Page 15 of Best Year Ever
Rori rolls her eyes in response, but it’s relaxed. In fact, her body language is more at ease than it’s been since I first arrived.
The music starts cranking, and we begin our respective actions. I move my body and the grip of the football between my hands in different ways, while Rori goes into an athletic stance and swings, serves, and twirls the racket.
Our eyes stay locked onto each other like John asked. It should be awkward, but it’s not. It feels more like we’re acknowledging that we have a secret. Her eyes stay open and bright, not shuttered like when I first came into her dressing room.
“Excellent, excellent,” John shouts after about ten minutes of different poses. “Okay, what I want you to do next, Rori, is hold the racket up with your hand that is farther from the camera, and Landon, you’re going to push the football against it.”
We follow his orders, and I press the football against the racquet. I’m about eight inches taller than her, but with the racquet height, it works.
John continues, taking our other hands, gently flattening our palms and then connecting them against each other.
“And then for each of your free hands closer to the camera—I want you to press them against each other. With eye contact. Basically, you’re showing the tension of competition.”
Okay, so now things are getting interesting.
I get to touch Rori.
There’s going to be “tension” for sure.
CHAPTER 7
Rori
When Landon first came into my dressing room, I was stunned to see him. I was also fearful that he’d cause a scene by confronting me about not returning his text.
His behavior ended up being the opposite of hostile though, and my nerves started to calm down. His playful, flirty manner only bothered me because it sparked my attraction to him again, but it was much better than him being angry or upset.
By the time I walk on set, I’m settled into a more neutral place.
Of course, doing a photo shoot with him touching me while shirtless has my hormones anything but neutral now.
Following John’s directions, I am “stuck” staring into Landon’s eyes, peeking down at his tanned, bare chest, taking in the sensations of his hand against mine and consuming his distinctly masculine scent.
Needless to say, my brain is shutting down.
I cannot be mad at myself for my reaction. This is torture—the best kind.
The man issexy. Memories of our night together keep flooding in with his closeness.
Still, I do my best to stay focused on what the photographer wants and to get into the zone. Like I’m in a tough match on the court, I start with mental tricks to center myself.
Only this time, it’s me versus my hormones. It doesn’t help that I haven’t hooked up with anyone since our night together on New Year’s.
After a million pictures, John calls for a break. Landon relaxes his stance, but instead of releasing his hand, he threads his fingers gently through mine and gives my hand a soft squeeze.
“You were perfect, Rori, the photos are going to be amazing,” Landon says with a whisper, so only the two of us can hear.
The photo assistants don’t recognize the moment that we’re having and come forward to guide us into our respective dressing rooms. Landon drops my hand, and we both go with our minders.
Well, that was an interesting first session.
Five minutes later my phone dings.
NEW YEARS: So, will you return my texts now?
It’s Landon, labeled with the nickname he gave himself that night.
No avoiding this topic, I guess.
