Page 21 of The Photo
Maybe I should leave the car here for the night? It will give me the perfect excuse to see Rowan tomorrow. I still won’t be drinking tonight, anyway. I have two photo shoots and a few meetings this week. Mental clarity is essential and being hungover is a verified way to look like shit. I stroll over to the valet and collect my ticket back. “We’ll get a cab. It’s no problem. I’ll leave the car here overnight and collect it in the morning.”
Rowan blushes and surveys the roadside. I love that about her. So innocent and unassuming. As shy as she might be, I can tell she’s thinking the same thing. Me. Her. Sex. All night long.
A cab pulls up, and I close the gap, ushering her to the car with a hand to her shoulder. I glance back and call out to Chelsea and the skinny guy, Sam. “Let’s take two cars. Tell your driver to follow our cab.” Rowan’s head turns, lashes batting like she’s using Morse code.
I look down at her and offer a smile. As soon as we can dump her friends, the better. I’d prefer to be alone with her. A cab ride won’t be long enough, but it’ll have to do for now. She sucks in an apprehensive breath like her nerves are jumping. “So,” I begin. “Seahorses?”
Rowan keeps her gaze low while I yank the cab door open for her. “Yeah, seahorses.” She elegantly glides over the worn upholstery. “Although, I’m now a fan of seashells. The bigger the better,” she teases bravely.
Lean legs, bare skin and sparkly heels give my dick a power surge, and then there’s a floral scent of roses. It’s feminine and delicate, masking the air freshener hanging in the rearview mirror. I’m attuned to her faint fragrance, to her nervous fidgety hands and to that tongue of hers that skates over her lips every now and again. The way she does it, without thought, it’s fucking erotic.
“I brought the shell home with me.” I flash her a sexy grin, tip forward and speak to the driver. “Can you take us to Eden, please?”
Rowan sits back, fiddling with a silver ring on her middle finger. “I’ve loved seahorses ever since I was a kid.” She begins. “They’re real life mythical creatures. Like if mermaids or centaurs were real, you know?” Her eyes dart sideways, daring to look at me. “I think way too much about stupid stuff like that.”
“It’s not stupid at all.” I overthink too, sometimes to my own detriment. While guys my age are out partying and fucking anything with a pulse, I’d be at home in my apartment reading.
My parents divorced when I was thirteen. It poisoned my desire to belong to one person or to trust them. Turns out that my dad was screwing a colleague instead of burning the midnight oil at the office, like he told us. As a result of his selfishness, I’m not interested in forever, not when it will fall apart around a false promise.
Mother doesn’t blame him, she said they just weren’t the same people anymore, and he got his kicks elsewhere. That’s life. People evolve. Plans change. Relationships come and go. I’m aware this infatuation with Rowan will burn out like a short fuse. It’s inevitable, but when I look at her, I hope this girl can mean something to me.
“What’s your favorite?”
Her knee moves, innocently touching my thigh. Shock waves startle me. “That would be the zebra seahorse,” she continues. There isn’t much room in the back of this city cab. I sense her heart beating at a higher speed when her words tumble out in a rush. I’m aware of every subtle movement she makes.
“Do I make you nervous?” I shuffle around to face her directly.
City lights flicker across her silhouette. “You could say I’m a little nervous and unsure what’s happening. I mean, you’re like… shit hot and unavailable, and I’m a student from Ireland.”
She’s right. There isn't any rational reason for this. “You’re different. Most of the women who contact me want something in return. Whether it’s benefiting their status or just for sex.”
Her eyes widen. “Are they really that forward and offer you sex on a plate?”
I shrug casually. “On a plate, on a coffee table, on a motorcycle, in a shower, in a crowded room. The requests have been graphic over the years. I'm a guy, but that doesn’t mean I get turned on by every woman.” I hear her intake of air and notice the soft hum of music from the cab radio.
“Wow. That's unbelievable,” she whispers, licking her lips like she’s thinking about making her own offer.
“What is? That I’m not a man whore?” I joke because my dick is swelling, sitting heavy against my zipper. “There was one woman who wanted me to fuck her while the husband watched, in the same room.”
“Did you?”
“No,” I drawl. “Perhaps if I knew her, or we had a connection, or I didn’t feel like a show pony.”
“So the idea didn’t turn you on?” I notice her thighs clench. “It must have had some impact on you?”
The fact she’s intrigued by the propositions scorches my blood as it rushes around my veins, heating me up. Perhaps it was a bad idea to wear the leather jacket. Nowadays, I’m immune to the constant sordid suggestions, but watching Rowan get hot under the collar, that’s a whole new arousal.
In the beginning, when the attention was new to me, sure it was exciting, but as I’ve gotten older the requests just seem desperate.
“I can read a few of them out for you?” I propose. “Some of them are as odd as a box of weasels, and some of them are explicit.”
Her mouth quirks. “A box of weasels?”
“Yeah, they’re cute little guys too.”
Her glistening green eyes flick to the city blurring through the window and then cut back to mine. Her bottom lip becomes trapped under her front teeth, and the skin on her cheeks flush. I take my time to study her quick breathing while my adventurous fingers glide dangerously close to the inside of her thigh, stopping shy of her hem. A soft little moan sighs out like a mating call. It excites me. I’m now extremely hard. This evening will be torture until I can take this woman on all fours.
“Are you wet, Rowan?” I can’t help asking. Either she tells me, or I’ll find out for myself. She neither confirms nor denies, but her cheeks flood to a deeper shade. Her hand lands on mine like she’s going to direct me to the area in question.
