Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series)

by Persephone Autumn

  “Depends,” I say. “What did you hear?”

  She repeats my words and I hear the surprise in her tone. Yeah, today will suck. Challenging enough to be near the man who swore we would be together forever, let alone doing so on zero sleep. And zero sleep means my brain to mouth functionality does its own thing.

  Fuck my life.

  We approach the gate and spot Gavin. Erin waves his way and I give him a half-hearted smile. The action brief and cold and says don’t fuck with me today. If he is able to still read me like he used to, I hope he reads me loud and clear. I don’t have the time or patience for games or bullshit today.

  He rises from the chair and offers to help us wheel the equipment to the beach. I happily forfeit my cart and follow in his wake as we go through the gate. After a minute of trudging through the sand, reality catches up to me.

  “Hey.” I tap his shoulder. “Where’s your agent? Alyson, right?”

  “Alyson,” he confirms. “She said she’s not feeling good. Thinks she caught a bug on the plane or something. She locked herself in her room and will only open the door for room service.”

  “That sucks. Is she okay with us still doing the shoot today?” I don’t need to step on any toes. Or not follow a specific itinerary she set. In a single day, I learned the type of woman Alyson is—regimented. Organization isn’t a bad quality. Just one I don’t want to fuck with. Not with this shoot.

  He peeks at me over his shoulder, a small, sweet smile touching his lips. A different smile than those he gave me yesterday. A smile that wakes me up further and quickens my pulse. Fuck.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. Most of the time, she stands there and hovers, checking emails and text messages. She feels obligated to be present in case something happens.”

  In case something happens? What does that mean?

  “Like what?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. If I had gotten better sleep, I probably wouldn’t have asked. Maybe. Who really knows at this point.

  He laughs, his body shaking from the extent of it. “One of her previous clients got a little too involved with things during the shoot. So now she’s always on set with her clients. Either that or someone within the company.”

  I am still confused. I should have bought an espresso with my breakfast. “A little too involved?”

  His smile glows brighter than the rising sun. “Yes. As in, unprofessional things occurred during the shoot. They were mutual, but it later caused issues.”

  Light bulb moment. One of her clients slept with a photographer. While they were supposed to be doing the shoot. Woah. Seriously unethical.

  “Well, she doesn’t have to worry about that with us,” I blurt out, mentally slapping the side of my head when I realize I had spoken the words aloud and not in my head. Foot meet mouth.

  When I meet his eyes, an odd sadness lingers. I don’t think the solemnity shadows him because I said we won’t have sex while in the middle of working. No, I assume the actual reason digs deeper. The expansive roots wrapped tightly around one another. I shake off the thought and try to focus on where to take photos.

  “Here,” I belt out, then apologize for my volume. “Let’s work from here.”

  Gavin nods and walks off for a minute, his hands resting on top of his head, fingers laced together. He walks ten, twenty, thirty feet down the beach before he stops and stares out at the vacant water. His eyes don’t avert. His body a sand sculpture. And for a moment, I see the Gavin I knew all those years ago. Without armor or ego. Just the man.

  Erin softly touches my shoulder and startles me. “Sorry,” she says. “You okay?”

  I meet her eyes a second, nod and return to watching Gavin. “I’ll be okay.” I hope I will be okay. Please let me be okay.

  “If you need anything at all, say the word. Even if it’s a breather.”

  My eyes fall back on her. Erin is such a great friend and I am beyond lucky to be surrounded by so many wonderful people. I place my hand over hers. “Thanks for always being here for me. I don’t say thank you often enough.”

  She swats the air between us. “Some things don’t have to be said, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

  After Gavin walks back, we discuss the various images the brand is seeking and the photos we will shoot today. I recognize the moment when Gavin slips into model-mode—the shift in his expression, his body language more exposed, the wall he erects to protect the deeper parts of himself. The way he carries himself in model-mode, it is obvious he is not a model only for the attention or the paycheck. He enjoys the end result as well as what comes along with it.

  He may have been a cocky prick yesterday. He may have pressed every button under my skin. But today, Gavin flaunts an unexpected side of himself. One rawer and more appealing. One he should show more frequently when working. A side most photographers would drool over.

  Is it because of Alyson’s absence? Does she smother this side of him?

  We take numerous shots with him in the board shorts, shirt, and flip-flops. We scroll through several of the images, hemming and hawing. After he and I are satisfied with what has been taken, we move to the next feature. Gavin in board shorts only.

  Yes, I have seen Gavin naked. Yes, I understand Gavin will not be naked for the shoot. But does that halt the rapid flutter of butterflies beneath my breastbone? Nope, not one bit. Does the idea cause my breath to hitch? One-hundred-percent. Like a damn teenager again.

  He kicks the shoes off, flinging them toward the cart. A small laugh erupts from his chest as he catches me ogling him, my eyes averting and coming back faster than a ping-pong ball. In my semi-awake state, there is no point in resisting what I want. Like alcohol, sleeplessness drops your inhibitions. Makes you do things your rational mind would lecture you on.

  Erin giggles under her breath and I give her a shut up look. But as I turn to face Gavin again, he peels his shirt overhead with his back to me. As the cotton rises further up his back, I gasp and am certain he can hear it plain as day.

  A tattoo inked into the flesh rests between his shoulder blades. Guessing, I would estimate it is six or seven inches wide and a foot tall. My shock isn’t over the fact that Gavin has a tattoo. Not by a longshot. Really isn’t too surprising, to be honest. What has me sucking in a breath is the art he selected to permanently etch into his skin.

  When we were together, one of the things he always picked on me for was my love for Lord of the Rings. He would joke with me and tell me I couldn’t watch it anymore because I knew every line and scene. I would rebut and tell him he was just jealous and wished he could be as cool as me. A nonstop banterfest over my adoration of the movies.

  Now… I stare at the back of his torso, my jaw slack, tongue tasting the salty air. I rub my eyes for good measure, to check if what I am seeing is real. To make sure I’m not still sleeping. I drag my hands away and stare at his back. Yep, still there.

  There it rests, in all its glory. A tattoo of the tree of Gondor, seven stars hovering above the limbs, a word in elvish above and below the tree.

  As for me, I have no words.

  Chapter Eight

  Gavin

  Before I turn to see her reaction, I hear her gasp. An obvious reaction because she sees my tattoo. But I am also curious if her elvish is as good as it once was. When I peek over my shoulder and see she works to decipher the words, a smirk kicks up my lips. She doesn’t remember. Good. It will give her something to work on while I am here.

  She catches me studying her and stutters. “Wha… are you… y-you had…”

  This moment will definitely get stored in my memory bank. Her lack of speech and wide-eyed ogle is absolutely adorable. “Use your words, Cora,” I tease as I turn to face her.

  “Shut up,” she retorts. “Since when do you love the Lord of the Rings that much?” Her eyes dance obsessively over my skin and I love the fire it stirs inside of me. A flickering flame swelling to an inferno. Will she stare at me longer if I don’t answer her immediately?

&nb
sp; I shrug. “Someone I know watches it a lot. Guess it kind of stuck with me.”

  Like you did. I long to say the words, but resist the temptation. Not speaking my mind with her is the hardest challenge I have faced in years. Almost all of my life-challenging moments revolve around Cora. But I won’t tell her that. For starters, she probably wouldn’t believe me.

  Her eyes dance back and forth between mine like she is reading between the lines of my soul, seeking clues to hundreds of unanswered questions. I would love nothing more than to profess my feelings to her. Tell her I never stopped loving her. Share with her the reason I didn’t call or write after her last letter. A million words rest on the tip of my tongue, but I won’t say them. Not now.

  Because now is not the time.

  When the timing is right, I will know. And when the time arrives, I will tell her everything. Confess all the fractured pieces of my soul. Spill my heart on the pavement.

  As for now, I watch her and wait. Wait for her eyes to unlock from mine. For her to look down my body and absorb me. The temptation is there. Just below the surface. But her actions remain guarded and unsure. She wants to scan me head to toe, but doesn’t want me to watch her observation in action.

  Too fucking bad, tu es les étoiles de ma lune. We aren’t kids anymore. And I enjoy as each second passes and her eyes linger. As they fight against the tide.

  We are at a standoff. Pure, undiluted energy spills off her in waves. Anxious and molten and a touch of exasperation. As much as I hate making her this way, frustrating her more than turns me on.

  The waves crash along the shore. Children scream in delight, ordering their parents to join them in the water. A dog barks nearby, excited for its owner to play with them.

  Meanwhile, clouds pass, dimming and brightening the sky around us. Cora refuses to cave, but she forgets how well I know her. Forgets, regardless of the amount of time we have spent apart, that I can read her body like Braille. I know her tells. Know what each arch and bow and breath and flush means. Know her stubbornness and passion and strength. But I also know her weakness. A commonality we share.

  When you are acquainted with another person like I am Cora, you don’t forget those little snippets. They are rare gems and get tucked away for safekeeping. She may not be the woman from thirteen years ago, but some traits never vanish. They adjust with the journey.

  She tries to disguise it, but I know she sighs. Know she is throwing in the towel.

  Her eyes fall to my lips, lingering for a moment. Her tongue sweeps out and brushes across her lower lip. The sight sends a pang to my groin, but I control my actions and don’t let her see how it affects me. How it makes me want her more.

  When she leaves my lips, her eyes trace my throat in no hurry. Skirting from one shoulder, across my collarbones, and landing on the other. Her eyes drop and her body jerks in shock as a brief smirk pops on my lips.

  “Like what you see?” I rasp, my voice thick with the desire my body masks.

  Her eyes shoot back to mine as her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “When did you…” She points to my chest, unable to finish the question.

  “Get my nipples pierced?” I finish what I assume she was going to ask.

  “Yes,” she sputters. “When did you do that?”

  How cute is it that she flushes a scarlet resembling her cherry lips? How cute is it that she is embarrassed to ask about my nipple piercings? “A few years back.”

  “Oh. Huh. Well, I’m not sure how to compliment them,” she mumbles.

  “The same way you compliment anything else.” I put on my best impression of her voice. “Hey, Gavin. Those nipple piercings are hot.” I bite my lip to resist laughing.

  She smacks my chest, hard. “Shut up, asshole.”

  “Ow. I think that’s going to leave a mark,” I tease.

  “Shit! I’m sorry. Damnit. Now we’ll have to wait. Can’t have red handprints on your chest in the photos.” She places a finger over her lips. “Although, I could just Photoshop it out.” She shrugs, noncommittal.

  “You’re the one running the show. If you want to take handprint photos, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  She cocks her head to the side, a curious look about her. I may be able to still read her, but she has lost that finesse with me. I have had years to learn how to plaster on a different face. To pretend to be someone I am not. That is the thing with actors and models, we are taught how to be someone else. To be whoever the camera or customer is supposed to see. We live different lives and portray different personalities daily.

  We are a façade.

  “Since the light has shifted, let’s move over there.” She points over to a patch of seagrass. “Different light, different background, different reach.”

  “You’re the boss.” In more ways than one.

  Time becomes this nonexistent entity when I am near Cora. Hours pass as if time is a delusion. Tons of pictures get taken in various places along this stretch of the beach. As nervous as I originally was for this campaign, posing for the camera while Cora looks through the lens gives me an ease I haven’t felt in a long time. Being in her presence has never felt more right.

  Like coming home. My home.

  I help her and Erin put everything in their carts, hauling Cora’s to her car after. Everything gets unloaded into the cars and we wave goodbye to Erin as she drives away. Erin is a sweet girl—timid but a devoted friend to Cora. And for a time today, I forgot she was on the beach with us. Obviously, she assists Cora with her shoots, but most of the time she hangs on the sidelines, quiet.

  After she drives out of the lot, I face Cora and my fingers brush against hers. Flickers spark from our minor touch and I feel compelled to touch her again. More. Trace my fingers along her forearm, her bicep, her collarbone. My eyes flit to her throat as she swallows hard. I finish the ascent, her eyes riveted to mine.

  Our eyes have a silent standoff. Questions appear as quickly as they disappear.

  “Have dinner with me,” I state.

  Last time I asked, she said no. Now I want it more like a command, but not in a you must do this way. More of a just agree with me way. I want her to want to say yes.

  The motion is subtle, but she shakes her head as she drops her chin and breaks eye contact. “I can’t. You know I can’t. It goes against the contract we’ve both signed.”

  I stare down at my feet and hers, shaking my head. “Bullshit,” I mutter.

  My irritation isn’t directed at her, more the situation. But I bet she takes it as the former. The last thing I am is upset with her. She has to know this. Right?

  “You know we can’t,” she whispers, refusing to look at me.

  But I need to see her eyes. Need to know what she is really thinking. Her eyes will tell me all the words her mouth refuses to speak.

  Tucking a finger under her chin, I lift and bring her eyes back to mine. She has told me no twice, but her eyes tell another story. They speak of her hesitation and fear. Worried if she says yes that I will hurt her again. And I want to reassure her that will never happen again, but how can I? Words are useless. Especially with our past. Only my actions will supersede my words.

  Plus, the evidence is stacked against us.

  She lives here. I live thousands of miles across the country. Her life is here. My life is out west.

  With reluctance, I lean in close to her ear and whisper, “True, but you don’t know how much I want to.”

  And with that, I step back, drop my hand, and walk back to the hotel. To my empty hotel room. My soundless existence. My life without her.

  Chapter Nine

  Cora

  Sleeplessness has become a plague since Gavin walked through those banquet doors two days ago. When my head hit the pillow last night, my body melted against the sheets as exhaustion radiated in my bones. Luna curled up beside me, her purr fading as she drifted to sleep.

  With heavy eyes, my lids closed. Just as my body began hitting solid sleep, my phone wailed on my
dresser. I shot up as worry flooded me. My Do Not Disturb mode set and only select people could break through the function.

  When I answered the phone in a groggy voice, Shelly instantly apologized. She had called on a whim, wanting to hang out but not knowing I had gone to bed early. I asked her why she really called and she told me we could talk about it in the morning.

  But I was exhausted and angry and allowed my frustrations to sneak out and snap at her. Two minutes of apology later—and zero information as to why she called—and we agreed to talk tomorrow. Several times, she had done this to me and the conversation consisted of nothing significant. But I was a good friend and I let it slide.

  Unfortunate for me, sleep didn’t creep up as easily after as it did before her disruption.

  I laid in my bed until two-thirty in the morning, thinking about the rough texture of Gavin’s hands when they were on me earlier. And the words he whispered to me, I listened to them on a loop in my head, trying to decipher what exactly he was saying.

  Were his words genuine? Did he just say those things to get into my pants? Or is it all a load of bullshit?

  I felt clueless, and the lack of sleep didn’t help the situation. There had to be some hidden meaning behind it. There just had to be. In the wee hours of the morning, I convinced myself Gavin had an ulterior motive.

  After hours of watching the ceiling fan spin circles above me, my body relaxed enough and I fell asleep.

  My alarm startles me awake at six forty-five and I slap the beast, groaning and cursing the universe. A little more than four hours of sleep won’t get me far today. Not after having five and a half the night before.

  I cannot live like this. Anyone glancing my way today will surely do a double take—because my resemblance to a zombie will be uncanny—and whisper behind my back. Honestly, I give no fucks.

  Luna paws at my face, meowing and purring. “At least one of us gets sleep,” I grumble as I run a hand over her soft fur.