Page 87 of Steel

His laughter brushes over me, and I stop to close my eyes and bask in it because it’s not very often that I hear it, unless he’s with Lyric.

“On the kitchen counter.”

Excited now, I hurry the rest of the way down the stairs and to the door. It takes only seconds for me to unlock the door and shove my way in.

When I spot the black leather bag sitting in the middle of the kitchen counter, I jerk to a stop and lift a hand to my mouth as tears fill my eyes. “Jericho,” I whisper.

“Don’t know shit ‘bout photography, Hummingbird, but I know that if you feel the same freedom bein’ behind that lens as I do on the back of my bike, then you’re probably feelin’ like you’re missin’ a huge piece of you. Know yours broke when you were runnin’ from Killer. The lady said this was the best one. Even added all the extra shit she said you’d need.”

Gifts. Our relationship has evolved into gifts. Really expensive gifts, it seems. It’s definitely different from what we had in the past. Maybe he really did mean his words over the weekend. I don’t know why that terrifies me even more than if he’d been lying.

“If you don’t like it or it’s the wrong thing, we can take it back and you can get whatever you want.”

I’m stuck in place staring at the camera bag. I can’t seem to make myself walk over and open it.

Steel sighs. “Not even gone and looked at it, have you?”

“What? Of course, I have,” I lie.

“Goin’ to spank your ass for lyin’ to me.”

“That’s not really an incentive for me to tell the truth, now is it?” I mumble as I finally make my way across the room.

You’d think the case holds an active bomb with the way I’m approaching it, and it possibly does, just not an explosive one. More of an emotional one.

“You want that juicy ass spanked, baby girl, all you gotta do is ask,” he growls.

“Where would the fun in that be, bossman? All the fun is making your palm tingle until you just can’t help but clap my cheek.”

“Fuckin’ wench,” he groans. “Makin’ my dick hard in the middle of work.”

“Poor baby,” I tease.

“Stop stallin’, Bailee. Open the fuckin’ case.”

“Bossy,” I grumble, unzipping the top of the case and lifting the lid.

As soon as I get a look at the camera, I let out a gasp. I put the phone on speaker so I can set it on the counter to lift the expensive treasure out gently. “Steel, this is the best. It’s just like my last one. The D850 is the best on the market. A lot of photographers, well, mostly amateur ones that I’ve noticed, aregoing mirrorless, which makes sense because they’re efficient with how light they are, and it isn’t a bad thing. They’re good cameras and take beautiful pictures as long as the person behind the lens knows what they’re doing. I have one at home that I’ll use on occasion.”

I’m rambling things he has no clue about in my excitement, but holy crap.

I set it beside the case and pull the other accessories out, lining them up so I can see what all he got. Three different lenses—AF-S NIKKOR 20mm, AF-S NIKKOR 35mm, and an AF-S NIKKOR 85mm—a wireless remote control, a wireless transmitter, a bunch of different eyepieces, a strap, a pack of memory cards, a film digitizing adapter, and a multi-battery power pack.

“You weren’t kidding when you said she made sure you had everything were you? Steel, this is too much.”

“Hush. That shit make you happy?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, running my finger over one of the lenses.

“It make you feel free bein’ behind it?”

“Yes.”

“Then it wasn’t too much. If it makes you sound like that, that sweet little hum you do when you’re pleased, then I’ll go fuckin’ broke if I need to.”

“Bossman, you know I got my own money, right?”

“Don’t give a fuck. Do what you want with it. Don’t matter to me. Switch me to video.”

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