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“Oh, Ethan.” She touched my leg. “That’s very sweet of you, but I will get any appointment on my own. It’s something really important to me. I want to earn it by myself, not from you getting a favor from your cousin. No matter how well connected he is…and flirty. Jesus, that man is a flirt!”
“Don’t remind me. There were a few times I wanted to strangle him during lunch.”
“But it’s all just an act, Ethan. You must know that about him. He respects you and I can see the relationship you two have. Like brothers almost.”
“Yeah…Ivan’s good deep down. He’s just had some hard knocks lately which have jaded him.” Haven’t we all.
“Haven’t we all,” she said.
I grabbed her hand and held it on my lap in a sort of answer. Didn’t know what to say in response to that and knew we didn’t have far to drive.
I dearly wished the trip could have taken a lot longer though. The closer we got to her destination, the fouler my mood became. By the time I pulled up to the studio where she was working today and parked the damn car, I was a rabid mess. I felt irrationality sweep though my body and had to fight it off hard. My inner Mr. Hyde was having a field day with my inner Dr. Jekyll. Like kicking the good doctor’s noble arse to the curb and delivering sucker punches with glee.
“What are you shooting today?” I demanded. And please say there are some clothes involved.
“Ethan,” she warned. “We’ve been through this before. You can’t come in and you need to stop worrying. It’s just me and the photographer, and some time behind the camera lens. We’re all professionals doing our jobs.” She paused. “There is some lingerie involved…”
“Which photographer?” I asked.
“Marco Carvaletti. You met him before.”
“Oh, I remember the suave Italiano Mr. Carvaletti who likes to kiss you, very well, my darling.”
“You can stop
being an idiot now, Ethan,” she told me in no uncertain terms. “This is my job just like you have a job.”
I stared at her in the seat and wanted to tell her she couldn’t go in there and take off her clothes. I wanted to stand in the back of the room and watch everything Carvaletti did, every move he made, every suggestion he directed to her. I wanted to be there in case he tried to touch her or looked too close. I wanted to turn the car around and take her home. I wanted to fuck her up against the wall the moment we got inside again. I wanted to hear her pant out my name as she was coming. I wanted her to feel me inside her—to know it was me there and nobody else. I wanted so much.
And I couldn’t have any of those things. Nothing.
I had to kiss her goodbye and go back to my job. I had to tell her to text Neil when it was time for a pick up because I had an afternoon meeting and couldn’t come for her. I had to watch her go and wait until the door closed behind her and she was inside the building. I had to drive away and leave my girl inside that building.
I had to do it all.
And hated every bloody second of it.
?
I wasn’t in much of a better mood by the time I could leave the office. I rang Brynne and got voicemail. I left her a message and told her I’d bring the dinner because I know how tired she is after a photo shoot. Don’t think about the motherfucking photo shoot.
I wasn’t worried when she didn’t pick up, because I knew she was at home. Neil always checked in with me when he dropped her. I had hoped we could stay at my place tonight but Brynne wasn’t going for it. I’d asked and she’d balked. Said she needed her own bed for the night, plus she’d be over tomorrow for the family dinner we had planned. I tried to get her over with me every night but she was still elusive about relinquishing her independence. Brynne got annoyed with me if I interfered too much or tried to influence her choices.
Cue the nude modeling. You’re thinking about it again, asshole.
Damn, relationships are a lot of fucking work…like all the goddamn time.
So, being the brilliant sod that I am, I could weigh my options—my place with no Brynne vs. the package deal of Brynne and her tiny flat, and less privacy if Gabrielle was around.
Easy decision. Brynne won every time.
Hell, I was still fantasizing about another wall-shag and wondered if I might surprise her with one if the coast was clear when I got over there.
Where to pick up food? We liked a lot of different things. I would have brought lasagna from Bellisima’s but I immediately was reminded about Carvaletti being Italian and shot that idea right down to hell. That bastard saw her naked today.
Brynne loved Mexican, but it was far better when she made things from scratch than any restaurant in town. I really loved the South American influences on what she liked to make. I decided on Indian and rang in an order for some butter chicken, lamb curry and veggie salad. I was just leaving the restaurant with the food when I sent off a quick text: Almost there, baby. I got us Indian chicken and lamb.
I received something right back from her: Hi. Really tired and just want bed. Can I skip dinner 2nite?
