“A little to the left.” I try to focus on the cropping. There must be an easier way to do this. Some way to get a remote feed from the camera. So I can pose as I compose.
Maybe I can train an assistant to explain the photos to me. Something.
I need to get better at this.
Fast.
To expand beyond “influencing.” Into headshots or boudoir or commercial photography.
To finally make enough money to move out of my parents’ place.
I will.
I want to.
But, first, this shoot.
It’s amazing.
And not just because Forest keeps feeling me up. Though that is…
Ahem.
Focusing. Composing the image. Concentrating.
There. I turn so I’m in three-quarter profile. Tease the camera. “One more foot left.”
He moves.
“One foot higher.”
He raises the reflector.
I think that’s it. Probably. I shoot the camera my best come-hither look. Click, click.
Then playful, sassy, sweet.
I blow a kiss.
Turn and place my hand on my hip.
Move to the edge of the pool. Place my hands against it. Like I’m about to get out.
Then I do get out. I take a dozen casual (ish) photos. Hey, look at me, just happening to capture the perfect post-dip shot.
Then I lie back. Let the sun fall over my body.
“Fuck, Skye.” Forest’s voice drips with desire. “You trying to kill me?”
“Maybe.” I turn to the camera. Blow it one more kiss. Take one more picture.
Forest drops the reflector.
I check the images. They’re good. A little flushed, but that only sells the whole I’m swimming today vibe.
This covers this pool. Now I need something on the beach.
“Five minutes,” I say. “I’m going to change and touch up my makeup.” I motion to the lounge in the hotel.
“You mean twenty minutes.”
I flip him off.
He laughs. “I’ll get water.” He pulls me into a tight hug, kisses me hard.
I hold him tightly for a moment, then I release him. Step backward. Motion to the lounge.
He nods. “You can torture me, but I’ll torture you back.”
“Counting on it.” I blow him a kiss.
He catches it.
My chest warms. It just feels good.
I grab everything I need, move into the hotel, ignore all the signs of Mack’s wedding.
Red, red everywhere. Her colors are red and silver. Because why not?
Okay, red is a perfectly reasonable color. A bold choice for a beach wedding even. Most people do shades of blue-green. Teal, turquoise, mint, cerulean.
Something summery.
Something that reminds of the ocean.
Not something that screams of a winter holiday. Or a backstabbing—
Ahem.
Not going there. Today is good. Tomorrow is—I don’t know. But today is good.
I change into my third swimsuit. Touch up my eye makeup. My lipstick. My hair.
It’s a basic straight look. For this one. Then into the water. For a fully… submerged look.
Or maybe some sort of swimsuit catalog sexy, wet vibe. I want to get it all.
After one more hair and makeup check, I head back to the pool.
Forest is sitting under the umbrella, fingers curled around a water bottle, eyes on Mackenzie.
She spots me and offers a big, friendly wave. She’s wearing a white sundress (of course) with tall silver sandals (surprising). Her lips are as red as her hair and her sunglasses.
She looks happy.
Like she wants to see me.
To torture me, probably, but I’m not thinking about that either.
“Hey.” She meets me halfway around the pool. “You look great.” She turns to Forest. “How’d you land such a knockout?”
I shoot him a what the fuck look.
He shrugs fuck if I know. “You know what they say—”
“Girls like guys with a big dick.” I hold my straight face for as long as I can. A laugh rolls up my chest and throat, spills from my lips, knocks me sideways.
Forest laughs knowingly.
Mackenzie’s laugh is more… awkward. “I’ll get out of your way.” She offers me a hug.
I take it.
It’s weird. Uncomfortable. And familiar.
I miss when we were friends. When we were nearly sisters. That summer she stayed with us, before the whole Forest thing—
God, it was like stuff I saw in the movies. We stayed up late watching chick flicks, trading gossip, eating cookie dough.
She took me shopping, taught me how to curl my hair (not that it holds it), convinced me to upgrade from drugstore makeup to premium stuff.
She helped me dye my hair medium brown, when I wanted to look more like Mom.
Then blue-black (it’s naturally more of a dark, dark brown), when I wanted to look like Dad.
“Are you guys good for a while?” She pulls back with a smile. “The hotel wants this space free in forty-five.” She motions to the tables by the pool. “They have to set up for the party.”
“Sure.” It’s so weird, watching my cousin explain practicalities like she never stole my crush.
I can feel that bond we used to have.
And the loss of it.
It hurts. But I still hate her.
I hate that she has any of my attention. But she does.
Is this how he feels too? Only with all the extra baggage of sex and romance?