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Enough, I tell myself.
But it’s never going to be enough. There’s too much desire, and it’s way too readily available.
It’s like any second I try to push it down, it rises up even fiercer, more determined than ever to make me do the unthinkable.
Go to Felix and tell him I can’t do this. I can’t arrange for him to photograph another woman.
It would eat me up too much inside and make me think nasty thoughts about how much I hate the models even if it’s clearly not their fault.
I sigh, shaking my head, pushing it all away. Doing my best to stuff it somewhere I don’t have to think about it, none of it.
Not Felix, our future, or what would happen if Lola had access to my thoughts, if only for a second.
I imagine what she’d do if she could peer inside my head and see the want flurrying through me, how betrayed she’d feel, how disgusted.
Focusing on the task directly in front of me, I tell myself nothing else matters.
But that’s a lie.
Even when I go through with this, arranging the models – and confirming the fact nothing romantic is ever going to happen with Felix and me – I won’t be able to stop. But I’ll just have to experience this silently, never voice it, the same way I have since my crush started.
I’ve got practice keeping my desires to myself.
A while later, I look up again.
Felix stands at the window, his stance wide, his shoulders squared. His expression is tight as he stares down at me, right at me, like nobody else ever has.
It’s like he’s debating running down here and grabbing me, pulling me close to his taut body and kissing me firmly, kissing me so hard I’ve got no choice but to sink into the heat.
And then, when I try to tell him, we should stop, try to remind him of Lola, he’ll make a noise like a lust-driven animal breaking free from his chains.
He’ll lift me off my feet, his strong hands on my ass, pressing against me as I shift up and down.
I’ll know what to do, how to please him, how to drive him crazy with desire.
I love you,he whispers in my mind, as the real Felix just stares and stares, giving me no sign of what he’s thinking.
Then he turns away, moving out of view, leaving me even more confused than I already was.
Looking down at the photos again, I look into the face of a young boy, his eyes haunted, mud smeared across his face as he stands in the foreground, and abandoned farmland rises in dull gray hills in the background.
I must be feeling over-freaking-emotional because a tear slides down my cheek.
Wiping it away, I get on with my work.
