I put a hand on my hip.
An amused smirk appeared on his lips. It sucked that he wore it well. So well that heat washed over my cheeks. “You guys work here every day?” I asked, breaking our weird staring competition.
“Pretty much.” He got up and walked around the table, brushing right past me as he reached for a guitar hanging on the wall. I caught a whiff of something spicy and masculine before taking my next breath through my mouth. I didn’t need his hot rock singer pheromones messing up my thoughts.
“Is Mason okay, by the way?” I asked. “He seems different.”
He plugged in the electric guitar and gave me a mildly curious look. “Different how?”
“Less talkative. A bit closed off.” If there was something going on with him beyond the shock of having me back in his life, it was probably good I found out sooner than later.
A few chords broke through the air. “He’s fine. He just figured out a while ago he doesn’t need to try to be a friend to everyone. Just people who are worth a damn.”
My spine went straight as a rod as a fist squeezed my heart. The implication was obvious. I didn’t belong to that group anymore.
I tried to hide the sting of his words and dropped my gaze to my camera. “I’m going to start taking some photos.”
“Suit yourself,” Kaz said.
This camera was way more advanced than the secondhand one I had sitting at my house. I’d played around with it a bit when I first got it yesterday, but it still took me a few minutes to get the settings right. It was dark down here, with only one overhead lamp illuminating the space. I’d have to try to get some additional lighting from work tomorrow.
Kaz was strumming a soft tune on the guitar, breaking away from it occasionally to jot something down in a notebook laying on the edge of the desk. I moved across the small space, stopping in front of the drum set and kneeling to get the perfect angle.
Kaz’s buzzcut highlighted his strong bone structure and sharp cheekbones. Begrudgingly, I had to admit he was hot, but in an utterly different way from Mason’s conventional good looks. Kaz had an edge to him, a hardness in his features that was as memorable as it was unapproachable. He was the kind of guy a lot of women loved to admire from afar but were too intimidated to talk to.
For once, I was grateful he’d been an asshole to me from day one. Otherwise, I may have actually noticed all these things and put him on a pedestal he most definitely didn’t deserve to be on.
I focused in on his face and snapped my first shot.
Kaz didn’t seem to care I was hovering a few feet away from him. If anything, it was as if I didn’t exist. That was fine by me. I didn’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t comfortable around the camera. How was I supposed to make him feel at ease when I was far from it? My camera was my only saving grace. Being on the other side of the lens always made me feel in my element.
The pictures were coming out well. He was photogenic, as handsome men with razor-sharp jawlines tended to be, and the light wasn’t as bad as I’d originally thought.
He stopped playing while I was scrolling through the photos. “You getting any good shots?”
“Some.”
“Can I see?” He extended his hand.
“Here, let me show you.” I squatted by his side.
He gazed at the screen in silence as I clicked through a few images. I needed him to like them. If he thought I was a shitty photographer and said so to Trinity, I was certain I’d be quickly replaced.
“What do you think?”
He didn’t say anything for a while. Resisting the urge to repeat my question, I handed him the camera. “You can scroll through the rest.”
After a while, he lifted his gaze back up to me, and there was a tentative smile on his face. “These are very good.”
A fluttering feeling filled my belly. “Really?”
“I’m actually impressed.” He stared at me intently. “You’re a great photographer.”
His unexpected compliment made heat spread across my cheeks. I stood up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks.”
Kaz kept his eyes on me as I moved back to my previous spot, and then he began to play again. Spurred on by his praise, I took a few more experimental shots, focusing on his fingers as they ran over the strings. He had big hands with long tattooed fingers. The tattoos looked like music notes.
We were interrupted by Mason’s return. He appeared in the basement with a few brown sandwich bags and handed me one. “I forgot to ask if you were hungry, but thought I’d get you something just in case.”
