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EIGHT
brooke
Two weeks later.
“Could you be still? How am I supposed to get a good picture of you on this thing when you won'tbe still,” I fussed, looking from where my shot was framed on the screen to where Kyir was sitting, glaring at me.
He was over it.
“This shit should be done by now. Snap, snap, and it's over,” he complained, fully relaxing from the posed position he'd been in.
Semi-posed.
This wasn't a professional shoot, it was supposed to be a vacation pic, which he apparently “didn’t do”, but wehadto do it, so his lack of cooperation was getting on my damn nerves.
Especially when I’d found the perfect shot.
One where the sun was very much in the distance, but because of the camera's perspective, it looked like it was basically sitting on his shoulders. I was below him, on the damn ground, actually, angled in such a way that he took up most of the frame. He was supposed to be turned to get the magnificent lines of his profile, silhouetted by the light.
It was gonna be fire.
“Just a few more,” I told him. “I want it to be good.”
“It’s not supposed to begood,” Ky argued, “it's a picture for fuckin’ Instagram.”
I huffed, frustrated that he didn’t understand. “It’s thefirstpictureI'mtaking of you for Instagram. You know people are going to see it, notice how much better it is than all the other shitty candids on your feed, and speculate thatItook it. Because they know I'm your girlfriend, so it’s going to get judged, and it becomes part of how people view my work. It definitely has to be good because in a way… this picture is part of my portfolio.”
Damn.
Nowwhywould I think of that?
“Let me reframe the shot,” I said, popping up from where I’d been uncomfortably positioned on the ground, with the planks of the cabana digging into my back. Anything to get the shot.
As soon as I was up though, Kyir was too, locking an arm around my waist to keep me from getting away from him.
“Give me the phone, Brookie.”
“What phone?” I asked, confused for a second before I remembered.
Hisphone, that I was using for the picture.
I tightened my grip on it, trying to lean away from him. “Why do you want it back?”
“So I can post one of the perfectly fine shots you’ve already taken, and we can move on from this corny shit. You know I'm not a vacation pics type nigga.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God, really? I never would’ve known from the thirty-five times you’ve said it.”
“That mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I huffed. “Chloe’s team says we need to post a vacation pic today, so we need to do it. And it’s not corny because I don’t take corny pictures. If I can get it right, it’s gonna be tough as fuck.”
“It probably already is then,” he insisted. “Let me see what you have.”
“Uh… I have nothing.”
He frowned. “How do you have nothing?”
“Well…” I cringed. “They were all shitty, so… I deleted them.”
