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But I didn't sell. I’ve had an offer, though. Sight unseen.
Something held me back.
Okay, not something,someone.
Damnit. Two weeks ago, I would never have stalled like this. They'regoodphotographs.
But he asked me not to. He said please. The vulnerable look in his dark brown eyes held me back.
And I'm still not sure what I to do. I haven't decided to sell them, but I haven't decidednotto.
The door buzzer goes off, and I jump like a cat that's been zapped.My palms are sweating. I’m sure I've chewed off every bit of gloss already.
It buzzes again.
I hurry across my small floor space and slap my hand against the button. “Hello?” Maybe it's not him.
“It's me.”
I never realized how sexy his voice is. Must be the intercom. Men don'treallysound like that, do they? Like melted chocolate over vanilla ice cream. Or sunflowers swaying in the breeze. It's smooth. How would it sound right next to my ear, an octave or two lower?
“I'm on the third floor. Three, oh, eight.” He knows that. I already told him in the text. I press the button that will allow him entry.
Okay, one last sweep of the room, confirming nothing is visible that will get me in trouble. Magazines are neatly stacked. There's no food out on the counter. My television is off.
My eyes zero in on that envelope.
There's a knock on my door. Did he run up the stairs? That would not be good for his leg. I do a quick peek through the hole to confirm it's him. My heart beats faster when I see that head of hair tipped down. I unlock and open the door. “Hi.”
He's gorgeous. Even leaning over the arms of his crutches, his upper body disguised by the hoodie he's wearing, he's a beautiful man.
“Hi.”
“Come in.” I step back so he can enter and close the door behind him.
Once he's inside, I'm unsure what to say or do. We stand there for a moment. I'm drinking him in and is he... Yes, he's blazing a trail up and down my body. I can feel the tension between us, as though a silent question lingers in the air, unspoken but present all the same.
For him that question is about the photos he doesn’t want me to sell.
I’m wondering if he still thinks I’m pretty.
Eager to get through the most challenging part of this evening, I break the awkward silence. “Why don't we sit down so I can read it through before I sign it?
“Oh, sure.” He reaches under his hoodie and slips out an envelope similar to mine and hands it over, his face unreadable. “Here you go.”
I take it and lead him over to the living area so he can get comfortable.
He sits and lays the crutches down on the floor, tucking them under the table and out of the way.
“How's the hip?”
He sighs. “Same. I just came from seeing the doctor. He took some new x-rays but there's no difference. Just told me to ice it, elevate it, and do some light range of motion exercises. I'm hoping I can be off these things by the end of this week.” He points to the offending crutches.
“Do you want a pillow to rest your leg on?”
“I'm fine.”
“It would probably, help. The doctor did say to elevate.”
