Behind His Lens(18)

His words, delivered so confidently in what I later realized to be his trademark arrogant demeanor, practically burn my body into a pile of crumbled ash on the spot.

…

“Nothing about him makes sense. He’s completely cold and distant one minute and the next he’s winking at me or telling me I look good in my running gear. I feel like I get whiplash when I’m around him and I don’t know how to handle it. Most guys are easier. I can read their personality and mold to the situation, but Jude keeps me on my toes. I never know if he’s going to tell me to f*ck him or f*ck off.”

“And which would you like to do?” Naomi mocks in a therapist’s tone before breaking out in giggles.

“Neither!” I huff, pulling the bathroom curtain closed.

“You know it doesn’t really count as a dramatic exit when you don’t even have a door separating your bathroom from your bedroom.”

“Yeah, well pretend I slammed my door really loudly because you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am!” she assures me, ripping back the curtain and looking at me with her puppy dog eyes. “Charley, don’t let him get to you. Yes, he might be the hottest man we’ve ever seen, but he’s too complicated! Relationships shouldn’t be complicated. They should make you happy. Like Tom. He made you happy right? And he’s cute underneath that mop of hair.”

“And he has an accent,” I add meekly.

“See! Just stick close to Tom and you’ll be fine. Jude probably won’t even come.”

But he told me he’d be there.

“Fine,” I huff. “Will you pour me another shot?” I ask, batting my eyelashes up at her. I’ve been ready for the past half hour, and I’ve used the remaining time building up my liquid courage.

“Charley,” she reprimands me like my mother. “You’re tiny and you never drink. Do you think another shot is a good idea?”

I give her a pointed stare. “Do you want me to go with you tonight, Naomi?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then, please my sweet, exotic bonita, pour me another shot.”

“That sentence doesn’t even make sense.” But it worked because I watch her walk over to the cheap bottle of tequila and pour another few ounces into my ‘I love NY’ shot glass.

“Oh, but doesn’t it?” I cock an eyebrow seductively.

“Nope. Still doesn’t,” she laughs before stepping closer with a determined pace. “Can I make your eye makeup darker? Your lip gloss and mascara combo could be worn by a thirteen year old.”

“Be my guests,” I say before tipping back my fifth shot. I know I’ll be toast before we even make it to the bar, but that’s not my problem. Or is it? I can’t seem to decide in my tipsy stupor.

“God, are you already drunk? You just pluralized ‘guest’. You realize that, right?”

I place my hands on her shoulders and try to focus. “Naomi. Work your magic and give me a sultry look. I want Jude to realize what he’s missing.”

I expect her to laugh off my comment, but I think she can tell that deep down I’m dead serious. I want to be the sexy vixen I was pretending to be during the photo shoot. I want the part of Jude that thinks I look good in my workout clothes to fawn all over me tonight. His demeanor might be all over the place, but I know what I want and with the aid of alcohol, I’m confident enough, or just inebriated enough, to let myself realize it.

…

“C’mon, Charley.” Naomi tugs my hand lightly as we step inside the dim bar. I know we’re running late because Naomi repeated it three times in the cab on the way over and then she practically tumbled out of the cab before the driver had even stopped near the curb.

She took forever with my eye makeup, but I’m secretly glad. It was just the right amount of time to allow the alcohol to hit me like a slow, seductive wave. I’m just the right amount of tipsy. You know, the point at which you wink at the bouncer when you hand him your I.D., but you don’t throw up on his patent leather loafers. I feel good. Naomi let me stick with the clothes I’d already picked out. My skinny jeans are tucked into light grey, suede ankle boots and I’ve got on my favorite black, off-the-shoulder sweater.

The Village Tavern is a low-key bar, but it’s still packed on a Saturday night. Warm bodies move against one another, vying for the bartender’s attention. But just as I step up to join the ranks, Naomi tugs my arm.