Jamila
When we make it back to the room, it’s clear that the cleaning staff has been inside.
The bed is made, vacuum lines are in the carpet, all trash cans are empty and fresh towels are in the bathroom.
Since Denim is insistent on me sleeping in the bed, I grab my small bags and charger from the table by the sofa and transport them to the dresser by the bed.
After placing the pecan rolls on the counter in the small kitchen, he sits on the sofa then powers the television on. Seconds later, his phone rings.
“I’m going to take this in the hall,” he says.
“Don’t. Stay in here. I’m actually going out on the balcony.”
“It’s freezing,” he says with concern.
“I’ll bundle up. I really want more shots out there. Stay.”
He nods then answers. “Hey, Ma,” he says as I trek to the closet.
Although I’m wearing my thick, two-piece hoodie and ankle-length, cargo skirt and boots, I grab my wool peacoat and the extra blanket from the closet. After putting on my coat, I walk out onto the balcony while he speaks to his mother.
The beauty of this snow dominating the trees, vehicles, buildings, and ground is breathtaking and I have to capture it all from different angles. The pictures from the lobby are spectacular but these stunning views from the seventh floor are going to make for magnificent shots.
Before getting entranced with my camera, I call my mother.
This shit with Corey has her heavy on my mind.
Our relationship is complicated because we disagree on a major part of her life and a line has been drawn.
I’m on the right of the line and she’s on the left with a married man, my dad.
Watching her be a mistress, his second-choice for my entire childhood, not only put a wedge between me and her but it also solidified that I would never be her.
I have three brothers who don’t have a clue of my existence and that hurts.
So under no circumstance would I be with or stay with any man who doesn’t value me as his one and only woman.
“Milley,” she answers, using my childhood nickname I left in The Manor.
“Hey, Momma.”
“I didn’t want to call and bother you but I saw the news. Are you in the area with the blizzard?”
“Right in the middle of it but I’m safe in this hotel. The roads are closed and the flights are grounded so I don’t know when I’ll be able to come home.”
“Oh no. Well, thank God for Corey,” she says with a sigh of relief and I roll my eyes hard.
“Corey and I broke up.”
“Broke up? I thought you went to Nebraska with him for his reunion.”
“I did but once I got here, I learned that he’s basically leading a double life. So we are over for good.”
“Milley! Corey is a good man but like all men he isn’t perfect. But you can’t hold that against him; a man—”
“Momma, stop. I don’t subscribe to that ‘a man will be a man’ mantra. I want and deserve more and I’m not going to compromise my heart for any man.”
The call becomes silent with a pregnant pause as I await her predictable response.
Her decision to stay the hidden mistress of Mr. Dominic Kincaid Senior all of these years dictates her words of advice for my love life.
They always fall on my intentionally deaf ears though.
Her life sentence of heartache, disappointment, and no real love isn’t one I desire at all.
“Sometimes a piece of a man is better than no man at all. You don’t want to end up all alone in that condo of yours.”
Not wanting to continue this conversation, I simply say, “I gotta go, Momma. I’ll call you when this snow clears and I’m heading back.”
“Okay, Milley. I do love you, baby.”
“I know, Momma, and I love you too.”
“Call your daddy and let him know you are okay,” she adds quickly as if he and I have any type of relationship.
“You can tell him. Love you, Momma,” I say then end the call before she can add anything else. A relationship with my father is her dream; my reality is the complete opposite. Building anything with the man who has no respect for my mom will never come into fruition.
When I look at my phone screen, I see four missed calls and eight unread texts from Corey. I have no interest in either, so I delete the notifications, erase the messages, then block his ass. I’m out here to enjoy and capture nature’s beauty so I put my phone down and pick up my camera.
There’s so much joy in capturing the world.
With my camera in hand, I can see in detail the sights that I miss with my naked eye and it’s exhilarating.
To see the tiniest of detail, to gaze at the beauty of my surroundings, and to try and seize that one special moment is a never-ending journey and I relish every step of it.
Caught up in my surroundings, I spend over an hour on the balcony and capture too many breathtaking shots to count. When I’m satisfied that I’ve frozen my views in frames, I grab my phone and walk back into the suite. I remove my coat and boots as soon as I enter.
The television is on and Denim is still on the sofa. However, instead of sitting up like I left him, he’s slouching on the sofa with his legs gapped. His long, muscular arms are stretched across the top of the sofa and his eyes are closed. Upon closer examination, I see he’s napping, sexily.
Denim is not only handsome but he’s blessed with a divine body and right now, I want to immortalize this beautiful image before me on camera.
Inspired by him, I amble to the kitchen area and grab the two glass cups by the ice bucket.
Careful not to wake him, I turn the television to prevent an unwanted glare, then ease to the coffee table and place both glasses on it, one in front of the other.
Shooting through glass brings an entirely new layer of depth to any image because it introduces new textures, influences the quality of light, and draws the viewer into the scene.
It also establishes a new sense of context by incorporating reflections of the surrounding environment.
In here, it’s the light from the windows and glass patio door and the lamp on the table by the sofa.
After kneeling in front of the glasses and table, I manually focus my camera to get him just how I envision him.
Autofocus may get caught up on a reflection, smudges, or light glare and ruin this stunning man.
I turn off my flash then twist my polarizing filter until I find the perfect angle and boom.
I see it. I see him. With my wide-angle lens, I use the perimeter of the glasses as my frame and snap.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five shots later and my camera loves him. I become entranced and obsessed with capturing him. I’m so caught up that I don’t even notice when his body shifts.
Without opening his hazel eyes, he utters, “You like what you see?”
He’s awake and aware that I’m photographing him. I’m busted.
“My camera is obsessed,” I admit, no shame.
A wry smile creeps across his dark chocolate, handsome face as he sits all the way up.
My camera captures every one of his moves; I can’t stop it.
Even as he eases off the sofa and extends to his full height, I snap.
I angle my view, disregarding the glass cups, and photograph each step he makes toward me.
When he’s standing directly in front of me, he extends his hand to me.
Assuming that he’s helping me up, I extend my hand but he shakes his head.
He points to my camera instead. Out of pure curiosity, I hand my baby over to him then stand.
“Your turn,” he utters in a low, sexy tone and I smile.
No one has ever asked for my camera and I have to admit I’m intrigued. It also helps that the camera man is hella fine. Excited to see if he’s actually going to take my picture, I turn my head to the side and rest my chin on my right shoulder, displaying my best angle.
“I’m ready,” I say.
He raises my camera to his face, appears to angle and focus it, then takes a few pictures. “Is this your best side?” he asks playfully.
“Every side is my best.”
He snaps a few more shots, removes the camera from his face then says.
“I have to agree.” He smiles appreciatively then lifts the camera.
“Turn around,” he demands and I happily comply.
Slowly and sexily, I turn then slightly arch my back.
A low, deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “Sexy ass,” he mumbles as he takes more pictures.
This whole scene is fun and flirty and I’m loving all of it. Corey never entertained me with my camera. In fact, he viewed my whole career and love of photography as just a hobby. Who makes six figures with a fucking hobby?
Denim is so different and it’s refreshing and attractive.
I’m truly enjoying being on the other end of my camera.
When I turn back to face him, he steps closer then takes two more shots.
The camera lowers and the only lenses on me are his beautiful eyes.
With so much intensity, he stares at me as he takes the last step keeping us apart.
He places my camera on the table then wraps his arm around my waist.
My breath hitches from his magnetic touch.
Then he pulls me in closer to him and I inhale his woodsy, spicy scent.
God, he smells heavenly and his firm body feels wonderful next to mine.
I’m comfortable, at ease, and relishing in our closeness.
I’m hella attracted to this man and the fact that he is so solicitous only makes him more desirable.
Although the circumstances that brought us here are fucked up, this moment isn’t. It simply feels right.
His hand grazes the side of my face then lands under my chin. After lifting my head, he locks his mesmerizing eyes with mine. The lust and desire in his eyes match mine because I want this. I want him.
“What else are you ready for?” he utters in a deep, sexy timbre.
“You,” I admit honestly.