Page 11 of The Photograph

An hour later my T-shirt has disappeared and sweat is running down my chest, dampening the tops of my shorts. George vanished hours ago. Perhaps I’ve lost him for good this evening? I’m mildly relieved. As I head off the dancefloor, a couple of guys eye up my toned torso with interest and one of them grabs me around the neck and gives me a long kiss. I’m a knockout without my top—that’s why I took it off. But I escape from the smoocher—it’s too early to decide on who tonight—and I blow the other guy a kiss as I fight my way to the bar. The bartender is built, tattoos snaking down his arms, and I give him a drunken grin. Leaning right over the counter to talk to me, he places two muscled forearms on the marble surface, and I have a terrible desire to lean down and brush my lips over them. Steam rises inside me. Maybe more than one guy tonight? As I gaze up into his dark eyes, someone comes up behind me and kisses my neck. Then George says in my ear:

“I hope you’re not getting a drink without me, Dessy, and don’t think I didn’t clock that smooch on the dancefloor.”

Leaning over my shoulder, he says to the bartender: “Two long slow screws, and take your eyes off him—he’s mine.”

I turn and pout at him. “Stop ruining my chances.”

He narrows his eyes on me, frowning. “What do you mean? I thought I was coming back to yours tonight. I’ve really missed you.” He’s not smiling when he says this, and he bends forward and kisses my neck, pressing himself right up against me. Something in me melts.

I place my hands on his hips. Do I mind this? Alcohol thrums through my veins. Sex with George is good, and we know each other well. I can keep my emotions out of it.

He tips back and cups my face. “Are you up for that?” he says, and bless him, his brow is wrinkled. The idea of something familiar tonight after the week I’ve had makes my toes curl. So I nod, too tired to do anything else.

The cute bartender leans over, placing both our cocktails down. “If you guys are up for staying until we close, I can make you free drinks all night and join you later.” His eyes scan down George’s body.

George tilts forward and places his lips on the bartender’s, who kisses him straight back, and he turns and grins at me.

“I’m up for that. Dessy?”

The bartender reaches out and runs his thumb along my lower lip, leaning over to say over the thumping beat, “I’m Felix.”

It’s just another night out in New York.

White sheets twitch over my shoulder as someone moves behind me, and I blink blearily at the dark tumble of hair on the pillow in front of me.George.Then who …? I roll onto my back as Felix pulls himself up to sit on the side of the mattress. The clock projecting the time on the ceiling blinks 3:05 a.m. George snuffles and lets out a soft snore.

“I’m going to head home,” Felix whispers.

Running my hand over my face, I prop myself up, placing a hand on his warm back. “No problem.”

“Thanks for tonight. I had an amazing time. You guys are a blast.”

Perhaps he thinks George and I are together: We understand each other so well, sexually and otherwise. Something slithers through me. Back in Seoul, I went to sleep early and got up at dawn to run along the hilly paths with the rising sun. The people were kind and polite, and I had a lot of enjoyable evenings over lovely meals. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been, and I want to hold on to the promise I made to change my lifestyle when I came back.

I nod. “I’ll see you out.”

He shakes his head. “No need, I can let myself out.”

But I push up to sit on the side of the mattress next to him as he rummages around for his boxers, pulling a dark pair from the pile of clothes on the floor. He turns his head and grins, patting my shoulder.

“You’re a nice person, Des. He’s a lucky guy.” Hooking his shorts over his feet, he stands and pulls them over his ass.

I run my hand over my hair, unconvinced. I’m a drama queen, I know I am. I just don’t get to show it with George: His capacity for melodrama runs so much hotter than mine.

Felix grabs his T-shirt and slips it over his head, and I reach down and pull my own boxers out of the heap and put them on and we walk to the door of my apartment. He turns around in the doorway.

Don’t ask for my number.

“It’d be fun to see you again, Des, if you’re up for that.”

Damn.

“Sure.” I grab his phone and enter my details, then text myself. “You got me now,” I say.

He nods, grinning. Then leans in and gives me a smooch on the lips, shaking his head. “Fantastic night.”

“Me, too,” I say, and I give him a little wave as he heads to the elevator.

I shut the door and lean back against it, blowing out a breath.

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