Camera Shy: Chapter 4

Sweat is dripping down my face. I do my best to mop it up with the back of my hand as I jog the last few meters to my driveway. But after a few more strides, the sweat mixed with my sunblock moves down my forehead and seeps into my eyes. I stop in my tracks in front of Dex’s driveway as I try to blink away the burn. If I were wearing a shirt, I’d try to soak up my stinging tears, but it’s Las Vegas in May. It’s already scorching, so I’m running shirtless.

Hooonk!

The sound of a glaring horn causes me to jump in place.

Whipping my head to the right, I notice the gray Jeep Cherokee on the street with a blinker on, trying to turn into the driveway I’m standing in front of. The woman in the driver’s seat is a brunette with her hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail. The woman in the passenger seat is a platinum blonde whose sunglasses are so big they take up the majority of her face. Most notably, though, neither of these women is Dex’s girlfriend, Leah.

Strange. No way Dex and Leah broke up. These must be family members…or contractors…or maybe people who work at his dive shop?

I obediently take a step backward on the sidewalk and gesture for them to pass in front of me. I hold my hands up in an apology. The brunette rolls the window down and pokes her head out of the car. “I am so sorry,” she calls out. “Please excuse the honking. It was”—she throws a glare toward the passenger side of the car—“very rude.”

I chuckle, understanding that she wasn’t the one to honk the horn. I can’t see her eyes clearly, but the blonde’s face is fixed in my direction and I get the feeling that she’s thoroughly checking me out. I’m not sure why this is immediately off-putting. I don’t mind when women notice me.

But not like this.

Not like I’m property and she’s considering putting in a bid.

“It would’ve been far more rude to hit me,” I call back. “So the heads-up is appreciated.” I flash her a wide smile.

“Pedestrians first.” The brunette gestures me past with her hand. “Please.” She slides back into the car, but I can see her full cheeks bunch as she smiles through the windshield. I wish she’d take off her dark sunglasses. The little jolt in my chest tells me she’s pretty. And not in the obvious, thirsty-for-attention way her friend is coming off, but in the subtle mystery way that is kicking up all kinds of curiosity in my male brain.

Somewhat reluctantly, I hold up my palm and jog past Dex’s driveway. I laugh at the loud whistle behind me, knowing one of them, probably the blonde, is commenting on the view of my ass.

I’m barely through my front door when I see the disaster that is my normally tidy sitting room. It’s the very first thing you see when you walk into my rancher. I try to keep it pristine—first impressions and all. At the present moment, you can barely see the floors amidst the bags upon bags from Hobby Lobby and Michaels. I step out of my running shoes and call out, knowing exactly who the culprit of this mess is.

“Lennox!”

She appears immediately from the hallway, a steaming mug in her hand, looking dogeared and a little crazed. She’s completely changed her look in the last forty-eight hours since I’ve seen her. Her hair is dyed black with violet streaks in multiple shades. Her bangs are cut in a straight line. I have a feeling the shopping bag graveyard that is now my living room is the aftermath of this new edgy look.

“What the fresh hell is all this?”

She touches the corner of her eye and then points to me. “I am a visionary.”

Oh, Christ. “Why are you a visionary?”

“We are more than sexy cowgirls, Finn. We can do better than that.”

I blink, trying to absorb her odd remark. I consider asking her what the hell she’s talking about but decide to side-step it instead. “Your hair is cool.” I pat her shoulder as I walk past her to the kitchen to grab a cold bottle of water. Soft footsteps trail behind me. “How’d you get here?” I ask Lennox as I twist off the cap. Still struggling to cool down, I’m tempted to dump this cold bottle of water all over my face and chest. “I didn’t see your car.”

“I pulled into your garage.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “You’re really at home here, aren’t you?”

Lennox and I don’t technically live together, but we might as well. My photography studio is in my basement. It only works because it’s a walk-out basement, meaning there’s plenty of natural light I need for headshots and family portraits. I think my lower level was originally built as a mother-in-law suite. It has a private access door through the back gate. You can access the studio without needing to access my home. Lennox knows this but also knows no boundaries. My entire house has become her domain.

She shows me her teeth through a snarky grin and holds up her mug. “You want coffee?”

Pressing my palm flat against my chest, I check my still-racing heart. “Not at the moment. The run was grueling. I’m one sip of caffeine away from cardiac arrest.”

Lennox’s eyes drop to my knees and she scrunches her face in confusion. “What’s wrong with your knees?” She points to the kinesiology tape wrapped around both of my knees, tracing my quads and outlining my kneecaps.

“It’s for extra support. I’ve logged thirty miles this week on concrete sidewalks. I’m trying to avoid my tendonitis flaring up.”

She twists her lips in that familiar way that tells me she’s about to say something sassy.

“What?” I begrudgingly ask.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just start having sex again than trying to physically outrun your testosterone?” She cackles.

“Ha.” She’s not wrong.

“How long has it been?”

I roll my eyes at her. “A couple months.” Three months, twelve days. Or, in other words, about one hundred body-punishing runs.

“How long is this going to go on?”

“I don’t know. Until I feel like it.” Until I stop seeing the worst in women. I’m not exactly open about it, but Nora did a number on me. After what we went through, now all I see are red flags in women. I remember one night after Nora and I ended things, I brought home a new girl I actually liked. She was a bit of a wallflower—polite and soft-spoken. Maybe I liked that she was my ex’s polar opposite. I had high hopes. But the morning after, when she thought I was sleeping, I caught her checking my phone. I didn’t say anything. I just pretended to sleep and let her scroll through my messages, my apps, and my pictures. I had absolutely nothing to hide, but I was not about to put myself through that shit again. Deal breaker. I never called her again.

I want a woman confident enough to ask me questions and believe my answers. If she’s wondering if I’m sleeping with multiple women at the same time—just ask. The answer is no. If she’s interested in something serious—just tell me. Maybe she’d be surprised to know that I am too. I’m twenty-eight. By now, I’m sick of the mind games, paranoia, and jealous fights over nothing. I want a woman who is honest, earnest, and trusts me enough to just be real…

And I am thoroughly convinced this woman doesn’t exist in Las Vegas. It’s kind of why I gave up. Once I was single again, I started being exactly the manwhore bachelor all these women assumed I was, until even that got old.

“So, why are you a visionary?” I throw my thumb over my shoulder, reminding her of the mess she made in my living room.

“Noir,” she says with a bright-eyed eager expression.

“Yeah…I’m going to need a little more of an explanation than that.”

“Film noir. With a touch of bondage.”

I take a few glugs of my water. “What?”

She squints one eye. “You know, like handcuffs…toys…lots of leather…”

An uncomfortable realization sinks in. “Is my living room full of women’s sex toys right now?”

“Nooooo.” Lennox laughs awkwardly then widens her eyes and nods empathically. “And I found some of these cool black roses at the craft store. I’m thinking all black and white. Black flowers, white sheets, a torn white wedding dress that’s ink-stained draped over a chair. Wedding lingerie in the same style.”

“Are we staging a boudoir set or a murder scene?”

She laughs. “Bold sexuality is in. I really think this could be a big moneymaker. In fact, we’ve gotten requests through the website for something more dramatic. We have to adapt to the market, Finn.” Lennox grimaces. “Business is not…great.”

She’s right again. Photography is an ebb-and-flow business. Everyone with the newest iPhone these days can take professional-looking photographs, so you have to bring more value to the table than pictures. I try to help women love their bodies and appreciate their unique beauty. No matter what size, color, or shape—every single woman is beautiful. They have to look at themselves through the right lens. Somehow through my noble plight, I also have to find a way to pay the bills. Lately, it’s been getting more difficult to find clients.

“You’re a woman…explain this to me.”

Lennox follows as I make my way into my front living room and pull a pair of fuzzy black handcuffs from a plastic shopping bag.

“Why is bondage sexy? I want to help build confidence, not tie up women and put them on display like roast chickens.”

Lennox squints one eye at me. “I think we can be more tasteful than roast chickens.” Furrowing my brows, I return a skeptical look, so she continues, “I’m not suggesting we go dark dungeon or anything like that, but we can just tease the idea. We’ll have edgier costumes but have them wear their hair in soft waves. We’ll do the entire shoot in a moody black and white, but they can smile in some pictures. It’ll be very floral but dark colors. Handcuffs—”

“But fuzzy,” I finish for her.

“Exactly.” Lennox pops her shoulders like she’s pleased with herself. She really has an eye for stage design. One day, she is going to move to Hollywood and become an acclaimed set director. I’m sure of it. For now, I’m grateful to have her help. I take great pictures, my editing is unrivaled, but without the set, I’m a fish in a barrel. I need Lennox.

“You really think it’ll bring in more business?”

She widens her eyes and nods slowly. “At this point, we have to try anything. It’s either edgy or topless clowns.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask.” She shoots me a wink, but her smile is less than innocent. I don’t want to know what websites Lennox visits. My cousin is not shy about her quirky taste…let’s leave it at that.

“So the idea is bold but feminine,” I muse.

“Right.” She nods as she points to my forehead. “That’s what we should call it. Boldly feminine. Give me a week or so to build the set, then why don’t we do a test run? We can offer a free photo shoot to someone and put new pictures up on the website. Let’s just see who bites. If it’s a bust, we’ll go back to the drawing board.” She looks around the room. “We’ve got to try something, Finn…our calendar is pretty much empty. I don’t think it’s the service. It’s a good time to be in boudoir. It’s just no one knows we exist and it’s a tough business for word-of-mouth marketing.”

I nod in agreement. “And I basically have no budget for paid marketing.”

“Right—so anything that can capture people’s attention…”

“Okay, I’m sold. No harm in trying it out.” I smile at her. “Good work, Lennox.”

She crosses her legs and bows. “Lovely. Now go take a shower. You stink.”

“Roger that.” I finish off my water, then turn toward my bedroom.

“Hey, by the way, do you want to go out tonight? There’s a foam party at Ultimate. Invite only. I hung out with the bouncer last week and he gave me an extra ticket. There’s going to be a surprise celebrity DJ—rumor is it’s Khalid.”

“A foam party on the Vegas Strip? That sounds like a lot of drunk, wet women running around.”

Lennox taps her nose twice. “Exactly. Have some fun. All you’ve been doing for months is working and”—she points to my knees—“running. It’s been a year. When are you going to be done being sad?”

“I’m not sad.” I don’t think the look I’m giving her is convincing because Lennox puckers her bottom lip.

“I don’t believe you. I’m proud of you. But I don’t believe you. Look, Finn…Nora was—”

I hold up my hand to interrupt her. “I’m okay. But thank you, little cousin.” I close the space between us and drape my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a sweaty hug.

“Gross,” she complains.

“You’re sweet to worry about me. But don’t. Have fun at your foam party.” I release her.

“What are you going to do tonight?”

On cue, my muscles start to ache and tense. I pushed it a little too much today. I could use some relief. “I’ll probably just bring Dex a six-pack of beer and sneak into his hot tub.”

Dex never uses his in-ground hot tub. Leah, his girlfriend, does very rarely. If it were portable, I’d just buy it from him and move it to my patio. Instead, we put in a gate between our yards so I am free to access his tub whenever I like. In exchange, I bring him beer and pay for the monthly maintenance. I could not have asked for a better neighbor. Not to mention he’s richer than God, so the neighborhood barbeques he hosts are top-tier. Who buys ribeye steaks for an entire block of people?

“Want me to stay in? Keep you company?”

“Uh, no. The only thing sadder than staying in on a Saturday night to hot tub alone is staying in on a Saturday night to hot tub with your cousin.”

Lennox snorts in laughter and bobs her head in agreement.

“Just call me if you need a ride home and please be smart. I don’t want to have to rescue you and kick someone’s ass.”

She salutes me. “All right. Oh, and hey, ask Dex which wet suit he’s packing for Cozumel. I think he said a shortie, but I run cold, so I think I’m going to bring my long-sleeved one.”

I forgot Lennox is taking a week off next month to go on a dive trip he’s leading. She, Dex, and Leah instantly bonded over their love of scuba.

“Can’t you text him?”

“He’s so damn flaky and disorganized with his phone. Great dive instructor, but I don’t know how his business isn’t in flames.”

“All right, I’ll try to remember,” I say as I head down the hallway. I tap my temple firmly like I can push a reminder right through the side of my head. That’s two things I need to ask Dex now. Lennox’s wet suit…

And who the hell is the pretty brunette who stopped by his place.