What the fuck?
I open the app and they’re all from Donovan, and all pictures. Photos of him outside the gallery, by the bar, holding a drink, selfies in front of what I can only imagine is every piece of art on display, photos of random shit too, like plants, empty glasses, even the backs of strangers’ heads.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, but I’m laughing as I type out a response.
I’m still not convinced you were at an art gallery event… I call fake news!
It doesn’t take long for his reply tocome through.
Yes, I faked ALL of those photos to pretend to be at an art gallery event. *eye roll*
That confession would be admissible in a court of law…
Just saying ;)
I can almost picture the expression on his face; after spending more time together this week, I’m much more familiar with his expressions, the little quirks that show what he’s really thinking or feeling.
Why did I even bother? Delete all those photos, you don’t deserve them.
No can do sorry; I need to keep these as evidence…
He doesn’t need to know that I also want to keep them to look at when he’s not around.
So you’ve got at least twenty photos of me on your phone, but I have none of you. Seems a bit unfair.
I can’t tell if this is banter, or if we’ve crossed over the line to flirting. We’ve been friendly since last weekend when we talked about what happened with Kyle, but I can’t deny that it felt good to hug him, and I’m attracted to him. I know I can’t go there, but this is just friendly banter… right?
Fine, here you go, but this is all you’re getting!
I take a quick selfie and send it through, only realizing after it’s sent that I’m leaning against my headboard with my shirt off. Not exactly the kind of picture you’d send to a friend.
Shit.
The bubbles appear to show he’s typing, then they disappear… and reappear… and disappear. Fuck, what have I done?
Finally, a message comes through.
Thanks, I guess we’re even.
“Well what the fuck does that mean?” I ask the empty room.
Donovan
It’s Sunday evening and I’m waiting for Stephen to get back from training. I haven’t been able to stop looking at the photo he sent me, the one where he’s leaning against the headboard in his hotel room, without a shirt on. I keep getting distracted by the smooth skin of his chest, and the soft ripples of his abswhere he’s sitting, his shoulders are so broad they don’t fit in the photo.
Fuck me, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. His hair rivals McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy, and he had some perfect hair.
Did he mean to send me a shirtless selfie? Or did he just take it and not think? Either way, I’m glad I have it… but it would be nice to know his intention.
I wish I could talk to Beth about it, but that would involve telling her he’s not straight, and I understand better than anyone his need to keep that information quiet. Since our talk last Saturday, we’ve definitely become friends, spending more time together in the room, even grabbing coffee together sometimes.
But last night, were we flirting? I’m getting better at spotting it in person, but over message it’s hard, ten people could read the same sentence completely differently. I’m brought back to the room when I hear his key in the door, we’ve stopped knocking now.
His mom’s voice filters through first as she squeezes past him and into the room. “Donovan!”
“Hi, Vanessa,” I say, and before I know what’s happening she’s drawn me into a hug.
“Sorry,” she says, pulling away, “it’s a mom thing, Stephen said you’re friends so it’s instinct now to give you a hug.”
