“Brooding is a good look, Zane, but I don’t think your fans will be too keen on a full-blown scowl,” Mindy, the camera girl, says.
“She’s right,” Cal says. “Scowling causes crow's feet.”
“I do not have crow's feet,” I tell him.
“Not that you can see,” he says.
“Zane,” Mindy says, and I look back at her again.
“I can’t see them because they’re not there,” I tell him.
“You’re scowling again,” Cal says.
“Because you’re talking again,” I snap.
“You know what?” Mindy says, putting her camera down. “Why don’t we take five?”
“I’m fine. I can keep going,” I say. “As long as he gets going…”
“I’m talking about me,” Mindy says. Then she grabs her phone and walks off.
“Thanks,” I say, peeling myself off the staged bed. I’m in nothing but briefs as I pad over to grab my water bottle. As strange as it is, Cal and I have had more conversations than I can count in our underwear. Well, I’m usually in my underwear. He’s usually in a firefighter uniform…half of it, anyway.
“Is there a reason you interrupted my shoot? I was hoping to be done before lunch,” I say.
“What’s wrong with taking a little break to talk to your best friend?” he asks.
“Well, some people think I’m getting old and fat so I can’t eat lunch until I finish the shoot,” I say, and Cal just laughs.
“Put some pants on. Let’s go for a walk,” he says. I glance over at Mindy, who is eating a candy bar and talking on her phone.
“Yeah, alright,” I sigh.
We make our way outside, and the sun hits us. Honestly, it’s kind of refreshing. I am so used to stage lighting that I sometimes forget about the big ball of light in the sky.
“So how’s things going with the new girl?” he asks, and I knew it was coming. As much as I am over talking about it, I also would like to vent to someone who will really listen. Despite sometimes being an asshole, Caleb is that person.
“Fine,” I say. “We have an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” he asks. “Okay, so hold up. Because I feel like I don’t know much outside of rumors right now.”
“Well, the rumors are true,” I say.
“You’re in deep with the girl in the photos,” he says, and I nod.
“Yep,” I answer.
“And the girl from the photos…is the camera creep,” he adds.
“She’s not a camera creep,” I lash back.
“Okay. Paparazzi girl. Sorry,” he says.
“Her name is Ashlyn,” I correct him, and Cal grins.
“Yeah. You’re in deep.”
“But Ashlyn isn’t the girl who took the photos…if that makes sense,” I add. “She was in my yard taking pictures, but I destroyed all of them. And she’s the girl in the photos of us, obviously. But she’s not the one who took the ones that are all over the internet.”
