Page 67 of Reputation (Tempt)
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
Like it’s going to hurt later.
“I feel like that’s my line,” I teased. “I hope you didn’t push yourself too hard after being in the hospital.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s part of being an athlete—pushing your limits.”
She’d certainly pushed mine. Not just with today’s workouts, but generally. Whether Emerson realized it or not, ever since she’d started nannying for us, she’d pushed me to lighten up. To have more fun.
“I get that, but—” I didn’t know how to broach this subject, so I just went for it. “Do you think maybe you’ve found that limit? The doctors mentioned that whatever had caused the reaction may have been exacerbated by stress.”
“I—” I expected her to tell me to fuck off, but instead, she just let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
It couldn’t be the fake engagement because that hadn’t happened until after the attack. But still, I felt responsible.
“Does it have anything to do with your upcoming competition?”
“I…” She swallowed hard. “It’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t convinced.
“Emerson,” I growled. “Don’t bullshit me. Everything is not fine. You blew up like a balloon. I—” I swallowed, stopped myself. “Brooklyn was terrified.”Iwas terrified.
“I know. And I’m sorry, okay?”
“You don’t need to apologize. I just—” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’d hate to have something like that happen again.”
“So would I,” she said. “Hell, I got an annoying fake fiancé out of it. One who takes away my phone and loves to argue with me.”
I rested my elbows on my knees and leaned forward. “Our engagement might be fake,” I said, “but I do care about you. So, tell me. What’s going on?”
She moved to stand. “I’m sure you have better—more important—things to do.”
I had many things to do, but none of them seemed important. At least not compared to Emerson.
“Emerson. Sit down,” I commanded. She hovered midair, then sat. “Good. Now tell me what’s bothering you.”
She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” I said, hoping I hadn’t come across as too demanding. I knew I could only push her so far, but I wasn’t willing to give up easily.
“Do you ever get performance anxiety?” she finally asked.
“On set?”
“Yeah. Like when you know you guys only have a certain amount of time to shoot at a particular location. And you only get one chance, and it has to be perfect.”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s high stakes. Lots of money on the line. Lots of people relying on me.”
“Have you evernotgotten the shot?”
I screwed up my face, trying to think of an instance. But somehow, we always made it work. And if it didn’t work during filming, we fixed it in editing.
“That means no,” she said.
“No,” I said. “It’s just… It’s different. There are other ways to make it work, even when everything seems to be going wrong.”
She was quiet. Contemplative.