Chapter 1 #2
“It’s not the final edit, but that’s the gist of it.
” He turned the laptop around to reveal a black-and-white close-up of my face.
The frown I had made when I questioned his idea was clearly visible.
Surprisingly, though, it didn’t make me look old or grumpy; it made me look solemn.
I gave off serious dad vibes that I didn’t even know I had.
The true kicker of the portrait, though, was the picture I had held in my hand.
The canvas itself wasn’t visible, but my pupils reflected the tornado as if Theo had caught me staring at the monstrosity in real life.
Damn. Who would’ve thought? He was the first person to ever take a picture of me that I genuinely liked.
He didn’t hide the age that bothered me in every other photograph of me—because I only ever saw it in pictures, never in the mirror—he embraced it.
It was breathtaking. The guy in the photo looked like the still-fuckable man I wanted to see myself as; he looked like the serious photographer people said I was.
This was how I actually saw myself but could never capture in a self-portrait.
“I can also show you the colored version, but I think this fits your style better, Brian.”
“Yes, let’s see it in color.” The columnist motioned her hands toward him, and Theo immediately obliged, turning his laptop around so he could click the necessary buttons.
“It has to be in black and white,” I said without even needing to consider the other option. “That’s what his vision was, and I approve it.”
“Well, that’s what I like to hear,” the columnist said, clapping her hands together to mark the end of this short but strenuous part of the journey.
Theo looked up from his laptop. Our eyes met, and we held each other’s gaze for a second too long.
“Good job,” I managed to say.
“Thanks.” He still held my gaze, the corners of his mouth slightly lifted. “Glad to hear you like it.”
I should have asked him for his contact info or at least his last name, so I could look him up online later.
If the columnist hadn’t been standing right behind us, tapping her foot as she waited for me to move on so she could meet her deadline, I might’ve had the courage to do that.
Instead, I broke our eye contact with an approving nod and turned around.
That’s just the guy I was: not afraid to take pictures of a tornado only a hundred feet away, but too scared to ask for someone’s number.
Three hours later, I flopped onto my bed.
The sun had set, turning the windows into a black canvas that now reflected parts of my bedroom.
The orange light from my nightstand cast long shadows across the little ridges of the wood-chip ceiling, making it look as if the entire roof were streaked with holes that could never keep out the rain pelting the house.
Theo’s face was still lingering in my mind.
I hadn’t seen the guy before and likely never would again, but it would be foolish not to admit that I was more than interested in him.
How did he manage to take a picture on the first try when I couldn’t manage it even after a hundred?
I looked so freaking sexy in it that he must have actually wanted to see me like that.
You can’t portray what you can’t see. And it was fair to say that no straight guy would ever look at another man that way.
During the never-ending interview, he stuck around and took more pictures that they will either send me for approval or not.
I wish I could’ve taken a picture of him instead, one that I could stare at now to mourn the fact that every single time I met someone interesting—not that it happened that often—I couldn’t get over myself enough to ask for their number.
Ten years ago—no, come to think of it, it’s almost been twenty years since I turned twenty—it came so easily to me.
All the people I met in college, all the guys I made out with at the parties.
I could throw out a few sentences and be making out a few moments later.
Now, all I could do was browse the apps, exchange short-lipped messages with blank profiles, and not really look at whoever came over as long as they had a decent dick and shoved it into me wherever they liked.
Maybe I’d just gotten too old for love. In just a few months, I would turn forty, and I was still single, ever since my last boyfriend, Nolan, and I broke up after nine years.
Maybe if I had known how different the dating scene was now, I would have tried harder to make it work with him—although that would have been unfair to Nolan, since he wanted to move across the world, and I wanted to keep the life I knew.
It certainly wasn’t his fault that everyone now only wants to come, drop a load, and leave, never to be seen again.
Well, I couldn’t blame anyone. A one-night stand was still better than not being touched at all, and if Theo wasn’t an option, because I shied away, then a random stranger would have to do.
I flopped around, pressing my face into the pillow and my dick into my palm. I needed to get fucked, stat. I could still imagine it was Theo. That was better than nothing.
Half an hour later, a faceless profile had agreed to meet with me, and I had freshened up for the occasion.
The guy coming over was thirty-four, supposedly fit and tall, just like Theo, and that was all I needed to know.
Neither of us had asked for pictures, which made it more than clear what we were in for.
I skipped the underwear when I put on my jeans and a button-down shirt. That way, I would be ready for anything yet still look decent when I went downstairs to pick him up, since there wasn’t a bell, thanks to my uncommon living situation.
Not waiting for a message, I shuffled out of my apartment.
The sounds of the bar that I owned and lived above echoed through the hallway.
I made my way to the mezzanine, which we usually used only to store drinks and bar supplies.
It was currently occupied by one of my employees who had had a rather rough few months and needed a place to stay with his bulldog puppy.
I briefly paused at the staircase to check if anyone was around.
Besides the muffled mixture of chatter and laughter, none of the wooden floor tiles creaked, letting me know that the coast was clear.
The stairs led directly to the back door, which was shielded from the hallway connecting the bar to the bathrooms by a room divider we had put up to keep drunken patrons out of the private space.
I pushed it open and stared into the dark back alley that no one ever notices or walks through because it only led to this door.
A small awning offered me shelter from the drizzle that had been pouring down ever since I left the arts center.
Staring at my phone for any updates, I waited for only two minutes before the silhouette of a man in a long, heavy coat appeared on the sidewalk.
He paused and stared at the neon bar sign reading “Hops & Dreams” that was mounted to the wall, and then at me.
He raised his hand as if trying to figure out if I was the person he was meeting.
“Are you—?” he asked, but I cut him off right away.
“Yeah.”
A chuckle followed as he stepped into the alley.
The closer he got, the better I could make out his features, only now realizing that the face I stared at was all too familiar.
The random guy I had chatted up to fuck me was none other than the one I wanted to fantasize about while being fucked: Theo, the skilled photographer.