Page 43 of Resisting Isaac

One more time would never be enough.

The thought is so solid, I half-wonder if I said it out loud. And just like that, I know I’m completely and utterly fucked.

And not in the fun way.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

elena

Training camp gets more difficult during the fourth week. The days are long, my energy level is shit, but it’s more that the nights leave me tossing and turning. Wondering.

I tell myself I don’t care about Isaac Logan. We had our fun and that was that. I can act well enough to pretend I don’t know him any better than the other actors do. Every time he gives me an instruction, I nod, mutter something vaguely grateful, and keep my eyes low, fixed on the dust caking my boots.

But it doesn’t matter.

I can always feel him.

Isaac’s presence is a pressure against my skin. An itch I can’t scratch.

“You need to work on your dismount,” he says as I pass him.

I stop walking. Turn to face him. “Didn’t realize you were watching so closely.”

He pushes off the fence and shrugs one shoulder. “Hard not to. You’re… captivating.”

“Captivating? That’s a new one.”

His mouth twitches like he wants to grin but doesn’t quite let himself. But then he continues his advice.

“It’s a beautiful dismount. Same flourish as when you hopped off Hank after showing me what you were made of. But if you’re playing the role inspired by Ivy, my city girl sister-in-law who’d been on a horse all of one time at a child’s birthday party, your expert dismount might be a little much.”

I hadn’t thought about that. I was so busy showing him I knew my stuff, I lost the plot.

This isn’t about me or what I know. It’s about riding the way Ivy would.

It’s surprisingly good advice. “That’s a really good point actually,” I offer. “Thank you.”

He only nods. We stare at each other across a few feet of space that feels loaded with everything we’re not saying.

Like how my body still remembers the weight of his over mine.

How I haven’t stopped thinking about the way he kissed me like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

How his eyes look the exact same way now—like they’re holding secrets I’d beg to know, if I were stupid enough to ask.

“Seemed like you were avoiding me this week,” I say.

His gaze flicks over me—my face, my neck, the rise and fall of my chest beneath the skimpy tank top I wish I hadn’t worn because I can feel his eyes like hands. Hot. Heavy. Possessive.

“What do you want me to say, Elena?” he asks, voice low. “That I have to avoid you or I’m going to fuck this up for both of us? That not avoiding you will lead to a replay of the night I can’t get out of my head?”

My chest tightens. “Is that the truth?”

He steps closer. Not quite touching. Not even brushing. But I feel the heat of him all the same.

“Yeah,” he says. “And I’m not an actor so all I know how to do is tell the truth.”

I suck in a breath. “That can’t happen again.”