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“Yes,” she sputters. “When did you do that?”
How cute is it that she flushes a scarlet resembling her cherry lips? How cute is it that she is embarrassed to ask about my nipple piercings? “A few years back.”
“Oh. Huh. Well, I’m not sure how to compliment them,” she mumbles.
“The same way you compliment anything else.” I put on my best impression of her voice. “Hey, Gavin. Those nipple piercings are hot.” I bite my lip to resist laughing.
She smacks my chest, hard. “Shut up, asshole.”
“Ow. I think that’s going to leave a mark,” I tease.
“Shit! I’m sorry. Damnit. Now we’ll have to wait. Can’t have red handprints on your chest in the photos.” She places a finger over her lips. “Although, I could just Photoshop it out.” She shrugs, noncommittal.
“You’re the one running the show. If you want to take handprint photos, then that’s what we’ll do.”
She cocks her head to the side, a curious look about her. I may be able to still read her, but she has lost that finesse with me. I have had years to learn how to plaster on a different face. To pretend to be someone I am not. That is the thing with actors and models, we are taught how to be someone else. To be whoever the camera or customer is supposed to see. We live different lives and portray different personalities daily.
We are a façade.
“Since the light has shifted, let’s move over there.” She points over to a patch of seagrass. “Different light, different background, different reach.”
“You’re the boss.” In more ways than one.
Time becomes this nonexistent entity when I am near Cora. Hours pass as if time is a delusion. Tons of pictures get taken in various places along this stretch of the beach. As nervous as I originally was for this campaign, posing for the camera while Cora looks through the lens gives me an ease I haven’t felt in a long time. Being in her presence has never felt more right.
Like coming home. My home.
I help her and Erin put everything in their carts, hauling Cora’s to her car after. Everything gets unloaded into the cars and we wave goodbye to Erin as she drives away. Erin is a sweet girl—timid but a devoted friend to Cora. And for a time today, I forgot she was on the beach with us. Obviously, she assists Cora with her shoots, but most of the time she hangs on the sidelines, quiet.
After she drives out of the lot, I face Cora and my fingers brush against hers. Flickers spark from our minor touch and I feel compelled to touch her again. More. Trace my fingers along her forearm, her bicep, her collarbone. My eyes flit to her throat as she swallows hard. I finish the ascent, her eyes riveted to mine.
Our eyes have a silent standoff. Questions appear as quickly as they disappear.
“Have dinner with me,” I state.
Last time I asked, she said no. Now I want it more like a command, but not in a you must do this way. More of a just agree with me way. I want her to want to say yes.
The motion is subtle, but she shakes her head as she drops her chin and breaks eye contact. “I can’t. You know I can’t. It goes against the contract we’ve both signed.”
I stare down at my feet and hers, shaking my head. “Bullshit,” I mutter.
My irritation isn’t directed at her, more the situation. But I bet she takes it as the former. The last thing I am is upset with her. She has to know this. Right?
“You know we can’t,” she whispers, refusing to look at me.
But I need to see her eyes. Need to know what she is really thinking. Her eyes will tell me all the words her mouth refuses to speak.
Tucking a finger under her chin, I lift and bring her eyes back to mine. She has told me no twice, but her eyes tell another story. They speak of her hesitation and fear. Worried if she says yes that I will hurt her again. And I want to reassure her that will never happen again, but how can I? Words are useless. Especially with our past. Only my actions will supersede my words.
Plus, the evidence is stacked against us.
She lives here. I live thousands of miles across the country. Her life is here. My life is out west.
With reluctance, I lean in close to her ear and whisper, “True, but you don’t know how much I want to.”
And with that, I step back, drop my hand, and walk back to the hotel. To my empty hotel room. My soundless existence. My life without her.
Chapter Nine
