Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,25

stare at the creek, but I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. With that blond hair and sculpted body, he looked like he belonged in an REI catalogue. Well, except for those flip-flops. Beach shoes on a mountain? Come on.

I swiftly forgot my criticism when a breeze picked up and blew his hair around. He swept it out of his eyes.

My own eyes felt strained from the work of staring out of their corners.

I shook my head. What was I doing? Sure, Ben was definitely good-looking. But he was my coach. Plus, guys weren’t into me like that. There wasn’t a universe in which this older, super-hot guy was going to be into me. Especially not after this embarrassing afternoon.

Still . . . he had taken me alone to this very pretty spot. With flowers and trees and cliffs and a freaking water feature. He’d taken me to his spot.

I sighed. Making out with a hot older guy in a remote, gorgeous, secret nature spot was something that happened to other people. Hiking with a hot older guy to a remote, gorgeous, secret nature spot out of pity to make me feel better about my disastrous afternoon rehearsal was much more along the lines of something that happened to me.

So maybe I should make the most of it.

“You say ‘no’ a lot as a coach,” I said, still staring out at the creek.

“Well, today I did,” he said, “but again—it’s super normal early on.”

“Okay. But a lot of what you say seems . . . opposite of what I’ve been taught. And the opposite of Jane Lloyd’s book. I mean, she helped found this camp. ‘Make assumptions.’ ‘Trust your scene partner.’ ‘Say yes.’ ”

“Marcus says those rules are just there to help beginners,” he said, sitting up. “I’m trying to prepare you for the professional world. I’m taking away your safety net so you develop a heightened awareness. So you can be more aggressive. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be on fire.”

I rubbed the worry lines that had emerged on my forehead with my index finger.

“You want to get better, right, Ellie? You want to be as great as I know you can be? You want Saturday Night Live?”

I hesitated. How did he know that was my dream? Or was it just everyone’s dream around here?

Scooting closer to me, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. His scent—something spicy mixed with fresh air and clean sweat—overwhelmed my senses.

I inhaled him again. If this was what feeling sorry for me smelled like, then I’d take all the personal disasters, thank you.

We sat there for what felt like forever, his arm draped over my shoulder. It seemed much more intimate than a coach/performer gesture, but I had been me long enough to know better.

But then he said, “Turn around. I made you tense today. Let me loosen you up.”

I hesitated. Coaches give back rubs?

“Come on, Ellie. Relax.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a way that made me feel I was being ridiculous. “Give me those stiff improv shoulders.”

What was I going to do? If I refused, it might make him feel like I didn’t trust him, and improv is supposed to be about trust. So, I turned.

I groaned as he began working the knots in my shoulders.

“Holy—”

His laughter drowned out my cursing.

“Hey,” I managed. “Why do you keep calling me Ellie?”

He stopped rubbing my back.

“Oh, you can’t massage and talk? I pick massage,” I joked.

He laughed again. “I can do both.” He resumed his work on my lower back. I froze when he lifted the bottom of my shirt to access a spot near my spine. Seconds later, though, the warm pads of his fingers on my bare skin tripped something new in my nervous system, and silently, I urged him on. I became buried in the feeling of wanting his hand to touch me everywhere.

“Ellie suits you,” he murmured. “I like calling you Ellie.”

Before I could fully consider whether or not I liked him calling me Ellie, he placed his warm, open palm against my cool, bare lower back.

“Huh . . .” I managed, all of my focus on the skin his hand was massaging.

He exhaled. “You are . . . ,” he began, softly.

Suddenly, he climbed to his feet.

My body felt cold where he’d abandoned it.

“Time to head back,” he said loudly, fully breaking the spell of the moment.

I was incapable of speech the rest of the way