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Mosely steps onto the set with a handkerchief.
“Sir,” he says awkwardly, handing it to me.
“Don’t think this little cloth can hide anything,” I mumble, setting it over my pants.
“It’s for your face,” Mosely says. He lifts his phone and takes a picture. I accept it from him and chuckle when I see the lipstick smeared all over my mouth.
The makeup artist put something on my lips earlier, but this is definitely not the look they were going for.
After I’ve made myself presentable, I walk over to the director.
He shakes my hand.
“Good work today,” I say.
“My pleasure. I haven’t enjoyed a photoshoot this much in a long time. The camera loves her, Mr. Sullivan. And you too, of course. Look at that.” He points to the monitor that’s showing a photo of Yaya leaning into my side while my chin is on top of her head. “The way your skin tones play off each other. How tall you both are. You make such a good-looking couple. Really.”
“Hm.”
I’m not paying attention to the conversation. I’m waiting for Yaya to reappear.
How long until I can see her again?
“At the beginning of the shoot, I wondered if you two were about to break up. By the end, well, there was no doubt how in love you are.”
I return my gaze to his and smile calmly. “I hope you’ll choose the best shots.”
“Of course. You’ll be one of the first to receive a copy of next month’s issue.”
“Mosely,” I gesture and we walk away from the director, “I’m going to wash my face and change out of these clothes. Make sure Yaya doesn’t slip away while I’m gone.”
He salutes.
I glance down at my fingertips, stained with the lipstick Yaya rubbed off on me and smile softly.
She feels something for me. That much is clear.
But whatever that feeling is, Yaya would rather jump into an active volcano than admit it.
* * *
I don’t like awkward.
Awkward silences. Awkward interactions. Awkward functions.
It’s why Lucy was the one who did all the schmoozing and I shrank my world down to the company, the numbers, the acquisitions.
It’s more than just social anxiety. Empty space and empty talk annoy me. I attended one charity ball with dad a few years before he died. By the end of the night, I was ready to choke someone with my tie.
And yet, here I am.
Sitting beside the woman I’m obsessed with.
Awkward as a pimply teenager going to his first prom.
Yaya’s pressed against the door, creating as much distance as she can from me. I’m on my tablet, staring at words that amount to mush.
I never read in the car. Gives me a killer of a headache. But since I’ve been driving around with Yaya, it’s become my habit to act like I’m busy. I’ve noticed that her shoulders relax and she breathes a little easier when I’m focused on something other than her.
