Page 11 of Fight for Me
“What can I help you with?” she asked, changing the subject and breaking the tense silence all at once.
Jake looked past her into the studio, taking a deep breath he hadn’t realized he needed. He mentally catalogued the equipment in front of him.
“I’ve got the volleyball team coming soon, so if you’ll pop open those reflectors, I’ll set up the diffusers and stands,” he said, pointing toward the open studio space. They worked together for a few comfortable minutes, Jake giving instructions as Lexie unzipped cases and handed him what he needed.
“Sit on the stool and let me get the settings right,” he directed, taking a test shot of the empty chair. The strobes flashed quickly,momentarily flooding the backdrop with extra light, and Lexie obediently took a seat. Jake stood a few feet in front of her and took several more shots, adjusting the settings on both the camera and the strobes.
After a few minutes, Jake started to study the angles of her face and the shadows along her throat as if she were a still-life subject and not the main character in so many of his daydreams. He looked long and hard through the viewfinder, taking advantage of the silent permission she gave. Her green blouse made her eyes twice as vibrant, and her hair fell in effortless curls around her shoulders, yet her face was still nervous, as if she were expecting to be judged.
“Think about me,” he said, the thought becoming words before he could stop it. Lexie cocked her head slightly, confusion flickering in her eyes, and Jake cleared his throat. “In the bird suit,” he clarified.
As he’d hoped, her eyes lit up and her face split into a smile that brightened the room.
There she is, he thought, snapping the photo before the glow could fade.
“I will never forget that, not as long as I live,” Lexie said, and Jake smiled, every bit of her reaction warming something deep inside him.
“I hope you don’t,” he said, letting the camera rest low against his chest. Lexie’s eyes darted toward a point over his shoulder, and Jake turned to see a young woman in a crimson sports uniform leaning through the doorframe.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. “Is this the right place for team pictures?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jake answered, a little too brightly. He glanced at his watch. “You’re right on time. If you would, just put your name and details on the form by the door.”
Several other team members appeared in the hallway a moment later, and Jake got caught in a jumble of questions and instructions. When he looked up, Lexie had slipped away, and he felt a physical pang of loss in the otherwise crowded room.
Lexie scrolled backthrough her text messages as she crossed the quad. There wasn’t any point in torturing herself, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. Her father’s words stung every time she read them.
Lexie:Have you seen my article on Dr. Henry Thornton’s new dementia trial? It’s my first alumni feature!
Dad:Did you help him collect samples or analyze his trial data?
Lexie:No, of course not.
Dad:Then what good is it? Anyone can write words.
Lexie stuffed her phone back into her pocket as she reached her car. If nothing else, she’d at least thought her father would be impressed that she’d met the man who was revolutionizing neuroscience as they knew it.
“Thanks for the encouragement, Dad,” she muttered. “No time like the present to make your only daughter feel useless.”
In truth, Dr. Garrett Preston III had never passed up that kind of opportunity.
3
“What about theanimal shelter? Does anyone work there?” Lexie asked late Tuesday morning, holding the phone to her ear so she could listen to the voice on the other end of the line. For someone tasked with tracking student community service hours, this woman certainly wasn’t much help. So far, all she’d been able to tell Lexie was that athletes and students who were members of Greek organizations completed the highest number of hours; however, she didn’t have any information on when or where the hours were served.
Lexie thanked her and hung up in frustration.
“What was that all about?” Jake asked, coming into the breakroom as Lexie crossed another idea off her list with irritation.
She looked up in time to see him lift a large box marked “photo negatives” onto the top of a long row of black file cabinets, and something in her brain stuttered as the muscles in his arms and back flexed beneath his T-shirt. The same thing had happenedthe other day when he’d been standing close enough for her to see all the shades of brown that ringed his irises. It was like a mental glitch that only happened when he was close by.
Jake gave her a funny look as he turned around, and Lexie realized he’d asked a question.
“I’m looking for students completing community service hours, but I’m coming up empty. So far, nobody I’ve talked to is part of a current project.” She shuffled the papers in front of her and tossed back the last of a strawberry smoothie she’d grabbed after class.
Jake headed back into the hallway and returned a moment later with another box, lifting it up beside the first. This time, Lexie looked out the window, willing herself not to watch. It was rude to stare, after all.
“I can probably help,” Jake said, leaning back against the row of cabinets. His stance did nothing to keep Lexie’s attention off the tanned arms that crossed over his chest, and she mentally smacked herself. What was wrong with her all of a sudden?!
