Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
I let out a low whistle, impressed with her artistry, her approach. “You’re good. I knew that, but I keep learning it. You seem to know how to…read a room, but really—to read people.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I hope so. But I also love it. Trying to find a story in what’s going on with the people I’m photographing. Sometimes it’s easy to just assign all these stories to people. But I think you have to know what you’re looking for, or at least be open to finding the stories they’re telling themselves.”
I think on that for a moment, linking it with what she said a few minutes ago about always taking pictures—like she did of us, of our first kiss. Like how she held on to those photos. “Do you look back at the pictures you take? I’ve read stats on the number of images humans now take every day and most seem so mundane. A receipt, where we parked our car, a schedule for a workout class.”
“A lot of photos are just notes. But the thing is, you could look back on those later, and read the story of your day, what was going on, what mattered to you in that moment.”
That’s one way of looking at disposable photos, but I don’t think that’s what she does behind the lens. “You’re not taking photos for notes though, are you?”
A soft smile shifts her lips as she shakes her head, looking like she appreciates being understood. “Not really. I want to capture experiences if I can.” Excitement builds in her tone as she says, “Think about how fast the world moves now. Our days fly by so quickly, filled with simple, incredible moments we don’t realize are special until later, when it’s too late. So I try to capture what’s happening now—what’s exciting us, worrying us, making us think. Then, someday, I can look at a picture and that memory won’t be lost. When I take pictures, I try to find the story of that moment, that unlost moment, so that I can feel it again later.”
I peer at the photo she took of me with new perspective. I’m pretty sure, against my plans, against my judgment, I was looking for time with her at the party.
No matter what I told myself.
It’s true I stayed to help a friend. But it was also a lie I told myself to be close to this woman. That was the story of my day. That’s the unlost moment.
With her so close, her hair cascading down her shoulder, that vanilla-brown sugar scent teasing me, it’s hard to remember that tonight I’d intended to put this thing between us squarely in the past, where it belongs.
That plan seems like a blur now. In a round booth at the back of the bar, with the lights low and us talking about the things that make us tick.
I swallow roughly. “I was looking at you.”
Her breath hitches. “You were?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “You’re not wrong. All those things went through my head, but mostly I was trying to look at you…while not looking at you.”
She licks her lips, glancing toward the bar’s front door, then back to me. “Were you successful?”
“Not in the least.” A fuck it mentality takes over as I slide a hand along her thigh under the table. It’s such a relief to touch her again. Such a privilege. It blots out everything around us.
She shudders, and the way it runs like a wave through her body spurs me on. I shouldn’t be touching her like this in public, but I do it anyway. No one can see my hand under the table.
But she can feel it.
So I run my hand down to her knee, cup it, then move my palm back up, covering her thigh.
A gust of breath escapes her pretty lips.
Her eyes float closed for a few dangerous seconds, and I’m tempted, so damn tempted to succumb to this…spell.
That’s how I feel with her.
Like there’s nothing else beyond The Spotted Zebra’s doors.
Like we’re immune to the world.
And I could lean in. Kiss that gorgeous mouth. Feel her melt under my touch. And forget the promises I made myself mere hours ago so I can take her home and fuck her again the way we both want.
Goddamn, I need to stop this train of thought.
Instead, I inch closer to Leighton, squeeze harder, touch more.
She shudders again and lets out the most intoxicating sound. My brain short-circuits. I’m not thinking. I’m just doing.
“I’m about as successful in not touching you as I was at not looking at you,” I murmur.
She turns her gaze slightly, her hair falling as she looks at me. “I’ve noticed.”
My touch turns softer now, more teasing as I drag my fingers slowly down her leg once more. “You’re a little irresistible, Leighton.”