Page 2 of The Photograph

• Roll over and realize I’m still wearing a condom

• Try and sneak out before anyone wakes, only to be told to “be quiet when I’m leaving”

• Pull my clothes on from the heap on the floor, realize I can’t find my boxers and that I should have taken a shower

• Catch sight of myself in the mirror in the elevator and notice that my hair is standing on end, and I have love bites all over my neck. Sure enough, I can remember some guy sucking on me like a vampire.

• Wondering if that guy really was a vampire because I’ve read too many of those kinds of books and have started to believe they’re real

• Staring at the jeans I’m wearing in an Uber and realizing they don’t belong to me.

If this isn’t TMI for you, I’d love to meet.

I grin. If he wants to get together after that word vomit, then it’s game on.

2

DES

At the smoky mirrored entrance to the bar, my reflection shows a guy with luminous skin and blond messy curls and I grin. I’ve gone all out metrosexual tonight: tight embroidered shirt, messed-up hair, glossed-up cheeks. I smile at the host taking names at the door. He does a little double take and gives me a flirtatious lip curl, inclining his head.

“For one?” he says, voice hopeful.

“Actually, I’m meeting someone.”

Pouting, he tracks down his list. “Of course you are. Shame,” he mutters under his breath.

He’s cute, too. Maybe if this date doesn’t work out, this is another option right here. I step up to stand beside him, folding my arms on his lectern as we both gaze at the table allocation. His eyes flutter toward mine, just inches away. My grin gets wider.

“If he stands me up …” I start.

He shakes his head. “No one is standing you up, sweetie.” And he grabs the cocktail menu and swings around, waving his hand at me to follow.

His neat backside flexes as he struts into the gloom of the bar: all thick carpets, dim mood lighting, and velvet booths.Nice.Adrenaline thumps through my veins. I’m like a junkie about to have his first fix of the day: I’ve missed everything about the New York hookup scene.

The ass of the guy from reception is so engrossing that I nearly crash into him when he stops. And someone is already sitting at the table, and …

Oh.My.

Cuter than his Grindr picture. Dark, loosely tousled curls, a long thin nose, and full lips, and oh man, sharp wire-frame glasses, too. I swallow as he grins at me. And something about that cute smile, the perfect white teeth …Oh, Des,good going.I press my hand to my chest.Hello, Mr. Sunday.

The host from the front desk gestures to the empty seat opposite him and mutters something before heading off. I turn to watch him go.

“Do you always eye up guys like that?” Mr. Sunday’s voice says to the back of my head.

Damn, he clocked the ass ogling. I cock my head at him. He’d better not be one of those puritanical types, but yeah, it was a bit rude when I’m here for a date. Giving him a wide, guileless smile, I hold out my hand.

“Des Collins. And yes, I do.” I grab his hand when he reaches out to shake mine, pulling him forward like I’m about to share a secret. “I think it would be a sin not to admire a good-looking guy, don’t you? All that work sweating it out in the gym. I spend hours on my ass.”

Fortunately, he laughs, bites his lip, and leans further in. “I think he was quite disappointed.”

Shrugging, I carry on holding his hand with a smile. Is he going to tell me his name?

“Alex Blackman,” he says like he’s read my mind.

He’s so close now. I stretch over the table and kiss him on the cheek.

“Oh! Okay,” he mumbles as my lips connect with his skin and the slight rasp of his ruthlessly shaved jaw buzzes from my mouth to my crotch and down my legs, making my toes curl. Damn, I am getting laid tonight. When I pull back to grin at him, heat climbs in his cheeks.Better and better.I could invite him back to my place right now and jump the whole build-up bullshit.

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