Page 17 of The Photo
Eh–I never said that. Did I? I absolutely want him in my bedroom, but I can’t tell him that now. Then I really would be creepy. I sink my teeth into a pink donut and shake my head. “I wouldn’t tie you up,” I mumble, covering my mouth with the donut.
His brow lifts. “ButIcould tieyouup?” Is he toying with me? I’m not an expert at reading sexy signals, but Noah definitely just asked if he could tie me up. If that’s not a flashing over the top Vegas sign, then I truly am hopeless.
“Mmm.” I’m not sure how to respond. “I guess so,” I reply warily.
“I'd only do that if you liked me?” he replies with a deadpan expression.
Is this a trap?A tremor of heartbeats multiply. They spread to my belly as uncertainty swells. “You’re very attractive,” I stammer. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”
“It's my toes, isn’t it? They’re a deal breaker.” He taps his cheek with his forefinger, pointing to his mouth while nodding at me. “You’ve got a little—”
I stick my tongue out and swipe away the powdered sugar at the edge of my mouth. He lifts his cap and then fixes it back in place.
“It’s not your toes,” I announce, trying not to bite my lip. “I don’t know you, Mr. Adams.”
“Noah,” he corrects.
“Noah,” I repeat, not understanding why I was being so formal in the first place. I’m a lost cause. “I have no idea who you are under all that––” My thoughts race to lewd and crude descriptions. Hanging around Chelsea does that to a person. I can’t think straight. “Under that–uh–exterior,” I continue, tipping my head towards his torso. My gaze returns from its trek over the dips of his chest and lands on his mouth. “I guess I think you're attractive on some level,” I admit and keep the degree of infatuation under my belt. I won’t lock him up, but I have used his photos to get myself off. On a scale of stalker to nutty as a fruit loaf–I’m nudging nutty.
“Hey!” Sam stops beside us, giving me the opportunity to bow out from my rambling.
His style is a mix of homeless chic and boho, with multiple bracelets and jaw length hair. “Did you get the flight shites under control? I’ve got pills for that in my room if you need them, Ro.”
Dear universe, I sincerely apologize for whatever wrong I have done to deserve this. If you can please stop his lips from flapping, I’ll be forever in your debt.
“I don’t have—that!” I strain the word with mutter. “Chelsea made me sneak out for a donut. Here, take them.” I thrust the sugary scented gift into his hands. “Take one, take two. Take them all. Share them with Chelsea. She’ll be your best friend forever.” I drop my half eaten donut into the box and slap his shoulder in a friendly, ‘get the fuck out of here,’ gesture.
Sam grins. “Cheers, Rowan.” He collects a brown frosted donut and punctures the icing with his teeth. “Amazing.” He hums out around a mouthful like he’s having an orgasm.
Noah lowers his face, and I think he’s laughing under the peaked shield. At least he hasn’t walked off, afraid to catch a foreign disease.
“I do not have, and never have had, flight shites,” I tell him when Sam slinks off.
“Never doubted it for a second.” He’s still smiling. When his eyes settle on mine, he holds us in a quiet moment of deliberation. I take the time to study the coppery flecks scattered in mahogany brown, circling true black pupils. His features are remarkable, even more in the flesh. “You’re different,” he exclaims. “Can I see your entry?” His accent has my pulse at fever pitch.
“Sure. Walk this way.” I turn towards the display. In a quick beat, he’s tight to my side with fingertips lightly touching my spine, like he wants to touch me but isn’t certain. “It’s the photo with the big rainbow.” I point to the landscape.
“Wow.” He tips the peak of his cap and folds his arms. “Impressive. They look like steps. Was this in Ireland?” Either they turned the air conditioning to an icy gale, or my body misses his heat when he leaves me behind for a closer inspection. “You have talent, Rowan.”
“Thanks.” I exhale. “It’s North of Ireland. The Giant’s Causeway.” Noah stands before the stone pillars and multicolored rainbow, gazing straight at it. I have to strain my neck to see it properly, but he faces it at eye level. He’s so tall and strapping, so much more than a one-dimensional selfie. “I got soaked waiting for that shot.” My voice fills the void of his silent observation. “And it was bloody freezing. It’s always cold in the North.”
His soles shift with a squeak on the glossy floor. I glance down to find the latest fashion track shoes at the end of fitted joggers. Not the same skintight joggers from a few weeks ago that left a red-hot indent in my memory. These are navy and a little less snug but in no way disappointing.
“What time does the convention wrap up?” He faces me and pockets a hand, so he gives the impression he’s incredibly cool—and he is.
“There should be an itinerary here somewhere. My professor didn’t tell us how long something like this would last.”
“I’d like to take you out, if you have the time,” he says, scratching short nails under his chin. “I’ll come back whenever you’re done.”
What?He’s asking me out on a date, or am I still dreaming? “I–mmm–I’m not sure when it's over,” I say, shaking my head in both confusion and wonder.
I’d happily take his hand and amble out the door this second, but the convention is a massive deal for me to showcase my work, even if Noah Adams is right here, all sexy, hot and tempting. A sigh shudders through me, and I clear my throat. “I’ll ask around.”
Noah turns to my photo. “Go ahead. I’ll be waiting right here, studying this masterpiece.”
That word runs along my spine with delight. He’s impressed. “Why are you here?” The question shoots out of me before I realize. “I mean, not that I’m complaining. I just thought I’d ask.”
He stands a little taller, if at all possible, and his expression morphs to one of mild ambivalence. “I saw the arrival sign picture you posted. You were here, in Ontario, and I was there, in Rio.” He touches his lower lip and drags it slowly. “The shoot finished at midday, so I chartered the earliest flight back home. Then, out of the entire population of Ontario, Rowan Hudson from Ireland, tried to body slam me like a WWE professional.” With equal effort, he both sighs and laughs. “I’m not a hundred percent sure why I’m here either. Let’s just say, I’m curious.”
