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Well, I already broke one rule and got to know him a little, so what’s breaking another?
Trust me, he said.
“This is me trusting you, Ty,” I say softly.
He takes my hands and pulls them away from my body. His arms go around me in a strong hug, and I rest my head against his chest.
“I’m hungry.” His chest rumbles deeply with his words. “The Big Bang Theory and a takeout?”
“Why not?”
I can feel his eyes burning into me through the camera lens. My body has been tingling for the past half an hour as he’s taken the shots. I’m not sure how no one else in this room can feel the tension.
I can. It’s zinging between us, coated in a sweet layer of lust.
“And we’re done,” Tyler says, lowering his camera. He turns away, and I take the robe offered to me by a wardrobe assistant. I’m tying the belt around my waist when he says, “Would you like to take a look?”
“I’d love to,” I respond, polite and professional. I join him at his laptop and take the seat in front of him.
He puts one hand on the back of the chair and one on a wireless mouse. He leans forward, and his breath flutters my hair, his thumb gently stroking my back. No one can see—they’re all too busy. This is a stolen private moment in an open, professional setting.
“Here we are.” He double-clicks a folder and a stream of images appears on the screen. “These are really great,” he says aloud. He bends down a little farther and whispers, “My cock is fucking hard right now. I hope you appreciate the torture I’m about to endure.”
I chew my lip so I don’t smile. “I really like this one.” I point to one where I’m sitting on the floor, leaning back on my hand. My head is tipped back, my eyes closed, my other hand in my hair.
He groans quietly. “Liv, you’re killing me, babe.”
“This one is good, too.” I’m standing, looking over my shoulder at the camera.
“Don’t drive to work tonight,” he whispers, leaning forward even more. His lips brush my jaw. “I’ll get you after.”
“Thank you for letting me see these. They’re great.” I stand, knowing that my indifference is pissing him off. Truth is, I’m not indifferent. I’m aching for him.
“It was my pleasure.” He takes my hand and leans in to kiss my cheek. “And my pain,” he murmurs. “Wear black.”
I smile to myself as I leave the studio. In the dressing room, I change into jeans and a chunky sweater and wrap a scarf around my neck. My phone buzzes and I dig it from my purse.
Tell me you pissed him off. Please,
Dayton texts.
He’s not going to enjoy the next few hours, I know that much,
I send back.
That’s my girl. I’m joining him for “experience” in an hour. Tried getting there for yours but he said no. Douchenugget.
I laugh loudly and climb into my car. Before I start her up, I email Sheila and tell her that I think it went okay. The pictures really did look good—but then again, I’m up against a few known names.
No one knows me. I’m still just Liv from Seattle, trying to get a late break.
I head toward the gym to work off the takeout from last night before work. Of course, if I put any weight on, I can blame Tyler because it was his idea to eat calorie-and-carb-laden food and veg around on the sofa for two hours. I’m fairly certain any calories were burned after those two hours when his hands started wandering, but I’ll still blame him because I can.
And because it’s easier to blame him than myself. Easier to blame him for calories than to blame myself for wiping out a line.
But it was nice. More than nice, actually. Spending the evening with him, mostly chilling out, reminded me how great it is to do that. How much nicer it is for someone to stay after sex instead of walking straight out.
I get out of the car, figuring that I have half an hour on the treadmill before I have to leave for work. I change quickly and hit the second floor, grabbing a machine. I start up my iPod and put the earbuds in my ears. Waves by Mr. Probz blasts into my ears, and I’m drawn to the lyrics. Because I am drifting away. Slowly, but I’m drifting. Every line, every word, is so right.
