Chapter 17 #2
I send Good Guy a few photos from last night, send Benji a quick text to say good morning, and then jump into last night’s photos.
Yesterday was surreal in real time, but looking at these images brings it all back.
I’m always judgmental about my work, but some of these are really good.
The perfect storm of atmosphere, willing subject matter, moody lighting, and palpable energy made my job easy.
The photos set themselves up. All I had to do was point and click.
Twenty minutes later, I’m lost in deep focus when a tap on my shoulder prompts a strangled scream from me. I swivel, hand raised to shield, push, punch, surrender, I’m not sure which, and find Jesse doubled over laughing.
“Fuck,” I whisper shakily. Lowering my hand and pressing it to my heart to make sure it’s still beating, I pull out an earbud with the other.
One of his big hands comes down on my shoulder, squeezes gently, and through the laughter, he says, “Girl, you can scream. I’m sorry, Soph, I thought you heard me coming. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Heads poke out of the door on the RV and the guys’ van as if synchronized, accompanied by shouts of, “Are you okay?” and “What the fuck is going on?”
I look at Hannah first, sleep mask pushed up into her messy blonde hair and mascara smeared under her eyes, and wave her off. “Sorry, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”
When my eyes shift to Ever, he’s already halfway to us.
His eyes are wide and his torso bare, and that’s where my visual assessment comes to a screeching halt.
Defined and toned, everything is staring back at me.
Biceps, pecs, abs, even that V descending into his low-slung shorts that I was convinced was always photoshopped and didn’t exist on an actual living, breathing man—except maybe Chris Hemsworth—are all on full and glorious display.
He’s also covered in tattoos from the waist up.
I press my hand a little harder into my chest and repeat, “Fuck,” but for a completely different reason this time.
Jesse’s laughter has died down, but he still sounds gleeful when he says, “False alarm, Ev. I didn’t know Soph had earbuds in, and I snuck up on her.”
Ever slows his pace, and his posture relaxes. His wide, sleepy eyes blink a few times, and he releases a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that noise come out of a human. You could do voice-over for slasher films.”
Jesse agrees and takes a seat at the picnic table facing me.
I shake my head to clear it and apologize. “Sorry, I was lost in my work. I probably should’ve been on guard out here alone and not had both earbuds in. The quiet felt safe.”
Ever yawns and makes his way to sit next to Jesse directly across from me. They’re both shirtless. I pause a second to take this all in, so I can relay it, in detail, to Lola, because it’s like she wished this moment into existence.
Jesse rests his elbows on the table and clasps his hands, before unclasping them just as quickly and reaching for my empty coffee cup. This man and stillness have never met.
“Where’d you get the coffee? Is it any good? Ever’s decaf is pointless. I need caffeine.”
I tilt my head to the right. “There’s a little convenience store next to the office where we checked in. Coffee’s only a buck, and it’s strong.”
He pushes up from the table. “Sold. That works for me. You guys want anything?”
“Nah, I’ll make some in the van after I shower. Thanks,” Ever says through another yawn.
When Jesse looks at me, I answer, “No, thanks. I’m all good.”
“Right on. I’ll be back in a bit. I need to take a walk if we’re gonna be on the road for a few hours.”
“We leave at ten, with or without you. Don’t get lost,” Ever calls after his retreating form.
Jesse doesn’t turn around, but we hear him laugh good-naturedly as he flashes a middle finger over his head.
When I look at Ever, he’s smiling as he watches him.
“You two always get along this well?” I ask.
Ever shrugs and looks into the distance.
“Lately, yeah.” He raps knuckles on the table a few times, and I assume he’s knocking on wood.
“The past few weeks have been good for us.” When he turns his head and his eyes meet mine again, he quickly changes the subject.
“You said you were working. I assume on photos. Can I see?”
“Of course.” It will give me an excuse to stop staring at his chest. I turn the laptop so we can both see the screen.
He folds his arms on the tabletop and leans in. He’s an observer, always curious. I like that about him.
Tapping a few keys, I bring up the photos I uploaded from my camera this morning. It’s a minute-by-minute recap of the past twenty-four hours.
His eyes rove over the thumbnail images on the screen as I scroll slowly. I’ll give him an overview before I share my favorites.
“Wow, you were busy yesterday. I had no idea you took so many,” he says.
“I edited a few this morning that I think would be great social media content for you guys. If you still want help with that.”
He runs a hand through his bedhead. “If you’re willing to help us out, that would be awesome. Social media can be a nightmare. I try to avoid it if I can.”
I nod. “I have strong opinions about social media for myself, but looking at it through the lens of promoting and marketing someone else is different. I can cheerlead the hell out of you.”
Ever smiles at that, but he’s still fixed on the screen. “God, you’re incredible,” he says quietly.
That statement, while flattering, was innocent, but I’m blushing because I know damn-well I’ll think about it in a completely different context tonight as I drift off to sleep with my hand inside my panties. I blink a few times to mentally bring myself back.
“Jess looks happy, doesn’t he?” he asks, and I’m not sure if he’s asking for confirmation or for my opinion.
I nod. “He does. Is he? Happy?” I’m not looking for gossip, but I don’t know much about them.
He shrugs one shoulder. “I think last night he was. He hides a lot, but that was Jess truly happy.”
That makes me smile. “I’m glad. What about you?”
“Am I happy?” he asks. “Or do I hide a lot?”
“Yes.” This feels important.
“Right this minute? Yes.” When his eyes meet mine, he adds, “And yes.” It doesn’t sound like a warning. It sounds like a reluctant confession. “Do you ever wish you could start over, Soph?”
“I haven’t had my second cup of coffee yet, so I don’t know that I’m equipped to answer a question that requires that much brain power. Are we talking about life in general? Or from a specific point in time forward?”
He tilts his head like he’s thinking. “A point in time, I guess.”
“Is the do-over related to regrets? Like, are we stuck in the past replaying perceived or actual mistakes? Because that’s the greatest hits track that replays for me nightly when I wake up around two AM. Me and regrets are like this.” I cross my fingers.
He rubs at the dark stubble on his chin that grew in last night while he slept. It’s a good look on him. “I don’t think it’s necessarily a regret thing. Regrets are unavoidable, aren’t they? The tricky part is not giving them too much power, or they’ll eat you alive.”
“So, if we’re not stuck in the past with regrets, are we looking toward the future where we know change is required for a different outcome?
” I pause because I don’t have deep conversations like this very often, even with Lola, and I want to understand.
“Does starting over begin right now, and we need to look for a new path to take because the old one didn’t work out?
Because I’m also neck-deep in that delightful little quicksand pit. ”
“Maybe it’s not about the past or the future. Maybe it’s that I don’t want to screw up the present.” His eyes glance away but then find mine again. “I feel like I’ve forgotten how to dream. Or maybe I’m afraid to.” He shrugs. “What about you?”
“Mmm…that’s a good question.” It is. “I think I’ve always lived my life in crisis management mode, and that’s never lent itself to dreaming.
It’s like walking through land mines—you get one outcome, and it’s dependent on your current step, not the next, or the last. So, there’s never time to dream, only time to survive in the moment.
” I look at him, and he’s focused on the tabletop like he’s deep in thought. “Does that make sense?” I ask.
He nods emphatically. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it feels like.”
“Maybe our dreams are just beyond the land mines.”
“Or maybe our dreams are the land mines, and we’ve been dodging them the whole time out of fear,” he counters, thoughtfully. “Maybe we have to blow things up to get to the really good stuff.” I don’t know what he’s going through, but it’s clear it’s weighing on him.
I stop and think. “I was going to say, that’s a depressing thought. But, you might be on to something. Blowing shit up to see how it all shakes out sounds a lot less exhausting and a lot more fun than dodging.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, like he’s lost in thought.
Circling back to his earlier comment, I try to lighten things up a bit because this is getting heavy for him.
“All that said, I’m a second-guesser who’s plagued by regrets.
” I lift a shoulder and add, “Maybe, like you said, I give them too much power. I mean, I still think about the word I got wrong during my third-grade spelling bee. I’d love to redo for that one. ”
A small smile appears. “What was the word?” he asks.
“Theatrical,” I answer without hesitation. “I still hate that fucking word,” I mutter, but then smile.
His smile inches wider. “So, let me guess, you’re a grudge holder?”
I nod and raise my eyebrows for emphasis. “Award-winning.”
“Remind me to stay on your good side,” he teases.
“Oh, Ever, for you I could be a very good girl.” It’s too late when I realize I said that out loud. And it sounded every bit as filthy as it did in my head.
He’s so still that the bob of his Adam’s apple is pronounced when he swallows.