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NOT WHAT IT SEEMS

2009

MATT

You know how it feels to see someone living the life you thought you’d have? That’s where my head’s at tonight.

The couple I’m photographing today can’t keep their hands off of each other. The wedding ceremony is over, and I’m capturing photos of their reception now. The groom is leading his bride around the dance floor, and I got an excellent action shot of him twirling her under his arm as he smiles at her. They’re going to love it.

At 27, I’ve been doing this for seven years. I started as an assistant with another photographer, then branched out on my own three years ago.

Since I lost my girlfriend Grace in a car wreck four years ago, this job has become painful. Seeing happy couples is too hard when it reminds me of the life I wanted to have with Grace. I’m not sure I’ll ever have my own happy ending.

I’ve thought about applying to be a photographer with National Geographic or Time, or any place that would take me away from this area. My memories here are full of Grace, and I’d like a fresh start.

Two years after she died, I joined a kink club here in Miami. I thought it would help. I’ve always craved dominance in bed, so I went in search of feeling something other than pain and grief.

Although I thrive on being in control, I wasn’t concerned with chasing my climax as much as taking care of my partner and giving her intense pleasure. A couple of Doms quickly labeled me a pleasure Dom and taught me about the lifestyle. While it was enjoyable seeing women get off on the extreme ecstasy I could deliver, I only stayed for about a year.

My partners were women I didn’t know, and the experience felt shallow. No judgment to anyone who loves that, but it isn’t me. Doing kink scenes with random girls got old, but I wasn’t ready to give my heart to anyone. I left the club, but I’ll always be a pleasure Dom.

In the last year, I’ve tried dating, but it sucks. No one connects with me like Grace did. Lately, though, there’s a catering girl at work who’s caught my attention.

I scan the large reception again to see if I can spot her. Movement in my peripheral vision draws my eye.Myserver girl. Okay, she’s not mine, but I’ve noticed her atthree other wedding events over the last two months. A magnetism pulls me to her every time I see her.

As my focus turns back to the bride and groom, my server girl stays in the forefront of my mind. She’s industrious, always flitting around and accomplishing twice as much as the other servers around her. Her short, dark brown hair is in a high little ponytail and swishes with every step she takes. She carries herself with an alarming amount of poise since she only looks about twenty. And physically, she’s stunning. Her petite frame is complemented by her big doe eyes.

I tried to talk with her the other three times I saw her, but she brushed me off. Each time she avoided eye contact with me, so I don’t know the color of her eyes. Every time the events were over, I looked but couldn't find her.

Tonight, I’m finding out what eye color she has. The fourth time will be my charm, and I’m not leaving here until I’ve asked her out or have her phone number.

My eyes scan the room to find my server again. A male guest is towering over her. The front of his shirt is wet, and he’s yelling at her.

Most of the guests are at least tipsy, and no one is intervening.

Hell, no. I snap into action, because she’s not getting chewed out on my watch.

Letting my camera hang from the thick strap around my neck, I hurry over. My fingers run over the smooth metal of the loaded gun in the holster around my waist. After a wild wedding two years ago, I got my license to carry a concealed weapon.

The bearded guy picking on her is at least twice her size and probably a decade older than me.

“Like I said,sir,” the girl says with a tight smile as I step up to them, “you grabbed my butt and surprised me.”

The guy assaulted her?

“You’re not allowed to grope the servers,” I growl at the guy, placing myself between them.

The big guy glares at me, then gestures at the girl’s body. “Tell her to dress differently then.”

Are you fucking kidding me? I look at her modest uniform: a simple white button-up shirt and black pants, same as the other servers. Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but he has no right to force himself on her. Plus, she’s way out of his league.

“This is my uniform,” the girl retorts, clearly frustrated.

Her glittering green eyes flit to mine.Green. More than the color, the spark of fire in them gets my attention.

This woman is a fighter. My world stops spinning as I try to memorize the way she looks at me. Her youthfulness and vulnerability are apparent, but her mysterious gaze seems to hold a lifetime of secrets.

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