Page 3 of In Frame
“Come on, that’s Colby Kent! Nobody ever sees Colby out partying! That’s a story!”
Jason shifted weight. Wrapped arms more fiercelyaround Colby. Let out a rumbling noise like the threat of a tiger.
“True,” Leo deflected hastily, “but for your own health, I’d suggest you not say that again. Would you like pictures of me instead?”
Colby, being defended, patted Jason’s arm in appreciation, rested his head on Jason’s shoulder, and murmured, “Thank you, Leo…”
“No offense,” said the man, “but you’re not the biggest news here.” Out from behind the camera, he had wavy short dark hair, a hint of dark stubble, skin somewhere between light brown and deep tan, and absolutely sinful long-lashed brown-gold eyes.
Leo blinked. No, that’d been a real thought. One his brain’d just had. About those eyes.
“The limo’s here,” Jill said. “We’re going. Come on, guys.”
The camera went up again, presumably in hopes of catching Jason Mirelli tenderly helping an intoxicated Colby Kent into a limousine.
Leo sighed, said to his friends, “Go on, I’ll catch up,” and put himself right in front of the camera. He even began some bizarre arm-waving. Dancing around. Jumping up and down and generally being a photo-blocking nuisance.
Other diversionary tactics might’ve also worked. He hadn’t thought of any. He was mildly tipsy too.
Oh, well; he had no qualms at all about looking ridiculous. He’d never had those.
“You know,” the man said bemusedly, “I’ll take pictures ofyou. Better Leo Whyte than nothing.”
“Better me than you stalking my friends for whatever bottom-feeding tabloid rag you’ll sell them to,” Leo said, and used random flailing to angle himself between the lens and the actors and directors diving into transportation behind him.
The camera clicked a few times. Stopped. Luscious gold-flecked eyes regarded Leo with surprising intent. “You’re not what I expected.”
Leo put a hand on a hip. Struck a pose. “That’s because there’s only one of me. Unique, you might say.”
“I might.”
Jillian stuck her head back out of the limo. “Leo?”
“You should go,” Leo said, not looking round. “He might try to follow you.”
“But—”
“Or,” the photographer said, “you could let me buy you a drink.”
“Why on earth would I do that? Why would youoffer?”
“Because.” With a grin; with, Leo realized suddenly and with some shock, a sweep of that gaze blatantly up and down, a study that echoed along Leo’s spine. “Because youareunique. Because you don’t want me calling some contacts to see which tapas bar Colby Kent might like before the show. Because you want to help.”
“I—”
“Leo,” Jill called, “if you want Jason’ll come hit him for you!”
“I will,” Jason’s voice rumbled from limo-depths, “if you’ll take care of Colby for me.”
“I’m fine! I’m in favor of protecting Leo! And I’m always in favor of Jason’s muscles!”
“You should at least drink some water—here, take this bottle, and your hands are cold, I want you wearing my jacket…”
“If I say yes to the drink,” Leo said, “you won’t follow them.” He wasn’t thinking about the lastbecause. He didn’t know how. How’d a random obnoxious photographer seen exactly the piece of his heart that meant to try the hardest and also hurt the most?
“I promise.” The camera lowered. Neon cowboy bootsflared and kicked in the dark above his head: a warning or a temptation, and Leo wasn’t sure which message it was.
He said, “Jill, go on, you’ll be late. I’ll catch up, I promise.”
