Page 76 of The Best Shot

Silence stretched, thick and electric. A single breath moved through the room.

His voice dropped. “What do you want from me, Yaz?”

My pulse kicked.

“Take off your pants.”

He didn’t move for half a second longer. Then his hands went to the string of his sweatpants.

He pulled it loose and let it drop.

I crossed the room and reached for my camera bag.

Hale watched me unzip it without a word, like this was new to him but he’d already decided to lean all the way in.

I took out the Nikon and checked the lens out of habit.

“Okay,” I said. “Lie back on the bed.”

He did. Slowly.

I spent a few minutes arranging things, pulled the sheet low across his hips as he settled, exposing the sharp cut where muscle met bone.

I moved his arm, bent it at the elbow to curl beneath his head. Then I angled the lamp so the light fell across him instead of straight down, smoothed one side of the white sheet and left the other deliberately rumpled.

I wanted the mess left in. That was part of him.

He didn’t stiffen or second-guess or make a joke to fill the space. He watched me with teasing eyes and let me move him however I wanted.

I shifted the lamp again, then his shoulder, then the sheet.

“Hold that,” I said.

He did.

And kept looking at me.

Not the camera.

Me.

It threw me off for a second, enough that I had to check my settings just to have something to do with my hands.

“You good?” he asked.

I didn’t look up. “Yup.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Just… give me a second.”

“Who’s bashful now, Yasmine Valentine?”

“I’m not bashful. You’re just very naked.”

His mouth curved, but he didn’t break the pose.

I stepped back, took a breath to steady myself, then found him through the lens.