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The sound of his own laugh, louder and deeper and richer than theirs, wouldn’t get old either.
Too quickly, the shoot comes to an end. The children are swept away to change out of their expensive frocks, and Tyler packs his camera away with a solid promise to email the best photos over once he’s edited them.
He zips up his camera bag and walks over to me. After a quick look around to make sure the studio is kid-free, he touches his lips to mine.
“See? I told you you’d love it.”
I smile and link my fingers through his. “I did. So freakin’ adorable.”
“I try.” He winks, laughing when I raise an eyebrow. “I’m kidding. I don’t need to try.”
I smack his chest with the backs of my fingers. “You’re such an idiot.”
“It’s why I’m so endearing. I mean, who wouldn’t want a complete and utter idiot who makes kids laugh by singing Humpty Dumpy out of tune?” He carefully puts his things in the trunk of the car.
Warmth spreads through my stomach and I smile, leaning against his car, my eyes following him as he walks around it. “Oh, yes. A guy who can make kids laugh is the most undesirable thing ever. How dare you be so cute?” I roll my eyes and sit in the car.
“Cute? Did you just call me fucking cute?”
I look over at him. Well, he looks kind of offended. “Honey, you have dimples. Dimples. You are, by default, totally damn cute.”
“I am not cute.”
“You are.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!”
“That. Do that again.” I turn in my seat gleefully.
“Am not?” He glances at me at the intersection. I nod. “No. Fuck off,” he laughs. “I’m not cute,” he says while grinning.
Right. I reach out and poke my finger into the dent of his dimple.
“You so are.” I rest my head against the back of my seat and drop my hand to his thigh. “And you don’t know it because you don’t need to try, remember?”
He clicks his tongue. “All right. You win. Smartarse.”
I grin and squeeze his thigh. His eyes shoot to me but he says nothing. I do it again and he shifts in his seat. My lips twitch and I squeeze his leg a third time. Again, he fidgets.
“Will you stop that?” he mutters, pulling up outside my apartment block.
“Are you ticklish, honey?”
“No. I’m not five.”
I open my door and swing my legs out with a giant grin on my face. “If you say so.”
I could swear that he mutters, “I do,” but I’m not entirely sure.
He heads to the trunk while I enter the lobby without waiting for him. He’s not five, after all. He can find my apartment without an escort.
He shoves his hand between the elevator doors and I jab frantically at the ‘open doors’ button.
“You dick!” I cry, tugging him into the elevator with me.
