Chapter 3 #2
Now Quentin smiled, a genuine smile, and it showed that one of his incisors was chipped. He had an almost wolfish smile. Joel’s stomach twisted again. He wished it would stop doing that.
Their main courses arrived. It was good food, and they ate quickly without talking anymore.
Joel was calculating when he would be able to escape from lunch, and how soon was too soon for him to leave, when his phone vibrated with a message:
Shiv the Shark: Get a selfie with him. We’ll post it to your socials.
He rolled his eyes. “Shivonne says we need to get a selfie.”
Quentin looked pained. “Is the paparazzi photo not enough?” He looked over his shoulder. “Have you seen any paparazzi?”
Joel shook his head. “No, and I doubt we will. They’re good at hiding.”
They were done with their meal. Quentin sighed dramatically. “Fine. Let’s get a selfie. Give me your phone.”
Joel clutched his phone. “No. I’ll take it.”
“My arms are longer.”
“And I’m better at taking photos.”
Quentin raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”
Joel huffed. “I just do.”
“Jeez. You’d make a great lawyer.”
Before Joel could stop him, Quentin whipped out his phone, turned in his chair, and snapped a selfie of the two of them. Joel was sure he looked absolutely horrible in it.
“Hey!” Joel protested. “Delete that.”
Quentin was grinning and typing on his phone. “Too late, I just posted it to my story.”
“Oh, my god.” Joel stuck out his hand. “Let me see.”
“I’m not giving you my phone. You’ll just delete the photo.”
Ah, so he was smarter than he looked.
“At least show me.”
Quentin pulled up the picture on his story, and Joel felt vaguely nauseous. “I look terrible.”
“You look fine.”
“I look terrible.”
Quentin grinned. “You really don’t.”
“Take that down immediately. My mouth is open.”
“Generally, a requirement when you’re smiling, isn’t it?”
“I’m not smiling. I’m gaping.”
Quentin let out a genuine laugh. He had a rich, deep laugh, which surprised Joel.
It was the laugh of an older man than Quentin really was.
“I’m only taking it down because you used the word ‘gaping,’ and I hate that,” Quentin conceded.
He tapped a few times on his phone. “There. It’s deleted.
But, like, nine hundred people already saw it and probably took screenshots, too. ”
“Ugh,” Joel said. He stood up. “Okay, come here. We’re taking a photo. I’m taking a photo.”
Quentin stood up and pushed his chair in.
Joel stood stiffly beside the table, looking uncomfortable and ready to leave.
He’d looked that way the entire lunch, like Quentin smelled bad.
Quentin actually worried he did smell bad, and had snuck a whiff of his armpit when Joel wasn’t looking.
Nope, if there was a stench, it was purely emotional.
Despite his dislike of Joel, Quentin found the pop star a little amusing.
He was silly, in a privileged, air-headed sort of way.
He could tell that Joel hadn’t lived a normal life for the last ten years.
He was image-conscious and too serious about the wrong things.
Quentin had enjoyed teasing him with the photo.
Not that many people had actually seen it, but it was funny seeing Joel worry about it.
“Come here,” Joel said. “The lighting is better over here.”
Quentin relented and went to stand next to Joel. They were roughly the same height.
As Joel held up his camera, his entire demeanor changed.
Quentin was thunderstruck by the sudden and immediate transformation.
He went from being the guy Quentin was reluctantly having lunch with to Joel BeckettTM, the legendary pop star.
He smiled dazzlingly at his phone’s camera as he took the first photo.
“You look like someone just told you your fish died,” Joel said reprovingly.
Quentin frowned. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do. Try to smile.”
Joel held up the phone again, and this time, he draped an arm over Quentin’s shoulders. Quentin stiffened at the contact. Joel’s body was close to his, and he felt the warmth of Joel against him.
“Smile,” Joel repeated.
Quentin tried to force a smile.
“Is this how you smiled in your school photos?” Joel said incredulously.
“I’m bad at smiling for pictures,” Quentin admitted, annoyed at Joel for pressing the matter.
Joel lowered the phone and turned to face Quentin. “Smiling is a skill,” he said. “You can learn to do it. Do you think all actors and pop stars are naturally good at smiling? We learn how to do it.”
Quentin groaned inwardly. “What, are you going to teach me?”
“Yes,” Joel said firmly. “If I have to post a picture with you, I’m going to make sure you look good. I won’t let my image suffer because you don’t know how to smile.”
Quentin couldn’t tell if Joel was serious or being facetious.
Joel was only being half-serious. On one hand, he didn’t want to post a picture with someone who looked awkward and stiff, but he also figured if he had the time, he might as well teach Quentin the skill of smiling for the camera.
He looked intently at Quentin’s face. Once again, knots twisted in his stomach. He mentally, and sternly, told his stomach to get its act together.
There was something undeniably attractive about Quentin’s face, with his square jaw and bright eyes. Even with his broken nose and the bruises around his eyes, he was still handsome.
“A good smile starts with the eyes,” Joel said. “Smile like you’re posing for a picture.”
“This feels creepy, looking at you and smiling like that.”
“Just do it.”
Quentin grinned grotesquely.
“My god,” Joel said, “Make it stop.”
“This is useless. Just take the damn photo.”
“You had a great smile earlier,” Joel insisted. It was true. Quentin’s smile was charming, almost a little predatory. “Where’d it go?”
“I smile when I’m enjoying myself,” Quentin deadpanned.
“Rude. Okay. Squint, just a little bit.”
Quentin did. “Hurts my eyes.”
“You play in the NHL. Surely you’ve dealt with worse pain. Stop complaining.”
“Can I stop squinting now?”
“No. Now smile.”
Quentin attempted a smile. It was…not the best.
“Open your mouth just a little bit,” Joel suggested.
Quentin practically yawned.
“My god, are you being intentionally difficult?” Joel snapped.
Suddenly, a genuine smile flashed across Quentin’s face. “Maybe.”
“Hold that!” Joel cried, flung his arm around Quentin again, and snapped a quick selfie.
Quentin staggered beside him, nearly knocked off balance by Joel’s forceful one-armed embrace.
“Jesus, are you trying to injure me again?”
Joel wasn’t listening. He looked at the photo he’d just taken. It was slightly blurry around the edges, with Joel still in movement, leaning into Quentin with his arm around him. Quentin was still beaming, though there was the smallest hint of confusion in his expression as he glanced towards Joel.
It was a good photo. It looked natural and candid, the sort of photo that two friends really would post together.
“This is perfect,” Joel said.
“I get final approval,” Quentin insisted.
Quentin looked over Joel’s shoulder at the picture on his phone, and he was stunned. It actually was a good photo. Joel had managed to capture the single millisecond where they didn’t look dreadfully bored or violently annoyed with each other. They actually seemed friendly in it.
He stared at the photo for a moment longer, looking at the way that Joel was leaning into him in the picture, the way Joel’s hand gripped his shoulder, the apparent unabashed joy in Joel’s face.
Oh, dear, he thought.
“Looks perfect,” he said.