Chapter 8
1197 Words
The Photo Shoot
BELLA
The entire room is silent. You can hear a pin drop. Ava taps her tablet as she continues.
"The announcement graphics have already been approved."
Chase and I stare at her. Neither of us speaks.
Three days. Three days before the entire campus believes we're dating. Three days before every camera on campus follows us. Three days before my life becomes public property in an entirely new way.
I glance across the table. Chase looks just as horrified as I feel. For the first time since meeting him…I feel like we're completely in agreement.
*******
Nothing could have prepared me for the awkwardness filling the studio.
Bright yellow lights beam down from overhead, making the air feel strangely warm despite the industrial air-conditioning blasting from every corner. Camera equipment litters the space. Crew members move around us, adjusting backdrops and discussing angles.
And unfortunately, at the center of it all, Chase Carter.
Tonight's photo shoot was supposedly the first step in selling our fake relationship to the public. The photos would be released online later tonight.
Tomorrow, the official announcement would follow. The thought alone makes me want to develop a sudden, life-threatening allergy to cameras.
My palms are damp, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Today, my patience is thinner than usual.
Across from me, Chase looks equally miserable.
He's dressed in a fitted black shirt that hugs every muscle far more closely than necessary and dark joggers that somehow make his six-foot-something frame look even larger.
Not that I'm paying attention.
His dark curls fall over his forehead, casting shadows across sharp cheekbones and annoyingly symmetrical features.
Again, not that I'm paying attention.
The photographer claps his hands.
"Closer."
Neither of us moves.
"Much closer."
Still nothing. A sigh escapes him.
"You two are supposed to be dating."
"We aren't," Chase says immediately.
I follow with," we're pretending to."
The photographer pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Wonderful. Pretend harder."
I bite back a laugh.
Chase looks like he's considering walking directly through the nearest wall.
The photographer adjusts his camera.
"Look into each other's eyes."
I do. But unfortunately, the second our gazes meet, irritation surges through me all over again.
The man has the most aggravating eyes I've ever seen. Cool gray.
The photographer lowers his camera.
"No."
"What now?" I ask.
"You both look like you're preparing for a duel."
"That's because we are."
The photographer groans. I hear someone from the crew snicker.
I turn toward Chase.
"Could you actually take this seriously?"
His eyebrows rise.
It's the audacity for me.
"You think I'm the problem?"
"You're standing there like you've been sentenced to prison." My hands are stationed on my hips now.
"I have been sentenced to prison."
I roll my eyes.
"Your reputation is the one that needs saving here."
Something flashes across his expression. It's brief, and it's gone before I can identify it. And then, he steps closer.
It's too close, and I immediately regret noticing how tall he is.
"You're not exactly helping," he says, as his voice drops lower.
The sound sends a strange shiver through me.
Annoying. Very annoying.
I cross my arms.
"Your posing is terrible."
"My posing?"
"Try looking at me like I'm your girlfriend, and not some leeching insect."
His mouth twitches.
"I'd rather not."
"Exactly."
Before I can stop myself, I reach up and grab his chin. The stubble beneath my fingertips surprises me. I ignore the sudden awareness.
"See?" I say, turning his face slightly. "Less murder. More romance."
The studio goes suspiciously quiet. But I don't notice. I'm too busy glaring at Chase.
"We're supposed to look like lovers."
I even make air quotes.
"Not enemies."
For a second, neither of us speaks. Then Chase's eyes narrow dangerously.
Uh-oh. That can't be good.
The photographer suddenly starts firing off pictures. Rapidly. Relentlessly. The shutter clicks echo through the studio.
Neither of us pays attention. I start stepping backward. And suddenly a warm hand lands firmly on my waist.
I freeze, and a startled gasp escapes me. The grip tightens slightly. My eyes snap to Chase.
"What are you doing?"
His expression is pure irritation.
"Helping."
His other hand rises and settles against my jaw. My entire brain short-circuits.
"Fine," he mutters. "You wanted romantic."
His thumb brushes lightly against my cheek. The motion is probably accidental.
But It still manages to send an unwelcome rush of heat through me.
"I'll give you romantic."
The photographer sounds ecstatic.
"Oh, this is incredible."
I turn toward him.
"Why are you taking pictures?"
"Because this is amazing."
"We've been arguing."
"Exactly."
That answer doesn't make sense, but before I can question it further, Chase turns me around, and pulls me backward.
My spine collides with solid muscle. His warm chest. The faint scent of cedar and clean laundry.
Now why would I notice that?
My hands grab his wrists.
"Chase…"
"Relax."
His breath brushes my ear.
The sensation sends a ridiculous spark racing down my neck.
"You wanted romantic photos."
My eye twitches. That does it. Two can play this game. Now I'm about to make him as uncomfortable as I feel.
I spin around. But before he can react, I hook a hand around the back of his neck and yank him downward. The movement surprises him.
Victory.
My right hand slips casually into my pocket. I tilt my head in a pose, and smirk.
Perfect.
For one glorious second, I feel victorious.
Like I've successfully put a leash on an oversized hockey player.
The photographer practically wheezes from excitement.
Then everything changes. One second, my feet are on the floor. The next, they're not.
A startled squeak escapes me. The room spins, and suddenly I'm in the air.
"CHASE!!"
His laugh rumbles through his chest. The jerk. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist. My hands fly to his shoulders for balance.
The entire studio erupts. Camera shutters go wild. Someone is cheering in the background.
I ignore them.
Mostly because my heart is trying to escape my ribcage. Chase steadies me effortlessly. Like I weigh nothing.
His expression has transformed completely. And for the first time since I've seen him, he looks genuinely amused.
Which just serves to make him even more annoying. A loose strand of hair falls across my face. He reaches up, as his fingers slide gently behind my ear.
Tucking it back. The simple gesture catches me completely off guard.
For one absurd moment…everything goes still. Then my brain finally restarts.
Absolutely not. I jump down immediately. The second my feet touch the ground, I grab my bag.
"I'm done."
The photographer nearly drops his camera.
"What? No! We just got the best shots!"
"Congratulations."
I head for the exit fast.
The cool evening air hits my face the moment I step outside. Only then do I finally breathe. The entire ride home, I convince myself the photos couldn't possibly be that good.
After all, we spent most of the shoot arguing. Nobody would mistake that for chemistry. Nobody. Not even a single person.
Unfortunately, by tomorrow morning, the entire internet is going to disagree.
- Writer
