He stared at his phone. “Trying to get a picture, but the flash ruined the effect.” He turned it to show me. “You look ethereal. Are you a ghost?”
The harsh light made me look whiter than white, accentuating the dark circles under my eyes. I looked sickly. “Please delete that.”
He acquiesced. “Cell phone cameras suck.”
“They’re okay if you know how to use your settings.”
“There are settings on this thing?”
I held out my hand with a smirk. “Yes. Let me see it.” He had a Samsung, which was not my wheelhouse, but it didn’t take long to familiarize myself with the camera app. “First of all, you should at least put it in night mode when it’s dark out.”
“I didn’t know night mode existed. I’m more of an aim and click the button kind of person. I know how to turn the flash on and off, but that’s about it.”
“You’re so talented.”
“Was that sarcasm, Windrow?”
I smothered a smile, and he playfully kicked me.
I made a few adjustments to his settings and held it up, centering Ozrik in the frame. Feeling bashful—possibly for the first time in my entire life—I said, “Say… I’m an amateur.”
“Penis,” he said instead with a devilish grin, sticking out his tongue.
Instead of the horror I’d felt the first time we’d had this exchange, I laughed and took the picture. Pulling up the result, I examined it with pursed lips. “Not great, but much better than the one you took.”
I handed him back his phone.
He studied the image, seeming impressed. “Nice.” Then he turned it on me. “Your turn, Mr. Know-It-All. Do I get a smile this time?”
“Why are you so adamant about taking my picture?”
I expected a smartass response, but instead, Ozrik glanced over the top of his phone with an exaggerated pout. “Please? You’re purtiful. I can’t help it.” Despite the illusory flirtation, the request carried a hint of sincerity I wasn’t sure what to do with.
In a moment of unnatural bravery, I tapped my camera case. “Tit for tat. If I smile, I get to take your picture too. With a real camera.”
Ozrik barely thought about it. “Deal.”
My stomach fluttered.
“You first.” He positioned his phone again. “Do you need prompting?”
“No.” Smiling on demand for photographs wasn’t my thing, but repeating his ridiculous phrases would only turn my cheeks crimson, and that was far more embarrassing.
The first attempt didn’t satisfy him. He coached me through another. And another. The fourth time he snapped a picture, he stared at the phone screen for a long time before nodding. “Purtifully perfect.”
“Can I see it?”
“Nope. It’s all mine.” He tucked his phone away.
I would have argued, but he motioned to my camera case. “My turn.”
It took longer to adjust my settings than it did with a phone. By the time I was ready, a sheen of sweat made my palm slick. I had no idea why I was nervous.
Portraits weren’t my usual genre of photography. I was a landscape and nature-focused artist. As I aimed the camera at Ozrik, he posed, showing the cocky, self-assured side of himself and openly flirting with the camera.
I deadpanned. “Really?”
“What? I’m modeling.”
