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He readies the camera and takes a few test photos while I fidget with the bracelets I impulsively put on while I was getting ready.

Sam frowns at me and lets his camera drop, the strap keeping it from falling from around his neck.

He approaches and leans in while I try to keep distance between us.

After fluffing some pillows, he pulls back and grabs my shoulders.

I stiffen at the unwanted contact but if he notices my discomfort, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Lean back and prop yourself up on your elbows.”

I only follow the instructions when he releases me, and I let out a shaky breath. My robe rides up my thighs and I squirm under the camera lens.

“Cross one leg over the other and prop it up,” he instructs, and I reluctantly do it.

I thought this photoshoot would be sexy and empowering, but so far I’m cold, uncomfortable, and the farthest away from feeling attractive.

Sam gets annoyed with my pouting and stiff posture as he guides me around various simple poses in my reading chair. “All right, let’s try something else. Plant your feet on the floor and straighten your spine.”

He takes a couple more pictures, but he seems to grow more and more frustrated. Me too, buddy. His next command is what sends me into a spiral. “Take off the robe and spread your legs.”

“Excuse me?” I stammer out.

He sighs and rubs his temple with one hand.

“If all you’re gonna do is sit there awkwardly with a robe on, then what’s the point of even doing this?

Who would ever find this sexy?” He says “this” while pointing at me with such disgust that I immediately feel stupid and small for doing this. I knew this was a bad idea.

I swallow hard, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill and start to take off the robe. Sam takes pictures while I do it and I can see his gaze roaming over my chest where the tops of my breasts are spilling out of the pushup bra.

Sam asks me to open my legs up again, but I ignore him, readjusting my hair and fidgeting with my bracelets some more. He groans in frustration but takes some more pictures in the same pose. I keep my legs firmly closed together the whole time and don’t hear what he says next due to the loud music.

“You really need to open up those pretty legs of yours.” He speaks up, but the music cuts out abruptly, so it sounds more like he’s yelling it at me. We both look over to the speaker on the wall and?—

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

A very intimidating, very angry Jordan is staring menacingly at Sam, the speaker cord dangling from his hand.

“Or what?” he says, voice deep and darker than I’ve ever heard it.

Sam takes a visible step back from me and swallows.

“This is a private session,” Sam tries to say, and Jordan chuckles, dropping the cord and taking a few slow steps forward.

I’m frozen to the spot, and I don’t even dare look for my robe that got discarded on the floor somewhere. My eyes are glued to Jordan, and I wonder what he’ll do. Would he punch Sam for me? Protect my honor?

Am I into this?

I shake my head, and Jordan glances at me. His expression is not one I can decipher, but I hold his gaze nonetheless, trying to communicate how uncomfortable this random guy is making me.

Jordan’s jaw clenches and he turns back to Sam.

“This session is over. Leave.”

“Whatever, this is the worst photoshoot I’ve ever done anyway. Thanks for the free money,” Sam says bitterly, and tries to get past Jordan, but he doesn’t get far.

Jordan grabs Sam by the collar of his shirt and pulls him close to eye level, which is a ridiculous sight—Sam, five foot eight, on his tiptoes in front of J.

“I don’t care who you are or why you’re here, but you better leave.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing and slowly stand up, finding my robe and throwing it back on to at least cover my almost-naked butt.

Sam scoffs and picks up his tools, shoving them in his bag as fast as possible. Before he can put his camera away, Jordan snatches it away, pulling out the SD card.

“Hey, that’s my property.”

“Not anymore,” Jordan says, shoving the camera back in Sam’s chest.

Sam cowers in front of Jordan’s glare but turns to me and says, “I’m gonna bill you for that.”

“You’re never going to speak to her again. And you’re going to lose her number too, while you’re at it,” Jordan says, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.

Frankly, Sam doesn’t deserve any more money for being such an asshole, but I don’t want to make the situation worse.

I’m grateful for Jordan as he kicks the nasty photographer out of my apartment, but I’m dreading the silence that follows. Jordan’s back is to me, and I can see his muscles shifting underneath his white T-shirt as he takes in heavy breaths, the fists at his side clenching and unclenching.

I’ve seen every version of Jordan throughout the years—happy, sad, depressed, neutral, excited, angry—but never furious Jordan. I take a step closer and my heels clack against the hardwood floor. Jordan’s shoulders stop moving, almost like he’s stopped breathing. Is he mad at me? Disappointed?

I can’t stand his anger pointed at me, so I bite back my tears and rush forward to hug him. My arms go around his torso, my hands curling into his soft shirt, my head between his shoulder blades.

“J, I don’t know why you came, but I’m so glad you did.” I squeeze him harder whispering, “Thank you, thank you.” I expect him to turn around, hug me back, or at least acknowledge what I said, but he doesn’t.

“J?” I say, and slowly drop my hands, thinking maybe I’ve crossed the line with a hug.

Jordan hangs his head and turns around to face me, a sad smile on his lips. “You haven’t called me that in a really long time,” he says in a gruff voice.

He’s right, of course, but I’m not sure how to respond, so I stay rooted to the spot.

“What were you thinking?” he asks with a deep sigh.

“I wasn’t. Clearly,” I mumble.

“There must have been a reason for it,” he prods, and I keep my gaze glued to his collarbone, where a silver necklace is stark against his brown skin.

“Al?”

“I was doing research,” I say, embarrassed that he found me in this situation and had to intervene because I clearly wasn’t looking out for myself.

“For what?”

“A new book I’m writing.”

“Hm,” he says as his pointer finger reaches for my chin and tilts my head up to meet his gaze. The look in his brown eyes is indecipherable and I don’t know if I want to lose myself in it or hide as fast as I can.

My feet stay planted to the floor, though, so I guess I’m not running. But is being so close to him really a good idea? I still don’t know how I feel about him being back in my life, even after our recent heart to heart. I swallow hard and Jordan lets go of my chin only to reach down, down, down.

What is he doing? Why am I not stopping him?

Just when I think he’ll pull me in, I feel his knuckles brush against the sliver of skin accessible through my corset. His deft fingers work quickly and when I look down, I see he’s tied my robe around my middle. The tops of my breasts are still showing, but the rest of me is decently covered.

I can feel the blush on my face spread over to my chest, and I know Jordan notices it as his eyes bounce over the spot.

“Did it help?”

“What?”

“The photoshoot. Did it help with your book?”

I shake my head, still entranced by his proximity. “No,” I whisper.

“Be careful next time,” he says, teeth grinding as he looks back at the door that Sam was kicked out through.

This time, I’m the one to reach out and take his face in my hands. Some of the tension in his body is gone and he lets me bring our foreheads close together. Our noses brush and I find myself saying, “There won’t be a next time if you help me finish it.”

* ? Lapsi = kid

* ? Helvetti = hell