I reached for the phone, but he pulled it back too fast. “What? What photo is it?”
Drew turned the phone so the screen faced me. Oh, God. How embarrassing. It was a close-up of me last week while I was working. I’d had a full day of telephone therapy sessions, and my speakerphone had decided to stop working bright and early on that Monday morning. I didn’t have time to run out and get a new office phone, and by early afternoon I was frustrated with not being able to multitask because one hand had to hold the phone to my ear. So I’d gotten creative. I’d taken two large, orange rubber bands and put them around the phone and my head—effectively banding the phone in place so I didn’t have to hold it anymore. One of the rubber bands ran across my forehead, slightly above my eyebrows and pushed my brow down, giving me an odd, scrunched face. The other rubber band wrapped around my chin, causing the skin to pucker into a very crooked chin dimple that I didn’t normally have.
“My speaker phone died, and I had a lot of telephone calls that day. I needed to be able to use my hands.”
He chuckled. “Inventive. There hasn’t been a good iPhone update since Steve Jobs died. You might want to look into selling them your new technology.”
I crumpled up my napkin and threw it at his face. “Shut up.”
He swiped a few more times and then stopped. This time, I couldn’t make out what he was thinking.
“What? What did you stall on?”
He stared at the photo for a long moment and swallowed before again turning it to face me. It was a full-length photo taken the night I went to a wedding with Baldwin. It was, without a doubt, the best I’d ever looked in a photo. I’d had my hair and makeup professionally done, and the dress I wore fit me like a glove. It was simple—black and sleeveless with a daring, low-cut V that showed off my cleavage and curves. The dress was more risqué than I would normally wear, and I’d been feeling confident and pretty. Although that lasted only about fifteen minutes after Baldwin took that photo, right up until I answered the door to his apartment and realized he was bringing a date to the wedding we’d both been invited to. And that date wasn’t me.
Remembering the sadness I’d felt that night, I said, “Wedding.”
Drew nodded and stared at the photo again before looking back up to me. “You look gorgeous. Sexy as hell.”
I felt the blush creep up my face. I hated having fair skin for this exact reason. “Thank you.”
He swiped a few more times and turned the cell back to me. “Boyfriend?”
That one had been taken a few minutes after Baldwin told me how beautiful I looked and took that full-length photo of me. His arm was wrapped around my waist, and I was smiling and gazing at him as he took the selfie. His date had rung the doorbell right after that shot. The rest of the night was all forced smiles.
“No.”
“Ex-boyfriend?”
“No.”
He looked down again and back up at me. “There’s a story here, isn’t there?”
“How do you know?”
“Your face. The way you’re looking at him.”
It’s pretty sad that a virtual stranger was able to see my feelings after ten seconds of looking at a photo of us, yet Baldwin never was. I could have lied, but for some reason I didn’t.
“We met in undergrad school. He was the TA for my psychology class while working on his doctorate. He’s one of my closest friends. I actually live in the apartment next to him.”
“It didn’t work out?”
“We never tried. He doesn’t feel the same way about me.”
Drew looked like he was going to say more, but just nodded and resumed his picture snooping. By the time he was done, he really had learned a lot about me. He’d seen photos of my two little sisters, including some selfies we’d taken with the dog before I moved to New York. He knew about my feelings for Baldwin, and he was aware of how creative I could be in my need to multitask.
When he slid the phone back to me on the table, I asked, “So…you said checking out each other’s photos would tell us a lot about the other person. What did my photos tell you about me?”
“Family oriented, brokenhearted, and a little bit of a nutjob.”
I wanted to be offended at that last part, but it was hard when he was completely on point. Although I wasn’t going to admit he was right. Instead, I reached for his cell.
“Password?”
He smirked. “Suck.”
“Get out of here. You just changed yours.”
He shook his head. “Nope. It’s one of my favorite words for a multitude of reasons. You suck is grumbled under my breath at people at least once a day. And, of course, who doesn’t love a good suck?”
“You’re a perv.”
“Says the woman whose password is fuck.”
“I made my password fuck because I could never remember what my password was, and every time I entered the wrong one, I would grumble fuck. Baldwin suggested I just make it fuck the last time I was locked out of my own phone.”
“Baldwin?”
Our eyes caught. “The guy in the photo.”