“Xanthe Love…” I breathed her name. It was so bittersweet. I cherished the ache in my chest now. It was the only thing left of her touching me anymore.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” I’d asked her.
The blush in her face had crashed in a heat wave against my chest.
“Raspberry.”
“What’s the last thing you usually think about before falling asleep?”
“These past few nights…you.”
That had nearly made me come again. My cock had swelled at that point, and I’d rolled her onto her back, snuggling into the warm apex of her thighs, and kissed her until we’d both been mindless.
With shaking tongs, I drew the first photos from the tray, slipping them into the next tray.
“What’s really your favorite flavor, Xanthe?” I’d asked, grinding myself into her heat, knowing I was going to make her come.
“You.”
“You’re mine, too.”
Half of the first roll was drying on the clotheslines stretching across the ceiling when a soft knock sounded at the door.
“I haven’t turned on any lights. Can I come in?” came Trey’s voice.
“Yes,” I replied.
Opening the door just enough to slip his slender frame into the room, Trey’s eyes met mine and then darted to the photos.
“Is this her then?” he asked, walking up to the closest line.
“Yes.”
He took his time, looking at each one, before turning back to me. “I see it.”
“See what?”
“I see how she’s captivated you. She’s beyond stunning.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. It seeped out of me now. I could only nod.
“She could do modeling. Her face is so…”
“You should see the rest of her. She looks like a pinup under all those layers.”
Xanthe even dressed to shield herself. Her usual attire concealed the stunning form of a woman who was, in my opinion, the epitome of female beauty.
“I bet. Her chest looks generous.”
“She would never be a model.”
“Why not?”
“Because…I don’t think it’s her thing.”
Trey shrugged. “I brought sandwiches from Midland.”
I wasn’t hungry, but I knew he was worried. I’d eaten nothing substantial in days.
“Come on,” he said.
Taking one last glance at the closest photo, I sighed and then followed him out. In the kitchen, he had set the sandwiches on plates with a pitcher of cold water sitting between them. He was such a formal little fucker sometimes.
The memory of having hot dogs with Xanthe danced through my mind. We had just parked ourselves on a bench and eaten like urban savages right there.
“I got you roast beef.”
“Thanks,” I replied.
We sat down, and Trey immediately started eating while I picked at the bread.
“You know Timeless wants you because you look like a grown man, right?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“If you show up on Wednesday, looking like a waif, they might think twice.”
“Pfft. I seriously doubt that’s even a possibility.”
Trey was tall and slender while I was just massive in comparison. I had a good two inches on him in height, but I considerably outweighed him. My muscle mass was easily twice that of his, and I had to maintain it, or I’d just look fat.
“Yeah,” he conceded. “But, Oliver…this is huge for FairFawkes. You know that, right? I mean, it’s what we’ve worked so hard for. Granted, we wanted to photograph and represent other people, but is it so terrible that you’ve been noticed for the handsome man you are?”
“I suppose not.”
“I promise you that when people realize the face they’re looking at has a wealth of talent behind it, they’ll want you for more than your looks. This is simply another stepping-stone. People will be searching social media for your modeling pages and will come across the fact that you’re, first and foremost, an artist. It’ll generate interest.”
I nodded.
“A company that makes beard products contacted me. A barber actually. Deo Dahl? His shop is really popular. London-based. He’s interested in having you as a spokesman. They’re sending a package of the product for you to try. If you like it, would you consider doing it?”
“Sure. What’s it called?”
“I think they’re called The Sophisticated Caveman.”
I grinned at that. It was a term Xanthe would appreciate. She had loved my beard, had taken every opportunity to touch it. I reached up now and stroked it, smoothing it down. I did grow an awesome amount of facial hair.
Trey’s eyes regarded me, silently appraising. I was used to it. It never made me feel uncomfortable. He was a man who loved to be esthetically pleased. Whether it was a beautiful person, a work of art, or even a particularly beautiful shot of nature, he loved seeing it.
“You’re going to take us straight to the top,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“You’re going to make the name FairFawkes huge. Famous. We always thought it would be our hard work and dedication that would make people notice us, and so far, it has. But it’s going to be you, Oliver. I don’t care if it’s for your face and body, and neither should you. It should be a relief. It means we’ll be noticed without having to kill ourselves for our work.”
He had a point.
I ended up eating half of the sandwich before my stomach started to squirm. Trey was happy that I had gotten that much in me, and he cleaned up while I snuck off into my back garden.
I was itching to call Ronen.
“Motherfucker,” was how he greeted me. “You still a man?”
“Yes.”
“Ricki’s slacking then. The fuck you want?”
“I need to talk to Xanthe.”
“You need to fuck the fuck off!” he half-shouted.
“Who the fuck you talkin’ to, Ronen?” came Lilla’s irritated voice.
“The fucking douche bag who ran out on Xanthe.”
“Oh. All right then.”
“Is she okay?” I asked quickly. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with her, and I just need to know she’s okay.”
“Define fucking okay,” he snarled.
“Is she alive? Did she make it back from Boston? Is she somewhere safe? Because she’s not here. I went—”
“What do you even care, man? You fucking ditched her. She was counting on you, and you fucking bailed, like a little bitch.”
“I know. I…I wish I could go back and do all of this over, Ronen. I was angry, and I let that cloud my judgment. Please…I need to know.”
“I ain’t telling you shit.”
“For fuck’s sake!” exploded out of my mouth. “I’m fucking gutted here! I fucked up! I fucking really fucked up! I was wrong, and I need to make it right. Nothing in my life is fine, okay? I fucking need to know that she’s alive somewhere—”
“Of course she is, man. She’s alive and safe,” he said, his voice softening.
“Where?”
“That’s none of your fucking business.”