Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

“I guess the cat is out of the bag, huh?” Ty teased, as he led her toward the Eye. They maintained a leisurely pace, even though it was a less than five-minute walk. Just enjoying the sights and sounds of South Bank.

“I can’t believe you’re actually following through on this.”

He didn’t reply, instead he stopped in front of a quaint candy floss cart, probably the same one she had been tasting on the air for the last couple of minutes. “Want some cotton candy?”

“Oh, you know I do.” She laughed. He grinned at her enthusiastic response and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

He quickly ordered the purple—her favorite one—and handed her the candy floss on a stick, before paying for it.

“Aren’t you getting one?” she asked.

“I thought we could share,” he said, with a pained smile. She knew he dreaded the thought of consuming that much sugar, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. Especially not after he had said they could share. She tore off a chunk of the pastel purple stuff and held it to his pinched lips.

“Open,” she said. He gave her a seriously unimpressed look before obediently parting his lips and taking her offering with a snap of his teeth that barely missed her fingers.

She squealed and laughed, whipping her hand away before he could make contact.

“This stuff will rot the teeth right out of your head,” he predicted grimly, and she laughed. “I can feel the Type Two diabetes seeping into my veins as we speak.”

“You’re such a drama queen.” She rolled her eyes and happily consumed more of the candy floss. “Besides, I won’t finish it if you don’t have some of it.”

He looked somewhat mollified by that. It had become an unspoken habit at mealtimes for him to steal a morsel from her plate. Giving her the tacit go-ahead she really did not need—but appreciated nonetheless—to clean her plate of every scrap of food.

They walked a few more steps, before he came to an abrupt halt.

“That’s bullshit, you always finish your snacks,” he protested belatedly.

“But it tastes so much better when I share it with you,” she said with a laugh that escalated into a squeal when he tightened his grip on her with a growl. He held her wriggling body close and scraped his stubble over the sensitive underside of her jaw, probably pinking the skin up.

He nipped her earlobe and whispered, “You’re lucky you’re cute, and I can’t ever find it in me to get truly mad at you.”

He kissed her. Right there…in full view of all of South Bank, Chance, and the whole damned universe. Kissed her with a passion that left her breathless and aroused enough to want to drag him back to his apartment and have her very wicked way with him.

He lifted his head and gave her a naughty grin, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Uh-uh, honey. Rein in those raging hormones,” he teased, laughter burbling just below the surface of his voice. “We have a lot to do this evening.”

He took her hand and dragged it into his jacket pocket while keeping it enfolded in his palm. They continued their lazy stroll around South Bank, stopping to watch the buskers, or marvel at the talented skateboards showing off at the skate park. They eventually took a slow, meandering walk around the brightly lit Jubilee Garden. On warm summer and spring evenings, the grass would be filled with picnickers. But tonight it was too cold and damp for that. Most people were just enjoying the walk and soaking in the atmosphere.

“So, what’s in the bag?” she asked him.

“My camera.”

She snorted when—after a short silence—it became evident that he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Use your words, Ty.”

He made a muffled sound that was somewhere between a laugh and groan.

“What more needs to be said? It’s a camera. It takes pictures.”

“So does your phone. Why do you need a stonking camera like that?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“A hobby?”

“I like to photograph the city. Specifically at night, after the crowds thin, and it’s quieter. I like to walk—or cycle—around the empty streets and take pictures. Of the architecture, the lights, lost items, foxes, the occasional drunk partygoer. Anything I find compelling, really. This place is never silent, you know? The noise is muffled—muted—but constant. You have to search long and hard to find true emptiness in a city like this.”

His voice faded, and he cleared his throat self-consciously.

“And you photograph that emptiness?”

“Yeah.”

Of course, he did. Why take pictures full of people and life? When he could pursue loneliness even in his hobby?

She stopped walking abruptly—forcing him to do the same—and he stared at her in confusion.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“I assume you have some pictures left on the camera. Show me a few.”

“Not now. Later? At dinner?”

“Why did you bring the camera tonight? The streets aren’t that empty yet. You’re with me. No loneliness for you to photograph here.”