I wonder if this is how she’d look on the deck in my backyard with the ocean behind her: wisps of hair dancing around her face, a drink in her hand, and the freedom to do as we please without the danger that hinders and plagues our every movement here. Could we survive as a couple in the everyday world? With real life and the problems it creates?
The thought makes me shake my head, because of course we could. We’ve spent every day together for weeks on end in the tight confines of the hotel. Sure our relationship – because yes, I can most definitely admit that this is a relationship now – is still in the proverbial butterflies-in-the-stomach stage, but we are under a constant pressure here that doesn’t normally occur in the real world. We’ve gotten annoyed with each other, figured out how to give each other space, and passed the ever-important phase of don’t-push-each-other’s-buttons-on-purpose.
Suddenly I scrub a hand through my hair, completely and utterly shocked at my train of thought. The no-go compartment of my mind opened without the crowbar I thought I might need someday to even begin this thought process.
Then my fingers run back and forth on my keyboard, lost in thought momentarily before I lift my phone without her knowing and frame her in the lens of the camera.
“Do you ever think you’ll quit this life someday?” The question comes out almost on a murmur, my thoughts spoken aloud as I click the shutter on my screen.
Beaux’s hands fall still, half-submerged in her camera bag, when she turns her head to look at me. Her eyes narrow as I click another photo.
“What are you doing?” She smiles shyly.
“Ah, the photographer doesn’t like to be the subject, now does she?” I tease as I click another one, a shot that turns out blurry since she’s walking toward the bed.
“Never.” She laughs softly, angling her head to the side as she takes a step toward me where I sit on the bed in my boxer briefs, one hand behind my head against the headboard, the other holding my phone. “Gimme.”
“No way.” I laugh as she crawls her way over my legs, picks up my laptop to move it off my lap, and takes its place. At the warmth of her * resting right over where I want her the most, I have to bite back the hiss I want to emit. “Are you trying to distract me, Croslyn?”
“Nope. I just wanted to add you in the picture.”
I stop fighting immediately at the comment, my eyes meeting hers and loving the coy smile that spreads over her lips. She leans forward and brushes a kiss to my lips before causing me to groan when she slides off my lap to sit beside me with her head resting in the crook of my arm.
“Smile,” she says as she holds the phone out and captures us together in the small square window. “See? Perfect. Now what were you asking me?”
I’m reminded immediately of my question that had slipped out, but I refrain from repeating it. “Nothing. Forget about it. It was nothing.”
“No it wasn’t. Nice try, though.” She shifts her body so that her head is on my chest and one hand runs idly up and down my midline. “You asked if I’ll ever quit this life.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur.
“Will you?” she asks, and I’m so mesmerized by the surge of desire I feel at her touch that I don’t immediately realize I’m answering my own question before she does.
“Someday when my career has run its course… This life isn’t fair to kids, and I definitely want to have kids someday.”
“How will you know it’s run its course?” she asks, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of my neck.
“When the buzz is gone,” I say matter-of-factly. “Then I’ll know that I’m too complacent, too cautious, and not worthy of this job anymore.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can sense her collecting her thoughts, trying to figure out what I mean. “The buzz?”
“Yeah. That adrenaline buzz you get from getting a story or for you the perfect shot. The one that —”