aching intimacy.

  “Cut! Print! Check the gate!” Randal barked, the commands rapid and decisive. Then, turning to his actors, he added warmly, “Brilliant work, Noah, Julie. You two are going to set the screen on fire when this drops.”

  Noah blinked, his brow furrowing. “Wait, I thought we weren’t rolling?”

  Randal chuckled. “Do you really think I’d let a scene like that play out for this long if the cameras weren’t running?”

  Noah’s cheeks flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish laugh escaping him. Randal didn’t mind the question; inexperience bred curiosity, and curiosity bred growth. Moments like these were what shaped actors into artists, teaching them to read the unspoken rhythms of filmmaking.

  Julie, already shifting out of character, stretched her arms lightly. “Can I get dressed now, Randal?”

  “Of course,” he said with an approving nod. “That’s all we needed from you two today. We’re moving on to the younger cast’s scenes now, so you’re free to head back or stick around, it's your call.”

  I threw on the robe in record time, the one Ash handed me, silently thanking the universe that no one had brought up the, uh, situation below the belt. It hadn’t lasted the entire shoot, but it had lasted long enough during the more physical parts with Julie. She must’ve noticed. And now, I was dying of embarrassment.

  Shooting a sex scene, I realized, wasn’t even remotely as sexy as it looks on screen. The sheer number of people around you was a total mood killer, unless you were into men or had an exhibitionist streak. I was neither. And then there were the awkward instructions: “place your hand here,” “now lean forward,” “more passion”, all barked out in front of everyone. It was like being caught in a weird blend of theater and anatomy class.

  To make matters worse, what would eventually be a two-minute montage on screen had taken us over three hours to shoot.

  As soon as Julie had her robe on, I hurried over to her. “Julie, I’m really sorry about what happened earlier, at the start of the shoot.”

  She tilted her head, puzzled. “Sorry for what?”

  We stared at each other for a moment before her lips curved into a playful grin.

  “I’m kidding. I know exactly what you’re talking about.” She waved her hand as if brushing it off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. I’ll take it as a compliment. I must be really something if I had that effect on you.”

  I groaned softly. “Still. It’s embarrassing. I used to think I had more self-control.”

  “Aww,” she said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug. “You look so cute when you mumble like that. I want to keep you all to myself. Can I?”

  I laughed, feeling the tension drain from me, grateful for how easily she made things feel normal again.

  “You can,” I said with a grin, “but I’m a luxury item. Are you sure you can afford me?”

  “Hey, it’s the man who’s supposed to afford the woman,” she teased as she pulled back. “I’m old-school like that.”

  We shared another laugh before a brief, slightly awkward silence settled between us.

  “So,” I ventured, eager to shift the mood, “are you heading back to the residential area or sticking around to watch the rest of the shoot?”

  “I think I’ll rest for a bit,” she replied. “All that diving practice this morning wiped me out. So… if you don’t mind—”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  I watched her head back toward her temporary room, then turned my gaze back to the set. No one was paying me any attention anymore. The crew had already moved on, prepping the next setup with the younger actors and an older man I hadn’t met yet.

  For a moment, I debated leaving too. But something made me stay. I didn’t know much about filmmaking, and while I had no real ambition to become a director or anything like that, I figured there was no harm in soaking it all in. More knowledge was never bad, after all.

  As I stood there watching the crew coordinate the next scene, a realization hit me like a wave: I’d done it. I’d shot my first real scene in a feature film. Even if it earned me only fifteen minutes of fame, those minutes would exist. That feeling was surreal and incredibly satisfying.

  And then, a deeper truth hit me.

  I loved it. I fucking loved acting. More than modeling. More than swimming, even, given how easy swimming was for me. It was better than almost anything else I’d done. Challenging, sure, but I wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. The way people worked around me, helped me hit my marks, guided me, it fed something in me I hadn’t realized needed feeding. Maybe it was my ego. Or maybe it was just... purpose.

  I wanted to keep doing this, being fully aware that I couldn’t. At least not with the plans I had already made. I had Harvard. I had Olympics. I had a whole life already charted out.

  But still… the thought lingered.

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