MACEY
The Burrow Bitches
Britney: hey remember that one time someone invited me to go to aruba?
Kira: No.
Ariadne: That never happened.
Britney: i was just thinking, i could be macey’s plus one…
Macey: That’s not how it works. Also, shouldn’t you be studying?
Britney: if i don’t know the material by now, i never will
Not even a brisk Chicago morning could stop me from a good photography session. Clear skies. Trees in bloom. Open view of the horizon. Today’s golden hour was prime for a sunrise photoshoot. I flipped through the photos I tookwith my Canon, mentally noting my favorite pictures and deleting the amateur-looking ones.
My tripod and coffee cup sat on the crushed limestone next to me. A yawn escaped my jaw as I chugged the rest of the coffee. I could almost feel the caffeine swimming through my veins.
Yes, I was aware that wasn’t how caffeine worked. No, I couldn’t be bothered to research how caffeine impacted our brains.
Coffee gave me something to look forward to on these god-awful early mornings. Not that I had anyone to blame but myself. It was my choice to practice my photography skills and expand my portfolio while most sane people were asleep.
Aruba was only a few days away, and I had written a shot list. At the top? Sunrises and sunsets. I could picture it now—a beautiful beach-front resort with a pink-and-red sky backdrop. The most unrealistic part of that dream wasn’t the pictures themselves. It was the fact that Victoria wouldn’t take a second glance at them.
Truthfully, I was a little in over my head here. I’d attended multiple press events and covered hotel openings before but never one with this much luxury. Never an international press event. And never one with so many big names on the guest list. Like Noah.
This was out of my comfort zone. Britney intervened last night, lending me a few outfits to pack.Fake it, she had whispered as she handed me a short red dress with more cleavage than I was used to showing.
Faking it, I could do. Just ask my ex-boyfriend.
A rustle in the trees down the trail had me throwing my tripod to the side of the road. The Lakefront Trail attracted runners and cyclists alike, either of whom might run over it. A good tripod cost more than anI’m so sorry, here, have an energy bar.
Still, I held the camera up to my eye once more. Maybe I needed to get my eyes checked because it almost looked like the waves of toffee hair on the runner around the corner were Noah’s. My finger fluttered over the trigger, tempted to capture the moment. His features were always lighter than the clothes he wore. Gray hoodie. Black pants. Large headphones that covered his ears. I couldn’t decide if he looked more like a runner mid-race or a bank robber.
Nah, I’d glanced at the inside of Noah’s apartment. He had no need to rob a bank.
Note to self: don’t let Noah see the inside of my apartment. Or rather, the thrifted couches and second-hand art that hung in my room.
As he turned the corner, I made the snap decision to take the picture. The top of his hoodie was peppered with beads of sweat, and his eyebrows lifted when he saw me behind the camera.
Okay, I definitely needed to get my eyes checked because I couldn’t help the way I slowly drank in the image of him. My eyes caught on definitive parts of him. Tan skin. The white-and-black ankle socks. The softness of his eyes despite the smirk on his face.
“First my apartment, now my trail?” Noah slowed down, then paused in front of where I sat on the ground, dressed in an old University of Illinois Chicago sweatshirt and yoga pants. Not exactly the picture of an elegant Aruba tourist. My ass was already damp with morning dew, and I shifted uncomfortably. “You stalking me, Macey?”
I scoffed. “Why would I do that? You post more online than I want to know.”
“So Internet stalking has turned into real-life stalking?” His tone was a familiar teasing, but there was a new faint sparkle in his eyes, a warmth that matched the rising sun.
Noah glanced behind me, where the early rays of the sunpierced the horizon. The shimmering expanse of a lake on one side and the lush greenery of the parks on the other flanked us.
Subtly, I removed the lens from the camera and returned it to its case. A frown tugged at my lips, but I focused on my task.
I wasn’t sure what Noah and I were currently. Definitely not stalker and target. Rivals? Acquaintances that you wave to in passing on the street? He allowed me to crash dinner with his sister last week and wouldn’t let me chip in to pay the bill. I supposed wherever we stood now was better than arguing with each other in line for a taxi.
“No, let me guess.” He lifted a finger to his mouth in contemplation. “You work for the paparazzi on the weekends.”
The zipper to my camera bag almost tore under my hand. “Bold of you to assume I’d spend my free days photographing you.”
