Page 126 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
His eyebrows lift slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I grip the camera tighter, feeling the weight of it differently now.
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What do you want to photograph?”
“You. If that’s okay.”
Ryder’s expression shifts to surprise, and then to something softer. “Me?”
“You fixed the music box. You took down the paintings. You...” I trail off, not sure how to explain. “You helped me find this again. I want to capture that somehow.”
He smiles eagerly. “Okay. Where?”
“By the window?” I gesture toward the window seat. “The light’s good there.”
Ryder crosses the room and settles onto the window seat. Through the glass behind him, the sky is heavy with clouds, gray and brooding. A storm is building on the horizon. Ryder looks uncertain in his pose. His hands rest awkwardly on his knees, and somehow his nervousness relaxes me. I take a settling breath, knowing the storm isn’t hereyet.
“Just... relax,” I say, raising the camera. “You don’t have to pose.”
“That’s easier said than done when someone’s pointing a camera at you.”
“Pretend I’m not here.”
“Kind of hard when you’re three-feet away.”
It makes me whisper a laugh. “Then pretend the camera isn’t here. Just sit like you normally would.”
Ryder shifts, leaning back against the window frame. One knee drawn up, the other leg stretched out. Through the viewfinder, he looks different. The navy button-down shirt is wrinkled and untucked. Two silver chains catch the muted light at his throat. The overcast sky behind him casts everything in soft, diffused light. No harsh shadows, just gentle gradations of gray. His dark hair is tousled, as if he’s run his hands through it too many times today. The ripped jeans complete the picture. Unpolished, like the rockstar he was born to be.
I take the first shot.Click.
“Can you look out the window?” I ask softly. “Not at me.”
He turns his head, and the light illuminates his profile. The strong line of his jaw. The slight furrow between his brows like he’s thinking about something.
Click.Click.
“These are good,” I murmur, checking the preview screen.
“You can tell already?”
“The light’s perfect. Soft, not harsh.” I pause, looking at him properly. “You look real.”
“As opposed to fake?”
“As opposed to performing.” I lower the camera to look at him properly. “In those marketing photos, there’s this layer. Like you’re playing a character. But this is just you.”
Something shifts in Ryder’s expression. “I didn’t realize you’d been paying that much attention.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I pay attention.”
The air between us charges. Heavier than a moment ago.
I raise the camera again, needing the barrier. “Can you look down? At your hands or something?”
Ryder’s gaze drops, and I capture the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. The vulnerable slope of his neck. The silver chains glint against the navy fabric of his shirt. I move closer without thinking, adjusting my angle. Then closer still.Through the window behind Ryder, I catch the storm clouds gathering darker as they move closer. The sky has that expectant quality it gets before rain. But at this moment, everything feels suspended.
“You’re really good at this,” Ryder says quietly, not looking up.
