10. Jack

10

JACK

We lie side by side on the bed, trying to get our bearings. Before I can let reality set in and decide it was a bad idea to have him here in my sheets and personal space, he rolls on top of me and kisses me soundly.

I don’t resist because, damn, he’s fucking hot, the way he begs for my cock, and kissing him is not a hardship.

After another minute of my brain turning to mush, he flops to his back. “So now will you take me to your red room of pain?”

I throw an arm over my face. “What the hell is that?”

“You never heard of Fifty Shades ?”

“Sure, I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never read it.”

“Who needs to read it when there’s a movie with Jamie Dornan in all his nude glory?”

My chest rumbles with a laugh I can’t restrain. Maybe it’s the happy endorphins after a good orgasm, or maybe, it’s just him, but it feels good.

“So in the movie—and book—Grey has a red room of pain where all the BDSM stuff takes place.”

“Ah, I see.” I open one eye to peek at him. “I’ve never been into giving or receiving pain.”

His fingers brush over the area on his shoulder where my teeth had grabbed hold of him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

My pulse spikes. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

“Did it sound like you hurt me?” He chuckles. “I loved it.”

I relax my limbs and blow out a sigh of relief. “Same. Which is why you requiring me to move my ass out of this bed to show you my studio right now is out of the question.”

“Oooh, are you an after-sex cuddler?”

“I enjoy a good cuddle from time to time.”

He places his head on my chest and throws an arm over my waist, and it feels…good, comforting. Nice to be this close to someone again. The hollow cavity in my chest aches.

Aaron yawns and settles in. “Any more of this, and I’ll fall asleep in your bed.”

I nudge him to sit up. “Guess the darkroom is not such a bad idea.”

“I win,” he teases as if that was his plan all along.

We clean up, dress, and pour more wine before heading out the back door.

It isn’t lost on me that not only did I invite Aaron to my home, but now I’m leading him to my private sanctuary. I should’ve asked him to leave right after we hooked up, but the way he talks about my art stirs something inside me. Makes it feel more important to me than I’ve realized.

And it makes me want to let him in, just a little. Even if it’s a bad idea.

I open the padlocked door and pull the string for the light.

“Totally old-school, but I like the rustic charm.”

“Me too,” he replies as he takes in the concrete floors and planked wood walls that store all my art and equipment. I could’ve remodeled, like I did inside my house, but I wanted to leave most of the original shiplap and only give it a fresh coat of paint. Plus, I’d brought in furniture to make the space more comfortable.

Aaron walks around, taking in my framed and unframed pieces leaning in rows against the walls. “Am I allowed to look through your prints in case I can’t make it to the art fair?”

“Sure, go for it.”

I sit on the couch in the middle of the room and watch him as he goes through the stacks that contain years of work. I have undeveloped film collecting dust in a couple of boxes because I’ve grown cynical or maybe bored of it. I still don’t know which.

My stomach churns as I watch for any reactions that may give away what he thinks of me and my art. It’s disconcerting hanging back while he gets a bird’s-eye view of stuff that’s close to my heart.

“So many good shots of the ocean and the beach,” he finally says.

I blow out a breath. “Yeah, it’s not hard on the eyes.”

“And wait.” His back stiffens. “Is this another one of those curses?”

“Huh?”

He pulls up a framed photo from the year when a waxy, solid substance resembling gray or amber rocks washed up on the beach. I’d forgotten all about them. “That’s ambergris. It comes from sperm whales, which have been spotted in this area. It’s produced in their digestive system. But whales are a protected class, so I was only allowed to get so close before they cordoned off the area.”

He marvels at it. “Why would it wash up like this?”

“No one really knows. It was during the breeding season, so maybe it’s related to that. Maybe it’s what draws their mate. And apparently, the stuff is valuable. It’s used in some perfumes.”

“No way!” he exclaims.

I scrunch my nose. “The smell is a cross between sandalwood and putrid musk.”

“Putrid?” He laughs. “So you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it?”

I hold my hand to my nose as if reliving how the beach reeked for weeks. “Hell no.”

“See, I told you—a curse.” He chuckles. “Though, how can something that amazing be a curse?”

He’s doing it again, like the day on the trail, rubbing something in his pocket.

“Do you keep something in there?” I ask, motioning to his hip.

“Oh, um…” His cheeks color. “I wandered into Beth’s store after getting my hiking boots. She gave me this crystal and read my energy or whatever.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I mutter.

His eyebrows knit together. “Let me guess, you don’t believe in any of that shit?”

I look away. “Maybe I did at one time. Or I believed in the power of manifestation or prayer or the idea that you can control your own destiny. But not anymore.”

He frowns as if he’s tapping into my energy in this moment.

I clear my throat. “Did she read you properly?”

“I suppose? She said I was nervous about something, but isn’t everyone?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Most people are looking for any sort of help or hope when it comes to their lives.”

“True. But I’m not opposed to it if it brings someone peace.”

He studies me as if waiting for me to tell him the story about Beth and why my whole disposition changed at the mention of her name. But I’m not going to do that.

Though I can’t help wondering what Aaron has to be nervous about. Was it asking me to sell my business? Maybe I’ve read him all wrong. He hasn’t pushed the topic since.

Thankfully, there’s a change in subject. “So when you develop film, how does that work?”

“It’s a process, each step essential.” I motion toward the bottle of stop bath near the sink, where I keep my makeshift darkroom, and explain the best I can how the chemicals work together in the developer.

“So it needs to be completely dark in here?”

“Well, except for the amber light. Otherwise, it’ll ruin the exposure.”

“Fascinating.” He gives all the supplies another long look. “How did you become interested in photography?”

“My parents bought me a camera, and then I took a class in high school.”

He glances toward one of the piles of photos I keep in protective sleeves, then rummages through until he lifts a photo of an attractive middle-aged couple.

“Is this your mom and dad?”

“Yeah.” My chest tightens. Fuck, I miss them.

“Johnny’s the spitting image of him.”

My throat feels dry. “Everyone always said that.”

His smile is sad. “You and June seem to favor your mom.”

The room grows quiet, and suddenly, it all feels too real, too much.

I pace toward the back corner of the studio, the shock of that day returning, snapshots running through my head. The police and divers and yellow tape. Even the candlelight vigils organized by Beth for the town residents felt surreal, torturous. And don’t even get me started on all her talk about the candles and chants bringing positive energy. She should’ve known better. Making us hang on to hope when we should’ve started facing reality and grieving.

Aaron abruptly replaces the photos, likely recognizing the shift in the temperature of the room.

“Thank you for showing me your art. It’s not lost on me how hard that was for you.” He turns toward the door. “I think it’s time to call it a night. I can see myself out.”

I snap out of it, feeling guilty for spacing out on him.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll walk you out.”

I follow behind, then watch as he walks down the driveway to his car.

He waves and drives off.

I stand there, still shell-shocked.