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“I accidentally spilt paint on her clothes last week and she got upset.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t like to sit next to me anymore,” he says sadly. I look up in time to see Beth finishing the story and decide to help my new friend out a little.
“C’mon, I will introduce you to Beth.” His eyes light up as we walk toward Beth who is now talking with little Emily.
“Hello!” Beth says excitedly, seeing Charlie next to me.
“Beth, this is Charlie,” I introduce them, hearing the click of cameras from the side of us, bringing me back into reality. Beth squats down to his height to greet him, and I look down at her, gritting my teeth at how perfect she looks.
“Hi, Charlie, I’m Beth, pleased to meet you,” she says, and the two of them shake hands. Her smile is contagious as I watch their interaction, more cameras clicking from in front of us now.
“Charlie spilt paint on me last week.” Emily pouts at Beth’s side.
“Oh, well, sometimes that happens. I spill things all the time!”
“You do?” Charlie asks, eyes wide.
“Yes. I am extremely clumsy. Just ask Harrison, he will tell you all about it,” she says as she stands, her eyes twinkling as she contains her giggles.
“She is. She has spilled drinks over me twice now.” I say holding up two fingers.
“And you are still friends?” Emily asks, surprised.
“Of course, she is my best friend,” I say, and all three of them look at me in awe.
“Charlie, do you want to be best friends?” Emily asks him, and Charlie gasps.
“Yes! Best friends.” And they shake on it.
“Best friends, huh?” Beth says quietly as she stands beside me, and we watch the kids run off to play.
I look down at her, our arms brushing, and notice her pouty lips. My eyes flick down farther, taking in the curve of her breasts under her corporate attire, before I move them back up to meet her vibrant blue eyes. Her lips part, and I silence the growl in my throat that is crawling to get out.
The things I want to do to this woman have me completely out of the friendzone. So much so that I can't even see the border of it.
The urge to kiss her again flows up my body, and when she swallows roughly, I know she is struggling too. But I keep my spine ramrod straight, not giving myself an inch, knowing if I do, the cameras here today will be reporting a totally different story than what they came to capture.
“Here. For you,” I say, handing her over the picture in my hand. She grabs it and folds it open, and I hear her intake of breath and watch the pulse in her neck as it speeds up.
“You did this for me?” she asks, stifling a giggle, and I grin as her eyes light up.
“Do you like it?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable.
“Harrison! It is a pink giraffe, what’s not to love! I am going to stick it in my office. Our space needs a bit of color,” she says, laughing, and my smile widens.
“That’s great, you two!” one of the photographers yells, and Beth and I both look at him, mid-laugh, seconds before flashes go off in our faces.
“Hey, Max!” Beth says, stepping forward to greet the young photographer.
“Boy from Baltimore got you working for him now? Best decision he has made so far in this campaign,” he says jovially to us both, as he gives Beth a small hug. He isn’t wrong.
“Harrison, this is Max, a freelance photojournalist.” He is a short chubby man, with a stubble of hair gracing his chin, and a headband wrapped around his forehead, encasing his yellow curly hair.
“Pleased to meet you, thanks for stopping by,” I say, extending my hand, remaining professional as I size him up. His hand is on Beth's arm, and I want to flick it off, but I refrain.
“Anytime. You both look like you are having a good time here today?” he asks, looking between the two of us, and I am careful with my response. He might take the photos, but he is still a journalist.
