He gestures for me to follow him onto his balcony. Once he’s finished adjusting whatever setting, he hands it to me. Our fingers brush when I take it from him which sends an instant shiver down my spine. We’ve touched lots of times before when he’s adjusting my clothes for a shoot but that exchange felt different. Much more intimate. He tells me to take a couple of shots and I aim the camera at where he points to, which are the buildings to the left. Saying the view from his balcony is breathtaking would be an understatement. Buildings line the sides of the road with a perfect view straight down the middle to a vibrant green luscious park. I swear it’s so perfectly lined up that it feels like it was arranged just for this view from his apartment.  

I look into the viewfinder and mimic what I see Jordan do when he takes photos. At least that’s what I think I do, until I take a picture and it turns out blurry. I steady myself and take a few more. He stays quiet and observes me with no judgment even though it’d be deserved because a newborn baby could take better pictures than what I’m doing. 

The next few photos come out somewhat better but not by much. I wanted to at least get one good photo but after 7 shots I relent and hand it back to him. 

“Alright. Do your worst.” I cross my arms, in a faux defensive way. 

He clicks through, pausing and zooming in, carefully studying each. 

Strands of hair fall into his face but he’s too focused to notice. I’ve always loved men with longer hair. It screams, “I’m secure in my masculinity, I don't need a buzz cut to be a man.” He’d look so hot with a buzz cut though.

My fantasy about him shaving his head is interrupted when I realize almost two minutes have gone by and he still hasn’t said anything. The silence looms thick in the air as he continues to eye the photos. I start to feel self-conscious when I notice his eyes are darting around the photo. 

“I know they’re bad,” I start to say, a bit impatient. “I’ll never be as good as you. Just tell me what’s wrong with them.” 

“Why do you think there’s anything wrong with them?” He replies without looking up. I rock back and forth on my heels and almost start to feel greedy for his eyes and hungry for his attention. A few more seconds pass by before he finally looks up. 

“They’re pretty decent actually.”

My mouth falls open. “That’s it?” Ten minutes of silence and that’s all he has to say? Okay, it was realistically like two minutes but every second his eyes were away from me felt like 30 minutes.  

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he sees my expression. “Yeah, I can give you some pointers or two, but first hand experience leads to faster improvement.” He removes the camera strap from his neck and places it around mine. He then moves behind me, the smell of his sandalwood shampoo wafting in the air. I only know that because I’ve seen it labeled in his bathroom, okay. I didn’t sniff his shampoo. I might have sniffed his conditioner but no one could ever waterboard that information out of me. 

His back is almost pressed against mine but he intentionally keeps an inch gap so we’re not touching. He holds my forearms and aims the camera. It takes every amount of restraint for me to not rock back into him. I think I have the power of the fucking Buddha. I’m one stage away from enlightenment.

“Now aim it this way.” His voice is low and raspy, sending another jolt through my body. I expel a desperate half breath half moan, hoping he didn’t hear but also kinda hoping he did.  I’ve never experienced this much sexual frustration in my 22 years on this planet. Don’t get me wrong, I usually love it. Every fanfic in my top ten has plenty of it. But goddamn. Experiencing it firsthand and for this long is doing inexplicable damage to my body. To multiple organs in my body. 

I do as I’m told and raise the viewfinder to my eye. He moves his hand over mine to steady it as I click the shutter. 

Disappointment hits when he removes his hands. I’ve never craved to be touched by someone so badly. This is so unlike me. It usually doesn’t take this long for a guy I’m interested in to make a move. I know he wants it too. But, he is the type of guy who strictly follows rules. Maybe I should have declined another shoot that day when he told me he doesn’t fuck his models. Because we definitely would have done it on every surface in his apartment by now. 

To my surprise, the photo comes out a lot better. And I couldn’t even tell you what he did differently. Maybe he really just has that magic photographer’s touch. Literally and figuratively.

“See,” he says smiling. He puts a palm on my back and softly rubs it twice. “All you needed was a steady hand.” I feel a pit in my stomach which I can recognize as butterflies but I’m not fully ready to admit that yet. He then turns and walks back into his apartment. 

Ughhhhhh. I frown so hard my eyebrows threaten to turn into a permanent uppercase V. 

That man 100% knows what he’s doing. He’s so cruel.

I need to make an appointment with an Orthopedic Doctor to make sure my spine is still straight. Because right now it feels a little wiggly. 

“Oh yeah,” I say as I follow him into the apartment. “About the trip to London. I’ll go."