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“Really? You want to do a passport photo?” he asks witheringly. All of a sudden, he’s acting like the king of style — which is rich coming from a guy who spends all day in sneakers and sweatpants.
I open my mouth and quickly close it again. “I guess I haven't really had a chance to think about it.”
“You’ve clearly also never read a magazine, either. How can a woman in PR not know how to take a photo?”
I fold my arms in contempt, scrambling to think of a cutting reply.
Miles takes advantage of my wavering to dart forward and snatch the camera away from me, and before I can protest, says, “Hey, look, just perch here.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and directs me round to the edge of the desk, encouraging me to sit up on it. I stare at him uncomfortably, not happy about any of this. “Come on, just cross your legs. Yeah, like that. Now lean backwards a little bit and drop your head. Oh, yeah, nice one.”
He keeps giving me instructions, guiding me into different poses as he presses the shutter. I’ve never, ever felt the desire to be the one in front of the camera, but Miles’s gentle direction quickly makes all my self-consciousness vanish.
“Now try going down on one elbow; maybe put your leg up a little. Oh, no, that looks silly,” he flaps at me, and I huff as I obey. “Put your legs down. But lean sideways. Yes, that's perfect. Gorgeous.”
A hot rush of embarrassment flows through me at the compliment. This is so not what we’re meant to be doing, but somehow Miles is making me feel so special right now. I believe it when he calls me gorgeous. Even if he is just playing about, he’s making my heart flutter.
“No, don’t frown,” he says as my internal complex starts showing on my face. “Give me a flash of that pretty smile. Perfect.”
“You know,” I say through gritted teeth, “most women being told they have a pretty smile by a guy like you would consider it workplace harassment.”
He lowers the camera to raise both eyebrows. “And do you?”
“I would if it was anyone else,” I say. It’s too raw and honest, so I quickly add, “I’m giving you a free pass this time.”
“I’m much obliged,” he says, bowing in what I can only imagine is a really weird imitation of a Victorian urchin.
With I sigh, I lean back on the desk again, expecting him to keep messing around with the camera, but instead he lopes back over to me, spinning so he can sit on the desk next to me. “Here, have a look,” he says, pulling the pictures up on the screen.
Even though the screen is tiny and low quality, as I lean in, I can see what a good eye he’s got for this. “Wow, Miles, I do look great.”
“What, you thought I was lying to you?”
I take the camera and keep flicking through the pictures. Despite the office setting and the fluorescent lights and the fact I’m not at all dressed up for photos, he’s managed to seat me so the little natural light I do get in here washes over my face, making my skin glow, my dark eyes pop. And though I want to make a snide comment, to diffuse any of the feelings that seem to be simmering in this room, as I lean against him so we can look at the pictures, I can’t bring myself to.
“No. I wouldn’t ever think that.”
CHAPTER 20
MILES
I pick my phone up again. Still no reply.
I put it face down on the counter and then ten seconds later, pick it up again. Still no reply.
I’ve only got two weeks left in Miami, and there’s a few days before we have another game. I’m bored — and I’ve basically been trained out of going out to party. And I only know one person in all of America. So I texted her to invite her to come out with me. Not for anything extreme. Just for a little tour of the city. For old times’ sake.
I don't know where the hell we’re going to go, but that’s not the point. The past three months have flown by, and it’s only just hitting me how much I’m going to miss being here.
I pick my phone up again. One unread message.
It’s Olivia, and I fumble to pull the message up. Just one word. Ok.
I sigh in relief, and before I can figure out what to say next, three dots appear to show her typing, and another message pops up. I’ll pick you up in ten.
I send her a thumbs-up then put my phone down and freeze. I wasn't expecting her to get here so quickly, so I’m not even remotely ready to go out.
Quickly, I rush into my bedroom and scan the floor for clean clothes. I did laundry just yesterday, so there has to be something. But the floor is shockingly free of anything, so I go to raid the cupboard instead. I didn’t quite get as far as folding anything, but I grab the first nice T-shirt I see and pull it on with some trousers.
My phone dings again, and it’s Olivia just sending a single ?
