Camera Shy (Lessons in Love, #1)(94)
Damn, I love his dirty mouth. I’m weak when he talks to me like that. He warned me he’d play dirty. And it almost works as the aching urge between my thighs almost answers for me. Yes. Whatever you want. I’m tempted until the shrill cackle of a woman’s laughter pops the fantasy bubble in my mind.
Who? Ms. Piggy?
That’s adorable.
I didn’t mean to interrupt you and your ‘friend.’
The mean girl chatter is all I hear before I wiggle off of Finn’s lap and back to my side of the tub. “Fine. We won’t have sex.”
“All right,” he says, “no worries.” He stands in place, the water plunging off his body as he rises from the tub. Finn’s gargantuan dick is fully erect and right in line with my eyes. He makes a meal out of raising his arms above his head to stretch as if flexing his taut six-pack is simply natural. He reaches for a towel as he steps out of the tub. Leaning down, he plants a kiss on my cheek. “Just let me get dressed. We can”—he smirks—“talk…or whatever else you want to do tonight.”
Just take some damn pictures, Avery. It’s not that fucking hard.
But it’s always been my kryptonite. I’ve been camera-shy since the day I hit puberty and I started hating what I saw in pictures. Junior high is when I really noticed the stark difference between Palmer and me. My mom took a picture of us on the bus with our matching puffy paint T-shirts we made for the first day of school that read “Grown Girls,” because everyone knows at twelve years old, you’re totally equipped and ready to take on the world.
I was so excited for Mom to get that picture developed. But the day she brought it home, my whole world changed. I ignored our big smiles and the bright pink T-shirts we spent hours making for the first day of school. All I could see was how much thicker my arms and thighs were than Palmer’s. My chin was soft, and my cheeks were far fuller. I spent every waking minute with Palmer. She ate way more than I did. I actually enjoyed carrot sticks and cucumbers with ranch dip. Palmer’s version of healthy was baked Lays, fruit-flavored gummy bears, and Diet Coke. Yet we were growing so differently, and I seemingly had no control over it.
I noticed we were different. And I haven’t been able to stop noticing since that day.
Getting dressed became my main sense of contention through junior high, and then high school. Curvy wasn’t always cool. Rail thin was all the rage when I was at my most vulnerable in adolescence. Clothing stores like Abercrombie & Fitch and American Eagle made all their cutest clothes in size double-zero. So I learned to shop elsewhere. I learned to enjoy the beauty of comfort. I wasn’t about to play a game I knew I couldn’t win. I played to my strengths. I was smart and a hard worker and kept my head down in the arena of dating outside of a few awkward dalliances, until one day…
I met Mason.
He had a clear choice in the bar that day. The wild child beauty, Palmer. Or me.
And for the first time in my life, a man chose to pursue me. And not by default. Palmer was flirting pretty heavily that night. Mason didn’t seem to notice. He kept his eyes on me.
I thought I’d made it through my awkward, uncomfortable, camera-shy phase unscathed until at age thirty I was catapulted right back into the shaky, fragile waters of insecurity and singlehood.
And here’s what Finn can’t get through his sexy, beautiful, thick skull: what if he sees me in a picture and notices too? The bus picture was almost twenty years ago, but that pudgy pre-teen is still ingrained in my brain. What if Finn notices how mismatched we are? Everyone else seems to. Once he sees it…
He’ll never be able to unsee it.
The spell will be broken and I’ll lose him before the summer is over.
Finn stands in front of me, the waistband of his briefs hugging his hips tightly. He holds out a fluffy white hotel towel and I reluctantly drag myself out of the tub. It’s so cozy I could sleep in here. But Finn pats my body dry and drapes an oversized satin robe over me that feels cool and silky against my skin.
The only flaw to Finn’s grand romantic gesture with this room is that I have no change of clothes. There are complimentary toiletries—makeup wipes and a disposable toothbrush, but I’m forced to put back on my thong and uncomfortable strapless bra from earlier this evening. Finn probably wasn’t worried about it, assuming we’d be naked all night. When I’m situated, I join him on the private balcony, the gust of warm Vegas air filling my lungs.
“Do you like champagne?” he asks, right before a loud pop makes my heart jump. “Whoops.” We watch the heavy cork fly over the balcony rail and fall endless stories down. Both of us look concerned until a solid minute passes by and there’s no slew of cuss words from the pedestrians below.
“Not really,” I finally answer. “I drink it for toasts, mostly. I prefer beer or fun cocktails. Anything with flavor.”
“I get that.” But he pours two glasses anyway.
I settle into a cushioned patio chair next to him before he hands me the skinny glass flute. For a moment, we’re silent as I watch the Las Vegas Strip beneath us send me straight into sensory overload. The faint smell of smoke and a variety of different restaurants is still potent, even up this high. The bustle of foot traffic and punctuated shrieks and giggles are loud from below. The neon lights cast a hue on the dark sky above us, making me think there’s a different measurement of time out here. There’s day and night, dawn and dusk…and then there’s Vegas. The sinful, sleepless city full of dreams I’ve never dreamed before.