Chapter 28 #2
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing next to Whit on top of the clock tower in downtown Rome, posing like I know what I’m doing.
“Okay,” Ashley says, circling us. “I want you both relaxed. Natural. I want you both to pretend you’ve known each other a long time.”
Whit glances up at me. “So what’s our story?”
“Our story?”
She flicks her blond hair over her shoulder as the camera keeps clicking. “Well, are we childhood friends, secret lovers, divorced with shared custody of a goldendoodle named Touchdown Mulligan because we couldn’t agree on a name?”
I tip my head back and laugh. “That escalated fast.”
She shrugs, glancing back at the camera, giving it a coy smile. “It’s important to commit to the bit.”
Ashley keeps snapping pictures. “There. That. More of that.”
When our eyes connect, Whit winks. “Relax,” she says. “You’re not my type.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Her mouth twitches as she tries to laugh, which sets me off.
Ashley starts clicking, moving around us slowly.
“Zach,” she says, not lowering the camera. “Shoulders.”
“They're down.”
“They are not down.”
“They're as down as they go.”
Without warning, Whit reaches up beside me, plants both hands on my shoulders, and forcefully shoves them down. She’s not gentle about it at all, and the surprise of it makes me laugh.
“There,” Whit says as her hands draw down my arms, smoothing across my skin. “That's down.”
“Yes,” Ashley says immediately. “Keep your hand there, Whit. Just like that.”
Whit keeps her hand on my bicep as she shifts her grip slightly. Her thumb drags across the muscle, her nails lightly scraping against my skin in a way that’s impossible not to notice. If she hadn’t already told me she wasn’t interested, I’d think she was flirting.
Either way, I ignore it. Ashley is happy with the shots, and that’s all that matters.
“Talk to each other,” Ashley says. “Don't look at me.”
Whit tilts her chin up toward me. “You're overthinking the posing,” she says, conversationally as though her nails aren’t still lazily circling my arms.
“I'm not overthinking it.”
“I can feel it.” Her thumbs press into my muscle slightly to make her point. “Your whole upper body is braced like you're about to take a hit.”
“Occupational habit.”
“Relax into it.”
Click. Click. Click.
“I love this,” Ashley says from somewhere behind the lens. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”
What Ashley apparently wants is tension. Whit holding my arms while looking at me like I’m impossible, and me looking back at her like I enjoy being difficult.
Judging by the nonstop camera clicks, we’re delivering.
I’m mostly just trying to remember how normal people stand without clenching every muscle in their body.
Eventually, Whit lets her hands fall away from my arms as Ashley shifts to capture us from another angle.
“Zach,” Ashley says. “We need a few shirtless shots now.”
I exhale slowly through my nose.
I knew this was part of the shoot. I was just hoping they’d forget about it or at least have done it before I had lunch.
I tug the vest over my head, tossing it to one of the assistants to the side. The cold bites instantly against my skin, but after years of football in November weather, I barely react.
Whit stills beside me while adjusting her outfit, her gaze flicking upward toward my chest before meeting my eyes.
Her expression barely changes.
“Cold?” She asks me.
“Surprisingly, no,” I say.
“Hm.” She looks down. “Your nipples say otherwise.”
I glance down at her. “You looking that closely?”
Whit raises an eyebrow. “They’re impossible to miss.”
“Right,” Ashley says, heading toward us. “I need this specific position.” She grabs my hips and turns me to face the camera straight on. Then she guides Whit to my left side and lifts her hand onto my chest. Whit’s front is pressed to mine as she looks over her shoulder to the camera.
“Perfect. Just like that.” Ashley steps back. “Whit, chin up. Zach—”
“Jaw,” I say, already trying to relax it.
She nods. “Thank you. Yes. And hold it there.”
Click.
Whit’s thumb shifts over my chest.
“Did a bee save your life once, and now you’re in debt?” she mutters so quietly, I barely hear it.
“What?”
“Maybe you’re allergic and think if you commit to the bee aesthetic strongly enough, they’ll spare you.”
“That would be a better story than the truth.”
She turns back, just enough for our eyes to connect for a second. “And the truth is?”
“Stay there,” Ashley says before whispering something about ‘insane chemistry.’
I hold Whit’s gaze for a second, then look back at the camera. “None of your business.”
Her mouth twitches, and she looks to the ground, trying to hide her smile.
“See?” she says lightly. “You can relax.”
Click. Click. Click.
Ashley hums, clearly pleased. “Yes. That. Keep that energy.”
Click.
“Perfect,” Ashley says. “That’s it. That’s the shot.”
Whit drops her hand as Ashley lowers the camera and starts reviewing the final images.
“Okay, that’s a wrap on the paired shots,” Ashley calls. “You two can relax.”
I step back, and the assistant hands me my vest. I drag it back over my body even though it’s doing nothing in this weather. Then I take my robe and put that on.
Whit’s hand lands on my shoulder. “You survived, Evans,” she says, walking past me.
“Barely.”
“Whit, Zach.” Ashley waves us over toward a monitor set up near the equipment table. “Do you want to come and have a look at these? I think you're going to like them.”
“Come on, QB. Let’s see if your eyes are as piercing on screen as they are in real life.”
We step up beside Ashley as she flips through the shots, tapping the screen to zoom in and swipe between them.
I lean in slightly, scanning over the images.
And immediately — “Okay,” I say. “That one’s questionable.”
Whit tilts her head. “Which—oh.”
Ashley freezes on the frame.
It’s a shot of us laughing, her hand pressed against my chest while my head tilts down at just the wrong angle, making it look like I’m checking out her ass.
Whit lets out a short breath that’s definitely not a full laugh. “Wow.”
“I wasn’t—” I stop myself. “I don’t remember—”
Ashley grins like she’s just been handed gold. “This is exactly why I had you angle your chin that way. I wanted it to look like you were completely locked in on her.”
“That’s one way to describe it,” I mutter.
Ashley swipes to the next one.
It’s worse.
Whit’s laughing beside me as I stare at yet another image where I’m looking directly at Whit.
“This one is perfect.” Ashley says. “The tension, the eye line, the physicality. You two have incredible chemistry.”
Whit immediately elbows me in the ribs.
“Hear that, QB?” she says. “We've got chemistry. These campaigns could be lucrative.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Oh, I’m already ahead,” she says. “I’m thinking global campaign. Billboards. Maybe a fragrance.”
“A fragrance?”
“Yeah.” She gestures vaguely toward me. “You look like you’d smell expensive.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Take it as a compliment. I'm not hawking the cheap stuff.”
Ashley is still flipping through photos, clearly thrilled. “Seriously, this is some of the best paired content we’ve gotten all week.”
“Whit!” someone from her team calls from across the set. “Need you for the next set of shots.”
She turns slightly, raising a hand in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
She steps back, pauses, and then before I can register what she’s doing, she leans in and wraps her arms around me in a quick, casual hug. “Probably won’t see you after this. Good luck with the wrist,” she says quietly, patting me on the back.
“Thanks,” I say as she pulls back.
By the time I get changed and head out, the sun’s already starting to dip, the cold settling in harder now that I’m not moving.
My phone buzzes as I step off the last stair.
It’s Dave.
I answer, tucking it between my ear and shoulder as I push through the exit.
“Tell me you didn’t hate it,” he says immediately.
“I didn’t hate it,” I reply. “I strongly disliked parts of it.”
“I’ll take that as a win.”
“You would.”
He starts talking about press coverage, about how the campaign’s already gaining traction, about how the early shots are getting picked up faster than expected.
I half listen; half don’t.
My attention drifts to the ache in my wrist, to the cold, and to the fact that my phone is still empty of anything from Honey.
“...and if the engagement keeps trending like this, we might want to lean into the—are you listening to me?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m listening.”
I shift my phone into a better grip and tuck my free hand into my pocket out of habit.
My fingers brush against something that isn’t supposed to be there.
I frown slightly, pulling it out.
A small, folded piece of paper.
“...Zach?”
“Yeah. Still here.”
I unfold it without thinking.
A number.
I flip it over and see a note.
You're not my type... but in case I'm yours.
I huff out a small laugh. Whit just gave me her number.
“...Zach?”
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head to bring myself back to the moment. “I'm here.”
I smile, reading the message again. Of course she'd write something like that. I fold the paper back up and slide it into my pocket.
“You good?” Dave asks.
“Yeah,” I say easily. “I’m good.”
He keeps talking about everything else I've got to do this week, but I'm only half paying attention now, my mind drifting to other things.
“...and if they push for more appearances together, we’ll want to be ready for that,” Dave says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “That makes sense.”
I hang up and slide my good hand back into my pocket. The folded paper is still there. So is my phone. One person reached out today. The wrong one.
I flex my fingers. The ache shoots up past my wrist. I make a fist anyway.