Page 26 of Dirty Shots

“So what do you recommend?”

“I guess ‘all of it’ wouldn’t be much help?” He glanced back down at the menu. “I love anything with seafood. The calamari and chili is amazing and goes perfectly with the wine.”

“Sounds good.”

Mateo—the owner—took their order and disappeared into the kitchen.

Eric reached across the table and took her hand. She was surprised and touched by this small gesture of intimacy, as if they were a real couple. She didn’t know what they were; they’d not exactly had a talk about their relationship or future. Being a model he’d screwed didn’t automatically make her his girlfriend.

“Actually, Anya, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Her stomach did a nervous flip. Uh oh. Was this where he told her they were getting too serious and wanted to break it off? Was he dumping her? Or firing her?

She voiced none of these concerns, just looked at him with her tongue tied and her stomach in knots.

He continued, “I spoke to a friend of mine who owns a big gallery here in New York. He wants to get together tomorrow, and I wondered how you felt about me showing him some of your photographs.” He rushed on, almost at a ramble, and she realized he was nervous, too. Somehow, knowing this made her feel better, as if they were on more of a level playing field.

“This is a big deal for me, Anya. It’ll be the first time anyone other than you has seen the new direction my art has taken. It will cause some ripples when people start finding out, and I could really do with some of his advice about how to handle any negative publicity.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that likely to happen?”

“Possibly. The portrait work I’ve done before has been highly regarded ...”

“I know that, Eric. I knew who you were before I ever met you.”

He blushed, the sight endearing in his strong, handsome face, and glanced away. “Yes, of course. I forgot. So I hope you understand why I’d want to get feedback from another professional.”

The thought of other people seeing her photographs made the butterflies in her stomach flutter madly, but she told herself not to be stupid. Of course Eric would want to show his colleagues.

“You don’t need to ask my permission, Eric. It’s your work, not mine.”

He let out an audible breath of relief. She’d clearly made him feel better, though she wasn’t completely sure how she felt herself. Something uneasy sat inside her, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Naturally, she was nervous about someone else seeing such intimate images, but she knew Eric had taken the shots beautifully, and they were tasteful and erotic, not pornographic. Perhaps it was just the idea of his work being out there, available for others to criticize should they want to.

Their food arrived, steaming plates of pasta sprinkled with fresh parsley. The smell made her mouth water. She’d always loved her food, something her figure had so far not hated her for. Sure, she was curvy, but those curves hadn’t yet morphed to fat. At twenty-two, she knew she had time on her side, but she would probably have to try to curb her appetite as she got older, and perhaps even make a trip or two to the gym. For now, she was going to enjoy her meal. The calamari was tender, the pasta cooked perfectly with just enough bite. The zing of fresh chili heated her tongue, and she relished the fresh tang of lemon juice and capers.

They ate in companionable silence, both of them seeming to realize that long pasta probably wasn’t the best date food, but neither caring. They cleared their bowls.

Anya sat back with her hands on her stomach, giving a sigh of contentment. “You were right. That was amazing.”

“So you don’t have any room for dessert?”

“Are you kidding? I love dessert.”

Eric didn’t order any, opting only for a double espresso. Their orders arrived and she glanced at her own dish of layers of sponge cake, cream, coffee liqueur, and chocolate, and then at his tiny shot of caffeine.

“Now you’re going to make me feel like an absolute pig,” she said.

Nevertheless, she dug in, pushing the silver spoon through the soft, creamy layers.

He watched her mouth closely as she licked cream from her spoon. She noticed his tongue sneak out, licking his own lips, his teeth biting gently.

Knowing what she was doing to him, she lowered the spoon again, scooping up more of the coffee and chocolate flavored dessert, and slowly raised it to her mouth. It was her turn to let her tongue sneak out, her lips opening provocatively as she licked the cream from the spoon. She kept her eyes fixed on his, her cheeks rounding as she tried to prevent the grin threatening to break across her face.

Eric leaned across the table toward her. “Anya, you’re killing me.”

She couldn’t prevent the smile any longer, tilted her head to one side. “I’m only eating my dessert, Eric.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he growled.

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