Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“I have a few questions for you,” I pronounced, cutting into my filet mignon.
“Sure thing. Ask away.” Clay motioned wildly with his silverware before stabbing a piece of meat.
“I know Charlie is into this idea, but why would a band release a photo album like this? No offense, but it seems like a douchey move and a waste of money. What’s the point?”
To his credit, Clay wasn’t insulted in the least. “Great question! You can make a book for your mega fans, but the real advantage is the photos themselves. Don’t quote me, but I think Charlie has plans to do a few spreads for big publications. And maybe even use one for the album cover.”
“Huh, that’s smart,” I replied idly.
“Right? I asked Wyatt’s boyfriend, Jamie, to shoot this one. His work is cutting edge and sublime at the same time. Perfect for Zero.” He paused to take a bite, then spoke around a mouthful of food. “Jamie excels in the subtler messages. Every shot will be black and white. We’ll emphasize the words and Zero’s music. I heard about the carbonated water plug too. Wow. Your timing could not be better.”
“Hmm.” I swallowed as I reached for my glass. “I hope that’s true. So, is someone supposed to take a picture of me and you?”
“Already done. I saw a flash when they brought dinner to the table.” Clay smiled as he pointed his fork toward my plate. “How’s your filet?”
“Great, thanks.” I narrowed my gaze before continuing. “Hey, just to be clear, you know this isn’t a real date, right?”
Clay threw his head back and guffawed. “I’m wounded.”
I chuckled in relief. Phew. Charlie had assured me this was a photo op moment only and a chance for me to get a sneak peek at Clay’s recent unpublished work, but I hadn’t been able to shake the sense that there was another reason I was here besides the fact that I was the only single member of the band.
“Don’t be,” I said kindly. “I want to be sure we’re on the same page. No misunderstandings.”
“Got it. No worries. I’m in the market for sex-only hookups. No dating. No relationship BS. I don’t have the time or energy or…”
He babbled on, pushing his plate aside and pulling out his iPad just as a server came to clear the table. Between his uber-fast speech and waitstaff interruption, I felt like I was a few paces behind. No, I didn’t want dessert or coffee or tea or an aperitif. I wanted him to slow the fuck down.
Clay slid his device across the white table cloth and instructed me to swipe for content. I obeyed…and wow. This was sexy shit.
Smooth, toned silhouettes of two tattooed muscular hunks entwined in carnal poses with a hint of mild BDSM. But here’s the thing—every touch was a suggestion. This wasn’t porn; it was an exposé of the beauty of human sexuality…with a kinky twist. I couldn’t look away.
A single photo of a pair of handcuffs in the middle of a perfectly made bed was followed by one of a bedside table with a single rose in a vase and a key beside it. The next featured a shirtless beefy man wearing jeans with his hand on his knee…followed by a shadow of a naked man waiting in a doorway.
It was beautifully done. Moreover, it told a story.
“This is…very nice,” I admitted, still swiping through the collage of photos. “Obviously we’d keep our clothes on, but I like the composition. It’s like you’re telling a story.”
“Exactly! It’s art and you’re artists. I think this partnership is a no-brainer for both of us.” Clay reached for his water, circling his wrist meaningfully. “Keep going, if you want, but you’ve already seen those.”
“I have?” I flipped to the next page and stared a little longer than necessary at the photo of two men kissing.
“You still don’t remember?” he prodded, clearly amused. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’m not looking for a repeat. Not that I’d say no, but—”
“What do you mean by ‘repeat’?” I snapped, fixing him with a sharp look.
Clay did a double take, then let out a strained half laugh. “You and me.”
I cocked my head, squinting so hard my forehead creased like an old man’s. “You and me…what?”
“We…you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” I insisted. “Are you saying that we…”
“Fucked,” he supplied nonchalantly.
“Really?” I choked.
“Yeah.” He raked me over with an incredulous stare. “You’re serious. I think I’m supposed to be offended, but you were wasted.”
“Wait up. You knew I was wasted, and you still had sex with me. And why don’t I remember anything? Is this a joke?” I growled in a low warning tone.
“No, it’s not a joke. Come on, you have to remember some part of that night,” he urged. “We talked about art for hours under the heat lamp. I’d just published this book and told you… ‘Beware, it’s all tongue.’ You laughed and said you could handle it. By the time you got to the last pic, the sexual tension was off the charts. You told me you were horny, I told you I’d help you out.”