“All right,” Roland says. “A couple quick test shots. Just look forward, right past my ears.”
“This reminds me of getting my school pictures taken.”
“Uh, where the hell did you go to school?” Cal asks.
“Face me and no smiling, please,” Roland orders.
“Sorry!” I say, and focus on keeping my mouth in the same dead, stoic line as those of the mannequins around us.
A few clicks of the camera later, Roland sighs. “Cal, I know she’s lovely, but I really do need you to look straight ahead.”
Thankfully, with this place sparsely illuminated and Roland’s bragging on our way here that he only shoots in black and white, the deep blush that starts on my cheeks and travels down to my chest probably won’t show up on film.
But then Roland asks us to pivot on our heels and face each other. I have to turn toward Cal, who I’m sure can see the color spreading across my skin even in the low light and from three feet away. Then Roland says, “Look in each other’s eyes, like you’ve just seen each other from across the room at a party after thirty years apart.”
“How old do you think we are?” Cal asks.
“No talking, please and thank you.”
We stare at each other as the shutter snaps in the distance. Everything else feels like it fades away, even the twenty or so naked fiberglass forms surrounding us, as those pretty olive eyes of Cal’s search mine. At one point, I catch his gaze dip down to my breasts for a fraction of a second, and the corner of my mouth raises in response. He blinks, keeping his eyes closed a momentlonger than he might normally, and Roland comments, “Okay, whatever that was, I liked it.”
Oh my. I did too.
It sucks so much that Cal and I can’t repeat what happened at Virtu the other night. While the vulnerability overwhelmed me at the time, it’s since mellowed into something less intimidating, something almost like freedom. Because even though I’ve had more sexual partners than he has, being with Cal felt like a brand-new experience. Like we were each uncovering hidden parts of ourselves that could only be accessed through the other’s touch.
What else is hiding inside me that I might never be brave enough to find without his help?
“Great. Now…” Roland approaches us and taps his foot in a new spot. “Meet in the middle, right here.” Cal and I take slow steps toward each other until we’re standing face-to-face. (Or, rather, face-to-chin, until Roland moves my crate and I hop back atop it, making us about the same height again.) “May I touch your arms to give you direction?” he asks, and I’m grateful that, despite being cartoonish in his artistic pretension, Roland Eady is nothing but professional with his models.
“That’s fine,” I say, and Cal nods in agreement, albeit reluctantly.
Roland moves us so that my left arm is draped around Cal’s neck. “Is this okay?” I whisper as the photographer moves back to his original location.
Cal nods again.
“If you don’t want to touch, I’m sure Roland will respect that.”
“Not wanting to touch isn’t the issue,” Cal whispers back, voice tight.
“What’s the—”
“How would you feel about making out?” Roland calls to us.
Um, positively. Let’s be real. I would feel very positively about it. An excuse to kiss again? Yes freakin’ please.
But Cal…I really can’t tell what he’s thinking right now. If I look hard enough, I can convince myself of almost any emotion hidden in his features. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.
“It’s okay. We don’t have to. I’m not offended,” I say quietly to Cal before yelling back to Roland, “I’m not sure we’re—”
Before I can finish the sentence, Cal’s lips are on mine, hard and hungry, and his fingers are threading into my hair on both sides of my head. It takes me a moment to respond in kind, but as I do, Roland shouts, “Incredible! Yes. Amazing. These are going to look freakin’ awesome.” The reminder that this is all in service of getting the goose back and that we’re actively being photographed is quickly forgotten as I continue putting my all into ravishing each other’s mouths, pressing my breasts against his hot skin, drawing needy little involuntary noises from Callahan Leitner’s chest that tempt me to say to hell with it and slip my hands down his pants.
Roland cuts in again, this time with a much closer, intentionally loud throat clear.
Cal and I break apart, shoulders heaving as we revivify. “What now?” I ask Roland, though my eyes refuse to leave Cal’s.
“Oh. That’s all. We’re done here. I got everything I needed.”
Roland might’ve, butIdidn’t. Now there’s this ache inside of me, a pit of desire that’s only grown deeper and deeper since Cal and I agreed we wouldn’t be further exploring our physical relationship. What a stupid move on my part. Because I see now that it’s much more dangerous to let that pit keep growing than to try to pretend it isn’t there; a person could fall into it and never come back out.
