Jack
It's only been aboutten minutes since I’ve started shooting and in that ten minutes, I don’t think I’ve experienced a more uncomfortable hard-on in all my life. This woman is some sort of personalized drug and it's taking every ounce of willpower not to grab two handfuls of her ass and bury myself deep inside of her. I’ve photographed plenty of beautiful women. Models, athletes, lonely, powerful, and even celebrities but, right now, I feel like being focused on this woman is making me feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. I can’t explain it. While Everly and I have been teetering between flirting and spitting fire at one another over the past couple of weeks, I haven’t felt this kind of attraction to anyone. Ever.
There have been a few times when I’ve had a post-shoot fool around and then a few one-night stands with a model or two, but I’ve always been able to keep the work moving along before I indulge in anything. Everly is testing my reserve simply by the way she moves her body and takes my direction. I can barely remember looking at a woman the way I’m looking at her. I’m fucking enchanted.
“Pull your arm over your head and maybe just play with your hair a bit. I want this to look relaxed. You need to relax, Miss Riggs. It’s just me in here.”
Rolling her eyes at me, she takes a deep breath and lets it out, draping one leg off the side of the couch and twirling a few strands of her hair around her fingers. And right there, my body is awake and thrumming in appreciation.
“That’s it.” And without thinking, I groan slightly while quietly praising. “So fucking beautiful.”
Her head jerks up at the words. I can tell she’s weighing how or if to respond. The corner of her mouth kicks up, which makes me think she didn’t mind the slip. “If you want me truly relaxed, then you’re going to need to give me a heavy pour from that bottle and throw on some music, Jack.”
I make my way over to the bottle of Johnny and pour some into the mug on the coffee table. The mood is feeling an awful lot like what I walked into the other night at the pool house. Music with a relaxed Everly Riggs on a couch has my dick wide awake and doing one-armed pushups in my pants.
Making a quick adjustment, so that my eagerness isn’t so obvious, I walk back to her, hand off the mug of booze, then pull a few pieces of hair away from her face. “May I?” I ask permission to touch her legs to move them the way I’d like. “Here you go, ladies’ choice.” I give her my phone, which is connected to the speakers in the room, and she scrolls through. She smiles, and a moment later Florence + The Machine is filtering through, crooning about the stars and the moon. It wasn’t what I was expecting her to choose, and it makes me want to hear more.
“Have you ever seen her perform?”
“Florence + The Machine? No, I haven’t.”
“The music is just as good live as it is listening here. Maybe even better, which isn’t always a guarantee. She has this presence on stage that’s infectious. No, that's not the right word. She looks ethereal, but her voice has this power that makes you believe the words and practically absorb the instruments. When I saw her, she wore this flowing dress…I can’t remember what color it was, but that dress, the way it moved with her red hair and, oh yeah, and she was barefoot. She danced around the stage, capturing the attention of every single person in the amphitheater. It was an incredible show, but I just left there feeling like she was one of the special ones. You know, to really see someone in their element, doing exactly what they were born to do and loving, like really loving it. It was beautiful. That concert was right after I took a seat on the board of directors for our family business. All of it was such a rush.”
Click-pop. Click-pop. Click-pop.
Her head snaps up, catching me smiling at her story. “Keep talking. People relax more when they talk about things they enjoy or things they’re proud of.” Everly looks at me like I’ve just caught a glimpse of something she tries to keep out of sight.Show me more of it, beautiful.“Okay. Okay, I’m not going to push. Tell me the one thing that will always put you in a great mood. No matter what. It can be anything.”
Click-pop. Click-pop.
I take a few more pictures of her thinking about what she’s willing to share with me. The flashbulb goes off, casting a perfectly warm light on the scene. She’s on the oversized couch, surrounded by blankets and pillows. The loungewear, after all, is meant to be marketed to outdoor athletes and their post-activity relaxation. The entire setup could be right out of anybody’s cozy living room. Especially anybody vacationing in Strutt’s Peak.
She smiles and sits up a bit. “Pedicures with my dad.”
Again, not expecting that. “How often do you do those?”
“We’ve been going together at least once a month since I was about thirteen. Dad tried to make up for the fact that my mom wasn’t in the picture, and then he realized how magical a good pedicure could be. Have you ever been?”
I look at the screen to my left, scrolling through the last few shots to review. “I haven’t.”
“You’re missing out, Jack. It’s so relaxing, the massage is heaven, and you walk out with pretty-looking feet.”
Everly sits forward and grabs the mug, and holding it with two hands, she continues. “Outside of that, my brothers drive me nuts, but they make me happy. Oh! When I’m on fresh powder after a snowstorm. Skiing with Law and Henry down an unused trail isalmostperfection. A good workout with Michael always puts me right. You’d never guess it about him, but he’s super motivating to train with.” She pauses and then says, “Those are all the things I can think of, well, at least all the things I can share.” She looks off to the side, as if she’s really seeing these things that make her smile, that make her happiest.
Turning her attention back to me, she asks, “What about you? What’s the one thing that will put you in a great mood? Gives you complete pleasure?”
I raise my eyebrows.
She smiles. “You know what I mean.”
I return her smile. That was a loaded question. “Like I said before, you’re trouble, Ms. Riggs.”
Conversations that shift to me are ones that I do my best to avoid. I connect with people through their stories and not my own. I have too many demons that hide and lurk in dark corners that I don’t want peeking out. Nothing good ever comes out of unleashing them. How much do I share here? Bird’s-eye view, glossy version, or the truth?
“Waffles.” I’m not sure why, but the thought rolls out of me before I’m able to edit it.
“Waffles?” She laughs a bit and then stops when she notices I’m not making a joke of it, but truly answering her question. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why waffles?”
“What’s not to love about waffles?” I try to move on and play this off as just a love for great breakfast food. “Syrup, whipped cream, strawberries, throw some bacon on there too and it’s instant happiness. I can always be in a great mood after I eat waffles.”