“We are scheduled for an eight o’clock photoshoot that will depict our life as a couple. Twenty sets. Twenty-six outfit changes. And a slew of scenes that will contradict every image that will be published to the public soon.”
“Eight? It’s after seven, already.”
“Which means you don’t have long to eat. The location is twenty minutes away.”
“Then why didn’t we meet there instead of her–”
I nodded, pointing my head toward the patrons. Ishmael nodded his head. Those white teeth were on full display.
“You don’t think at least six of them have snapped a picture or recorded us?”
“I’m sure they have.”
“So am I. Our images won’t be enough to convince the public you’re in a healthy, happy relationship. But, they can convince each other.”
“Why the relationship route?”
“Because it will win the election. You’re a single man. Your opponents are all married and have been for years. It’s part of their campaign. Their rings are in every photo they’ve taken since announcing their run. And, frankly, it will win them the votes of many women here in Berkeley.
“You can’t afford to lose any more of them when these images come out. You’ll leave a bad taste in their mouths–but not if the poor woman whose images are on every news station they turn on for weeks is actually just your girlfriend who found herself stranded as she tried making the reservations for the mini staycation you spent hours planning.”
Ishmael didn’t speak. Neither did I. Instead, I picked up one of the forks in front of me and stabbed a few cucumbers from the cucumber salad in front of me.
“Eight o’clock?”
I swallowed my food.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Then, we’d better get going.”
“I agree.”
I forked a few more cucumbers before I stood on my feet. Ishmael did the same. My job here was done.The Mwould get the exposure it deserved and so would myfauxrelationship with the future mayor of Berkeley.
My nipples pebbled against Ishmael’s chest. Slowly, I blinked away the lust that was evident in my eyes. A quick search and he would learn the truth.
“The camera, Royce.”
I lost myself in his smile. His arms encased me, surrounding me with comfort. The same white shirt he wore rested against my skin.
“Perfect. Perfect,” Dexter called out. “Perfect. Now, Mr. Mayor, do me a favor and kiss her forehead. Royce– your eyes closed, sweetie.”
My instincts didn’t need instructions. Ishmael’s lips against my body, any part of it, ended with the same results.
Lids sealed.
Center throbbing.
Heart racing.
Fine bumps rising.
Thoughts jumbled.
Words lost.
“Hold it right there. Perfect!”
