to face the front lawn. I was still fully zoomed on him; I couldn’t help it.
So maybe I had a small crush.
Okay, maybe a medium one.
Definitely a large one.
Even though it was dark and I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew they were light blue. I watched them glance around the yard and down the street like he was looking for someone. I really wish I knew what that handsome mind was thinking about.
I zoomed out, took a full body shot, then zoomed back in when he looked up, right at me and smiled. My finger automatically pushed the button. It was a great shot.
He was looking at me.
Shit.
I watched his smile fade and he raised his hand up, slowly giving me the middle finger. He stood there flipping me off and of course, I took that picture.
What an ass.
I dropped my camera, letting it hang from neck while I made my way to him.
Why?
Because I have a tendency to do things before thinking about them. It was just who I was. I saw no headlights down the street so I marched my way, crossed the street, and through his yard.
“How did you see me?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips.
He finally dropped his middle finger. “I felt you watching me.” He tucked his hands into the front pocket of his blue jeans.
“It’s dark and the street light is out,” I informed him.
“I’ve seen you a few times,” he confessed and my jaw dropped. “Not sure why you’re obsessed with me.”
“When did you see me?”
“The pre-party a few days ago, during my match while you were sitting with the other photographers, and this morning while I was at the gym.”
He had a good eye.
This morning was fun, but I could only snap pictures with my cell. I rode a bicycle every day and everywhere, but I still hated to exercise.
“I’m not obsessed with you.”
“Reporter,” he guessed. “Looking for a story.”
“No.”
“Stalker.”
“Maybe, but I’m not obsessed with you,” I lied. I totally was.
He took a step forward, I felt my head automatically tip back so I could keep eye contact and I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I may or may not have been breathing.
I’ve never been this close to him. Damn he smelled good. Fresh and minty. I wanted to taste him. Lick him.
“You’re obsessed,” his husky voice gave me the shivers in the best way possible; I was going to be busy tonight after I got home, “with me.”
I took a step back. I had to keep my distance. Remain professional.
“I’m doing my job.”
He raised his left eyebrow, the one that had twenty-two stitches in it a few years back that made his eyebrows uneven. But hell, even that was hot.
“Whatever job you’re doing; you should fire yourself.”
I was appalled. “Excuse me,” I said jabbing a finger in his chest. Damn, it was hard. “I’m the owner. My business. I’m doing the job I was paid to do.”
“Like I said, fire yourself.” He turned and walked away. “Get a story from someone else,” he told me over his shoulder.
I followed him. “It’s not a story.”
“Don’t care.” He walked through his front door and didn’t shut it. I wasn’t sure if he realized it so I walked in after a few seconds and quietly shut it behind me. Miranda said they didn’t live together so maybe I could find something inside.
He disappeared into the other room, which I assumed was the kitchen. I couldn’t see it because there was a wall with a couch blocking it. It was leather, black, and had a matching rocking chair. They looked brand new and shiny. I heard him making noises in the kitchen so I continued to snoop around. I glanced down to make sure my camera was still on. I just had to point and click if I saw anything of importance.
I ran my hand along the arm of the couch and noticed no pictures hung on the light brown walls. He did have a huge ass TV, though. It was so large it looked like a mini theater screen.
I should really get myself one.
But I don’t watch much TV so that’s a stupid idea.
His glass coffee table had two
So maybe I had a small crush.
Okay, maybe a medium one.
Definitely a large one.
Even though it was dark and I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew they were light blue. I watched them glance around the yard and down the street like he was looking for someone. I really wish I knew what that handsome mind was thinking about.
I zoomed out, took a full body shot, then zoomed back in when he looked up, right at me and smiled. My finger automatically pushed the button. It was a great shot.
He was looking at me.
Shit.
I watched his smile fade and he raised his hand up, slowly giving me the middle finger. He stood there flipping me off and of course, I took that picture.
What an ass.
I dropped my camera, letting it hang from neck while I made my way to him.
Why?
Because I have a tendency to do things before thinking about them. It was just who I was. I saw no headlights down the street so I marched my way, crossed the street, and through his yard.
“How did you see me?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips.
He finally dropped his middle finger. “I felt you watching me.” He tucked his hands into the front pocket of his blue jeans.
“It’s dark and the street light is out,” I informed him.
“I’ve seen you a few times,” he confessed and my jaw dropped. “Not sure why you’re obsessed with me.”
“When did you see me?”
“The pre-party a few days ago, during my match while you were sitting with the other photographers, and this morning while I was at the gym.”
He had a good eye.
This morning was fun, but I could only snap pictures with my cell. I rode a bicycle every day and everywhere, but I still hated to exercise.
“I’m not obsessed with you.”
“Reporter,” he guessed. “Looking for a story.”
“No.”
“Stalker.”
“Maybe, but I’m not obsessed with you,” I lied. I totally was.
He took a step forward, I felt my head automatically tip back so I could keep eye contact and I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I may or may not have been breathing.
I’ve never been this close to him. Damn he smelled good. Fresh and minty. I wanted to taste him. Lick him.
“You’re obsessed,” his husky voice gave me the shivers in the best way possible; I was going to be busy tonight after I got home, “with me.”
I took a step back. I had to keep my distance. Remain professional.
“I’m doing my job.”
He raised his left eyebrow, the one that had twenty-two stitches in it a few years back that made his eyebrows uneven. But hell, even that was hot.
“Whatever job you’re doing; you should fire yourself.”
I was appalled. “Excuse me,” I said jabbing a finger in his chest. Damn, it was hard. “I’m the owner. My business. I’m doing the job I was paid to do.”
“Like I said, fire yourself.” He turned and walked away. “Get a story from someone else,” he told me over his shoulder.
I followed him. “It’s not a story.”
“Don’t care.” He walked through his front door and didn’t shut it. I wasn’t sure if he realized it so I walked in after a few seconds and quietly shut it behind me. Miranda said they didn’t live together so maybe I could find something inside.
He disappeared into the other room, which I assumed was the kitchen. I couldn’t see it because there was a wall with a couch blocking it. It was leather, black, and had a matching rocking chair. They looked brand new and shiny. I heard him making noises in the kitchen so I continued to snoop around. I glanced down to make sure my camera was still on. I just had to point and click if I saw anything of importance.
I ran my hand along the arm of the couch and noticed no pictures hung on the light brown walls. He did have a huge ass TV, though. It was so large it looked like a mini theater screen.
I should really get myself one.
But I don’t watch much TV so that’s a stupid idea.
His glass coffee table had two
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