Behind His Lens(24)

“No. No. I’ll come over in the morning if you want.”

“That’d be lovely. Good night, Charley. Feel better.” She offers me a tight-lipped smile as she moves around us and heads up the old wooden staircase in the corner of the foyer.


“She seems nice,” I note with sincerity as I hold the door open for Charley to enter.

But Charley doesn’t answer. The moment we’re inside, she runs to the toilet and collapses before it with a heavy groan. I bolt over and lift the lid and seat, brushing her hair away from her face. She isn’t sick right away. She sits there for a moment trying to will the nausea to pass, but sadly nothing will help but getting the alcohol out of her system.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve never sat with someone while they’ve thrown up before, but I try to remember what my mom did when I was little. I rub Charley’s back the way my mother used to do, around and around in small circles, and I hope it soothes her a bit.

After a few minutes, her stomach is empty and the dry heaves subside. She leans back on her heels.

“I don’t think there’s anything left.” Her hands rest on her legs and her bottom lip protrudes subtly, but it’s enough to make my heart break at the sight. She won’t look at me and I know she probably feels embarrassed.

“Do you have a washcloth somewhere?” I ask, pushing off the ground.

“There are a few in the basket under the sink,” she gestures to the porcelain sink against the wall, which is barely two feet away from where we sit. That’s when I realize just how tiny Charley’s apartment is. Her kitchen and bathroom are crammed together against the wall before me. And when I twist my head, I see that her entire life is crammed into this one room. It doesn’t feel sad. No, it feels like a home and I don’t mind the small space one bit.

I wet the washcloth and bring it back to Charley, handing it over so she can dab her lips. She looks utterly drained as she lifts the towel, so I reach over and help her, dragging the warm cloth against her cheeks. I stand up and rinse it quickly, then turn it to the clean side to wipe away her makeup. She was wearing too much anyway. She looked breathtaking, but I like her blue eyes without makeup even more.

After she’s cleaned up, I stand to make an exit, knowing she probably wants some privacy.

“You could’ve looked at my boobs, but you didn’t. What kind of guy doesn’t look?” she asks out of the blue as she shoves off the ground and moves toward a dresser next to her twin bed.

Whoa. What?

“What are you talking about, Charley?” I wrack my brain through the events of the night, but not a single thing comes to mind.

“At the photo shoot. You were so close to me and I wanted you so badly, but you didn’t even look!” I watch her pull out a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants.

Is that why she doesn’t think I find her attractive?

I stand up and tug my hand through my hair, “I didn’t want to, Charley. You weren’t naked because you wanted to be. You were naked because you were modeling on set.” I’m not a f*cking pervert.

“But you touched me like you wanted me, Jude.” She bites out, turning toward me when she says my name and it cuts to my heart.

The old Jude would have lied and told her it was part of the job, but she was honest with me in the cab. She opened up about her mom and the least I can do is be honest with her.

“I did want you.” My words sound momentous, but my tone is cold and insensitive, as if my callous heart isn’t ready for lyrical confessions just yet.

Her eyes grow wide. She looks down at the clothes in her hand as if hoping they’ll supply her with the answers to her drunken musings. Her beautiful lips mash together in thought. Is she turned on? Pissed off? Does she want me to leave? It doesn’t matter.

“I don’t date models, Charley.” My mouth feels dry and my heart hammers against my chest. Why? Why am I fighting against what I feel for this girl?

Long, torturous seconds pass as I wait for her to react. And it’s just enough time for me to realize that I don’t want to hurt this girl. She’s too much. Too much of everything. She burns away the loneliness and scar tissue encased around my heart every time her gentle blue eyes fall on me. Which is why I have to walk away. She has her own issues and I’ve got mine. She needs lightness, happiness. Not someone who has their own demons.

Yet I can’t peel my attention away from her. Instead, I watch her head lift and her eyes drag up my body with slow determination. I’ve seen those blue eyes flushed with a range of emotions but carnal desire takes me absolutely by surprise.