Page 25 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

It’s not the chattiest conversation and it doesn’t really show me who he is, but it was sweet of him to reach out, given how little we’ve spoken so far. I wonder when I should send him a photo of my face. My body is visible on my profile. There aren’t any photos of me that are fully nude. I don’t show my face because I don’t really want to be identified that easily. I’ve never felt like my tattoos would be the thing that someone would recognize. I suppose if anyone is truly obsessed and memorizes every single bit of ink, they can figure out it’s me, but that would be insane. I doubt Caleb ever paid that much attention to the artwork I put on my body.

I chew on my bottom lip, still staring down at my phone. I take a deep breath and let it out in a loud raspberry, my lips vibrating loudly.

I send the text and then share a photo. It’s a selfie with Vera from dinner the other night,but I cut her out. I posted the full thing on my social media profiles the same night, but unless he does an image search, he won’t know that.

I wait with bated breath. I know I’m beautiful. I’ve been told a million times and evenIfind myself staring at my amber eyes when they catch the sunlight in photos. I get the draw. I still feel my heart pounding when I see the notification on the screen that he’s typing a response.

My jaw goes slack. If I’m gorgeous, this man is… well, I suppose beautiful is at the same level, but good god. His brown hair has streaks of gold that catch in the sunlight and his green eyes, which stand out against his tan skin, are shining as he looks off to one side. His hand, attached to a heavily tattooed arm, is up near his mouth, but it doesn’t hide his full lips. I’d love to know what they feel like on mine. To top it all off, there’s a hint of dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. I wonder if that’s his usual look or if he likes to be clean-shaven.

Handsome chap?What am I, a British socialite in the fucking Victorian era? That’s enough time on my phone for the day. I don’t wait for a response, sliding my phone into my pocket and searching out the sandwich I made.

“Who was that?” Natalie has finished her sandwich and is dipping her broccoli in a puddle of ranch on her plate.

“Just a boy,” I reply in a silly, singsong voice.

“Oh, really?” Natalie plays along and I chuckle at her raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, we have a date Monday. He was just wishing me safe travels. Didn’t know I was already home.”

“Where’s the photo?”

I pull up the app and show Natalie. Her jaw drops just like mine did and she looks from the phone to me and back before settling her eyes on me once more.

“Girl, I’m strictly for the ladies now, but that man isfoine. Just be safe when you jump his bones.” She winks and bites into a piece of broccoli.

“Good to know you’re not about to cock-block me,” Ichuckle.

“Why would I need to when you’re so good at it on your own?” She pauses and thinks for a minute. “Are you really being cock-blocked if you make porn?”

“I guess not.”

“Love-blocked,” Natalie muses. “Love-cock-blocked.”

“As if I need reminding of how unlucky I am in love. Thanks.”

“What are best friends for?”

“Best friends are supposed to be uplifting,” I argue. “Like non-sexual fluffers.”

“Someone’s gotta bring you down to earth. Your adoring fans sure won’t.”

She’s got a point there. With thousands of followers on social media, it’s a wonder I don’t have a huge ego. I’m confident in my body, but I don’t think that confidence is overinflated. Perhaps it’s the struggle with my weight that I’ve dealt with since puberty. Perhaps it’s the mother who encouraged me to lose weight by saying when I did so I’d have to “beat the boys away with a stick”. Whatever the reason, I try not to let my popularity go to my head.

When I don’t respond, Natalie grins.

“You can’t stay mad at me, boo.”

“I can when you call me boo.”

8

Brody

“Mr. Torrence.” Luca nods when I walk through the shop door on Monday morning. I swallow and smile, tight-lipped, returning the gesture while he waves toward the curtain.

“Miss Hall is waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” I mutter and walk quickly toward the back.

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