Page 4 of Affliction

“You mean you haven’t?” Terry said, obviously trying to keep the mood light. “If you did, it would say: Terry Bradley, fashion photographer and a complete and utter ass for his abandonment of the lovely and very talented Mia Blake.”

“Please, I really—”

“Tell me something real about you. I may not deserve to know, but I want to know. No, I need to know.”

“Something real?” I snapped. The façade I was under had worn off, and I was done playing nice—until I looked up into his brown eyes. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, but I couldn’t obliterate him with my words. Yelling at him wasn’t an option, because as strong as I thought I was, I couldn’t do it. Snapping at him would mean our little encounter would be over, and as much as my mind wanted it to be over, my heart had another plan.

“I quit my job at Steve Madden right after you left. You always said I should, that I could design my own shoes. That I was talented. And for some reason, you leaving me was the catalyst for actually taking charge of my life.” I don’t know why I told him that. But I could tell it pleased him.

“I’m glad my leaving did one of us some good,” he said, the words coming out slowly, cautiously.

“You’re glad it did one of us some good? You’ve got to be kidding me. I saw your book, the magazines littered with your pictures. You’ve been doing extremely well for yourself. You can’t sit there and expect me to believe that you leaving me did something horrible to you. It was your choice.”

I was surprised by my unplanned outburst, but he didn’t seem to be. Still, he remained calm, composed. As if he was expecting my words but not really acknowledging them. There was something about the way he sat there, casually draping himself across the chair. His long form leaned back while his elbow rested on the back of it. Terry had this overwhelming ability to look sexy no matter how he sat or stood. Almost like he was posing. He would have made a great model. Hell, he looked like one. But he always said he liked life behind the lens, not in front of it. That’s probably why he made such a great photographer; he knew just how to pose the models.

“You’re right about that, but it’s really easy to throw yourself into your work when you have nothing else to live for.” I was ready to remind him that he did this, when he spoke again. “So you still do this every Saturday?” he asked, motioning around the bookstore.

“When I can get away, yes. I spend my Sundays in the park the way we used to. Sometimes work makes it impossible, which makes days like this all the more special.” I was hoping he would let my Sunday comment go, but he didn’t.

“Exactly the way we used to?” he asked, looking at me with a surprised expression on his face.

I nodded in response.

“So are your photos any good?”

I shrugged in response.

“Why do you still do it?”

“Old habits die hard,” I murmured.

“Mia,” he began, but I stopped him.

“Don’t. Let’s not do this right now. Let’s go back to talking about lighter subjects. You’ll kill my book buzz,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled in return, a sign I hoped meant that he was going to avoid having a conversation I’d been dreading since I received that postcard. I quickly changed the subject. “How did you find me? And what are you doing back in Los Angeles?”

“Two questions I thought would have come up sooner.” He grinned like an idiot now as he sat there staring at me.

“Well, I don’t have all day, cowboy.” Without thinking, the familiar nickname slipped off my lips.

I didn’t think it was possible, but his smile was even wider. It looked like it could leave his face any minute. “I just moved back to Los Angeles, actually. And I’m here because I wanted to see you. I needed to see you. I needed you to know that we were in the same city again. With our line of work, we were going to run into each other eventually, and I didn’t want it to be awkward.

“I had no idea you came to the same bookstore every Saturday and still got lost in the same classic books you must have read a thousand times. But I took a chance and saw you climbing the stairs. Even from the back, I knew it was you. You know, you haven’t changed a bit. Your hair is shorter. I like it. It looks sexy on you.”

“Yeah. I’m a creature of habit, I guess you could say,” I replied, ignoring the compliments he so readily gave me.

“That you are.” At that moment, his hand made its way across the table and brushed against my face. Out of habit, I leaned into his touch. My mind and body registered what was happening, and I instantly pulled back.

“Please don’t.” I moved as far back into my chair as it would allow, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. I liked the idea of an ocean between us, and I would have given anything for that now. I was slowly losing my patience with this game he was playing—this game we were playing. It was like an elaborate chess match. I didn’t know the rules, but he clearly did. Time to change the game.

“I can’t help but remember the last time we were here together.” I watched him carefully as I spoke. “Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said slowly, his mouth twitching. I saw pain in his eyes as he tried to figure out what I was doing.

“It was a warm day. A lot like this one,” I mused. “I had just come back from a business trip in New York, and you couldn’t bear to let me out of your sight for a minute. Even though I had only been gone for two days, you insisted on spending as much time with me as you could. Almost like you knew you were being offered the London trip that would eventually break us. Did you know about it all along?”

“Mia, please.”

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