20. Serena
Serena
Astrong hand wraps around my bicep and hauls me up like I weigh nothing, keeping me from face-planting in front of a restaurant of prepping servers and kitchen staff.
“We’re not open,” Ryan snaps angrily, looking me over for injury and tugging me back toward his side. I get my feet under me, face hot. Is Ryan thinking back to the hotel opening? The fact that this is exactly how I met him, too?
“Yeah, I know, that’s why I’m here,” the other man mutters, wincing and rubbing his hand over his chest, like I’ve injured him.
I doubt it—he’s absolutely massive and looks like he’s made purely out of muscle. There’s a long, pale scar stretching up his right arm that gives him the appearance of a guy who wrestles alligators for a living.
His hands are large and capable, with square fingernails. They’re clean but still have a rough look to them. My hands itch to raise my camera, to photograph those fingers, the gentle curve of his palm as he forms his hand into a fist and releases it again.
“Oh, shit, Graham,” Ryan says, looking up at the other man for the first time, apparently recognizing him. Punching him in the arm, Ryan laughs, “I forgot you were coming over—did you get what you needed?”
The man, apparently named Graham, grimaces again, glances at me, then back at Ryan quickly before saying, “Yes. Thanks for catering. The menu looks great.”
“Of course,” Ryan waves a hand, then adds, “Oh! I forgot—this is Serena. Serena, this is?—”
“Nice to meet you,” Graham says hurriedly, thrusting his hand out toward me like he wants to get this over with quickly. I take it, and he shakes it for half a second before turning back to Ryan. “Sorry, I’m in a crunch. We need new pictures for the event. If we want to convince anyone.”
Apparently, Ryan knows enough to decipher the man’s sentence fragments. “Oh, shit, man,” he nudges me forward, and I regret having my camera bag over my shoulder for once. “Serena takes the best pictures. What are you looking for?”
“Nature,” he deadpans, like that should be obvious.
“She’ll kill it,” Ryan says, nudging me, and I know he’s thinking about the flowers at Perle. “Serena is great at nature.”
Graham tilts his head, really looks at me for the first time. I feel naked, and also like he could crush me in his palm if he chose to. “Is that so?”
“Well, I?—”
“Get me her email,” Graham says to Ryan, already pushing past him toward the door. Voice echoing off the glass, he says, “We can work it out there.”
And, just like that, he’s gone.
The space feels hollow without his presence. How is it that I’m just now meeting all the most attractive men in Manhattan? Graham is rough, unpolished and clipped. Somehow the opposite of both Travis and Ryan, and yet he’s already wedged himself into my brain like a splinter. I want him.
“He’s huge,” I mutter, turning to Ryan, who has a curious expression on his face.
“Oh, yeah, the guy is like, really into outdoors stuff.” Ryan holds his arms out like he’s floating on his back. “Probably doesn’t even use a raft, just floats on his back around Horseshoe Bend.”
I laugh like I know what that is.
The tour continues. We wander through the city, and I get full quickly sampling pastries, drinks, and new elaborate meals at his fancy restaurants.
When Ryan has to focus more on his duties—reviewing inventory, checking menus, chatting with various chefs—I find myself idly snapping pictures and thinking about the guy from earlier.
Graham.
Why does that name sound so familiar?
He was truly the biggest man I’d ever seen. Or maybe he seemed bigger because I smashed my face into him, and he didn’t even budge. He smelled minty and fresh, like eucalyptus, or spearmint.
Ryan said he was into adventuring.
We’re in the second-to-last location, and Ryan is promising me a ride home when my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to find a brand-new email in my freelancing inbox.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Photos Needed of Potential Park
Hello,
Please review the photographs attached. As you can see, they don’t capture the natural beauty of the waterfall and surrounding area. It’s my nonprofit’s mission to protect our country’s best features, and I am lobbying Congress to designate this area as an official National Park.
There will be an event in a few weeks where we’ll make our argument. For this event, I need high-quality photos that evoke emotion. I can’t take Congress to the waterfall (I have tried, they won’t come), and so I need good pictures.
If you can do this, please book a time on my calendar. I’ll take you to the park. Depending on which day we pick, you may need to be comfortable with camping, as it is a long out-and-back hike from the nearest road.
Best,
Graham Oakley
Outside More, Founder and CEO
I sit completely still, staring at the email on my phone. My tongue feels numb. I scroll up and down, taking it all in.
First, the guy writes exactly how he talks. It’s uncanny. So straight to the point.
Second, I’ve never done something like this before. Standing inside a luxury bakery and taking photos of flowers isn’t even close to actual nature photography. If I’m going to do this, I’ll need to go out and get a couple of new lenses.
Third, and finally, when I read through the email again, actually focusing on his signature at the end, I realize why his name sounds so familiar to me.
Graham Oakley.
As in, Alex Oakley’s brother. As in Travis Oakley’s brother.
There’s no way I can do this. No way I should do this, especially given that I was attracted to the man straight away. That I could imagine his frame dwarfing mine, his large hand on the small of my back, sliding down between my legs…
Jesus. Maybe I should talk to Georgia and ask if there’s some sort of brain parasite that causes you to be really into a handful of men at once. If there’s some sort of hormonal imbalance that makes a girl lust over a variety of sizes, shapes, and personalities.
But it doesn’t matter how much I’m lusting over Graham. It would be a horrible idea to even continue thinking about him, let alone agree to go camping with the guy.
“Hey, you ready to go?”
“Yes!” I say it a little too brightly, but Ryan just grins, pulling me in tight as I slide my phone into my pocket.
I don’t think about Graham as we climb into the car. Because it would be a terrible, horrible, awful idea.