I dig inside the cabinet in search of the digital camera. “Can I take your picture?”
Colt snorts. “I’m offended it’s taken you this long to ask.”
“It’s not for me. I need it for today’s special.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Sugar cookies,” I proclaim proudly, pulling the big black camera out of its hiding place. I wave it at Colt. “With your picture on them, if that’s okay with you.”
“Clothes on or off?”
“On,” I laugh. “We’re a G-rated bakery. PG at our worst.”
“How are you going to put my picture on a cookie?”
“We have a printer with edible ink and paper. We use it to make cakes with people’s pictures on them. I’ll take a pic of your smiling face,” I say, cupping his chin in my hand and gently shaking it side to side, “we’ll whip up some two inch sugar cookies, and print the picture out to fit on top.”
“You sure you want to use my face? I know it looks good, but it’s not my best feature. For that you gotta go below the waist.”
“G-rated bakery,” I remind him patiently.
He grins down at me. “Why do you gotta make everything dirty? I was talking about my calves. They’re killer. Have you seen them?”
“You’re so full of it, and yourself. How do you fit food inside your body packed so tightly with ego and bullshit?”
“I had a kidney removed.”
“Smart.”
“Can you add text to the picture?”
“Depends. What do you want to write on it?”
He smiles. “Eat me.”
I laugh, nodding my head. “It’s a little PG, but we’ll go with it.” I take his hand in mine, pulling him out of the office. He follows willingly. “Now come over here where the wall is blank. I only have a half hour before I have to start my regular prep.”
I get him set up in front of a plain section of green wall. The color makes the darkness of his sweater stand out, along with his tan skin and brilliant eyes. I lift the camera to take a few quick test shots.
“Any directions, coach?” he asks amiably.
“You’ve done more photoshoots than I have. You can do whatever you want.”
“Do you want sexy or funny?”
I pause, considering. Thinking about who we’re targeting this cookie to. It’s not guys, that’s for sure.
“Sexy,” I request, focusing in on his face. “If you can manage it.”
He laughs briefly before setting down his coffee cup. I’m about to tell him that it doesn’t matter because I’m only looking at him from the chest up like a driver’s license, but I quickly close my mouth.
Colt’s face composes instantly, his chin dropping down and to the right. His lips lift on one side, that same crooked grin he gave me the other day when he showed up here. The one that made me feel like I was falling. It’s intensified today, made more powerful by the smoldering look in his eyes that somehow say so many things with a single expression. They’re challenging and inviting. Like a warning and a promise wrapped together.
Like he’s planning very wicked things, but don’t worry; you’ll enjoy them.
He doesn’t look like the guy I spent an entire night with or the guy I pictured on the phone all afternoon. He looks like the guy in the Dairy Queen ad. The one on the Playgirl cover.
I snap several pictures in quick order, the disappointment on my face carefully hidden behind the bulky camera. “Do you practice this in front of a mirror?”
“I practice everything. I don’t like being bad at anything.”
“Is there anything you’re not good at?”
Click.
“Cooking,” he answers.
I smile. “I knew that one.”
Click.
“Electronics. I’ve had five tablets in two years. Three different phones. Every one of them has crashed.”
“What’d you do to them?”
“If I knew that they probably wouldn’t have crashed.”
I laugh, sympathizing with those tablets. Colt Avery is a walking EMP. He destroys my circuitry every time he gets close.
“Anything else?” I ask curiously.
Click. Click.
“Losing.”
“Good thing you don’t do it very often. What are you guys? Six and three?”
He smiles and it’s him; it’s Colt. Not the model but the man. “You looked it up, didn’t you?”
I shrug, snapping another picture. This one is my favorite by far. “I might have Googled it.”
“The team or me?”
“The team. I figured if I Googled you…” I lower the camera, carefully meeting his eyes. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what the internet thinks is your highlight reel.”
His face falls serious, his appearance changing again like a chameleon on crack. “I’m not ashamed of my life. I’m actually pretty damn proud of it.”
“I’m not saying you should be ashamed. That’s not what I meant. I meant that I want to get to know you. Not an image of you.”
“She said taking his picture.”
I chuckle awkwardly, running the strap on the camera through my fingers. “Right. Yeah.”
He holds out his hand to me. “Come here.”