Page 25 of The Photograph

“Me, too. I walk to the station most days. It’s miserable in the winter.”

“Where do you live?”

“Long Island. Great Neck.”

He unwraps his cutlery, skewers a bit of salmon, pops it in his mouth, and chews.

“About an hour on the train, right?”

I nod at this.

He taps the table with his fork. “Explain. What is it with the pictures? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Laughter grabs my throat. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I like taking photographs. I’ve got lots of them. Chronicling my life that way makes sense to me.”

And it’s true. I’m always framing New York through a lens.

“More of you having sex with some guy?” He raises a pale eyebrow at me.

Oh God. I sent him that picture to prove something to him, to myself maybe. My face flushes with heat. I wanted to show him that I’m not some shy guy who can’t do this, though, in reality, that’s who I am. A part of me wanted to say that Ihavedone this before, that I understand how to play the game. But it wasn’t sex, far from it. What an idiot.

“I was trying to respond in kind.”

“But you told me you wanted slow? And you have to admit that photo didn’t exactly scream slow.”

“Yeah, it’s someone I was in a relationship with a while ago.” I stutter over the wordrelationship, but what else would I call it?

“Okay. I was just surprised after our first conversation that you had something like that.”

“You sent me a picture of a naked guy going into your bathroom!”

Des grins at this. “Yeah, you’ve got me there.”

Heat burns through me. I’m envious, I can’t deny it. A woman with her earbuds in sings loudly to a song as she walks up the street. Des taps my hand.

“It was a hookup,” he says.

My gut churns. That picture felt like a rebuke. I’ve never had a one-night stand; it’s laughably far away from the kind of life I lead. And I’ve certainly never hooked up witha guy. What do I say here? A “I get you” is probably the appropriate response, butI don’t get him and I feel like a fool, an immature fool. My gaze drops as I stir my coffee.

“Are you not okay with that?”

I lift my head to find Des’s eyes on me, and it’s warm and friendly and something seeps into my bloodstream, something like calm and sunshine. He’s so nonjudgmental. Hiding is unnecessary when I’m with him; he encourages me to lay it all on the table.

“I feel like an idiot,” I say.

Des laughs.

“I’m envious, to be honest,” I add.

“But you wanted to take it slow, Alex.” He reaches out and squeezes my hand then lets go.Leave it there.

I can’t tell him that I said that thing about taking it slow because I’m overwhelmed, because the thought of having sex with a guy like Des who’s obviously been with so many guys terrifies me. What he might expect me to know how to do, whatheknows how to do. Sweat trickles down my spine, and I run my hand around the collar of my shirt.

“Can I say that I love how honest you are,” he says, pursing his lips and looking off to the side as shock rolls through me. “I’m guessing from what you’re saying that you haven’t done much exploring. There’s a lot of posturing and bullshit out there on the scene. It’s refreshing to meet someone who …” he trails off.

I stare at him. The very idea that I could offer him something he can’t find elsewhere warms me to the tips of my toes.

His eyes flick up to mine, a perfect shot of azure. A gold ring surrounds his iris, deep mottling around the outside. Dark lines radiate outward through the gold and the clear blue, reflecting his pale lashes. What would he look like in mascara?

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