Flawed Perfection (Beautifully Flawed, #1)

Chapter Thirty Two

The weekend passed in a world wind of cuddling, kisses and pleasure without having to worry about Bobby walking in and getting, well, the right impression. Bobby returned exhausted, but still had another hockey game that Tuesday night. I bit my lip as I cocked my head at Adam, trying to keep the smile off my face. I missed Bobby, but I had to admit not having to worry about him was nice.

"How come you don't ever have that thing when Bobby is around?" Adam asked with a nod over my shoulder to the camera sitting on the window sill.

I sighed as I picked it up. "Bobby's kind of sensitive about it ever since he saw the pictures of you and me. It's like he blames the camera for the whole thing."

Adam smirked as he took a swig of beer.

"Blaming an inanimate object for us being in love with each other...he'll always find some excuse other than we were made for each other."

His comment was so matter of fact for mentioning the word love, and I bit my inner cheek as I played over the words. It made me wonder why he hadn't just come out and said it directly to me. I pinched the plastic cover off the camera as a distraction and looked through the viewfinder.

It was one of those beautiful nights in Boston where the city lights reflected up into the dark sky and danced with the stars. The moon was low, partially hidden by a building two blocks away as it perfectly framed Adam. He stood there with his button-up half untucked, his tie nowhere to be seen, and his beer dangling from his fingers. In that moment Adam reminded me of the type photography I preferred. Un-posed just felt so much easier, or maybe it was just taking pictures of him. In the studio I often felt confined and lost as I took pictures I was ordered to take. Sometimes I just felt like I could never get the shot, the one I had in mind when I designed the shoot or started thinking of the advertisement. With Adam I never really had to plan anything—every picture just felt right. I didn't feel lost, and every picture seemed to play itself out with such ease. It reminded me that I actually could get the shot.

I set the shutter and aperture to handle the dim lighting before I began to click away. A smile crept onto his face as he rolled up his sleeves, placing the beer down before turning back to face the city. I could feel the smile entering my own face as I watched his every move through the tiny glass frame.

Everything about his composure screamed flawed. He leaned his forearms against the cool metal of the rod iron balcony, his head tucking slightly between his shoulders as I clicked away.

Then he looked directly at the camera over his shoulder and everything screamed perfection. He was caught by the lens with his eyes passionate, yet soft, while his thin lips were set in a thoughtful line. The whole picture was made even sexier by the lip ring that accented his face and the scar that traveled the entirety of his lip to the edge of his nose. It was a mark he'd been self-conscious about since the day a hockey puck to the face gave it to him; a mark girls drooled over as much as I was now.

"Give me that," his firm order knocked me out of my Nikon stupor.

"Huh?"

"Give. Me. That," he repeated. "It's my turn."

"No!" I said as I yanked the camera away from his outstretched hand.

"Yes!" he replied, a smirk covering his face as he planted his feet and used his body to block the only exit from the balcony.

I judged the distance carefully before dodging him and slipping through the window. His hands reached for me, but my shirt was short enough that instead of catching onto anything solid his hands slipped against my skin. It caused a shiver to go up my spine, but I rushed forward with the camera in the air and put the couch between us.