Page 94 of Victorious: Part I

That’s the problem.

I’m all too aware of her presence.

Of her eyes on me through the lens.

I awkwardly position myself where she pointed, shoving my hands in my pockets and trying not to feel like a complete tool.

She pulls her head back from the lens with a chuckle, staring at me. “Okay, maybe try standing less like you have a pole shoved up your ass, and just, I dunno, act like you’re standing with the guys, hanging out by the sign and talking macho biker shit.”

I smirk at her. “Macho biker shit?”

“Yeah, grunt, or burp, fart if you want. I don’t know what you guys get up to when us ladies aren’t around.”

Letting out a laugh, I don’t know how, but somehow, she’s found a way to relax me. “Macho biker shit,” I mumble under my breath, then shake my head. “Jesus-fucking-Christ.” With a huff, I move to the sign, lean my shoulder against it, cross my arms, and stare down the camera at her.

She stills for a moment, then a huge smile crosses her face. “Shit! Oh yeah, that’s it. That’s the look,” she calls. “Now look slightly to your left. Like you’re watching for something in the distance.”

I follow her directions, feeling ridiculous.

“No, no, relax your shoulders. You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“That’s because I might,” I grumble, but I try to loosen up.

She giggles. “Better,” she says. “Now just… be still. Take in the serenity.”

Drawing in a deep breath, the sun is warm on my face as I stare out at the endless desert. It’s easy to see why so many people get lost out here—everything looks the same, stretching to the horizon in all directions.

It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.

I almost forget Clover is taking pictures until she speaks again, “Could you try one where you’re looking back at me over your shoulder?”

Turning, I catch her eye directly instead of looking at the camera. She pauses, our gazes locked for a moment, and something electric passes between us before her finger clicks the shutter.

“That was perfect,” she says, her voice softer now. “Really perfect.” She inhales, then walks toward me with the camera. “You wanna see?” she asks.

I tilt my head, and she moves in beside me, bringing up the camera screen. Glancing down, she flicks through the images, and I’m surprised by what I see. I look different. Relaxed, even. The lighting does something to my features, softening them while casting dramatic shadows. The neon sign glows behind me against the darkening sky.

“Not bad,” I admit.

Clover beams. “See? You’re a natural. Now come here. I want to get one of both of us.”

Before I can protest, she’s setting up the tripod again, programming the camera to take shots on a timer. She positions herself next to me, so close that the floral and sweet scents of her shampoo surround me.

Intoxicate me.

Completely unravel me.

“Put your arm around me,” she instructs. “Like we’re travel buddies.”

I hesitate, trying to control my inner thoughts and, more importantly, control parts of my body thatreallyneed controlling right now. Then, I lightly place my arm around her shoulders. She fits against me far too perfectly, her small frame tucking into my side like she belongs there.

The thought makes my heart race. A light sweat beads against my forehead as my stomach twists at how very fucking bad this could be.

“Smile!” she says as the timer counts down.

I try, but I’m too conscious of her warmth against me, of how her hair brushes my arm, of how fucking wrong it is that I’m noticing these things about Maverick’s little sister.

Specifically, when he has constantly and continuously told every brother, especially me, to stay away from her.

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