Page 84 of Lovefool

I never saw the appeal. One, I don’t have the photographic chops to take a well-lit, well-angled picture. And two, my body isn’t really…I don’t know. I’ve never been overly proud to show it off before. Hell, even society is progressing further than me with this whole love yourself campaign. The truth is it takes a long time to get there. There is no magical, overnight fix for years of agonizing self-degradation.

Lake’s mask falls for a second, and she doesn’t rush to uphold her performance. She scrambles back into a kneeling position. “You don’t have to. I—sorry. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

I blink, attempting to belay the inevitable boil-over of my compartmentalized worries. I wish I could excise them with a fine-edged scalpel as a surgeon does with bad, dysfunctional organs. I’m healthy. I’m happy. I shouldn’t hate the way I look so much, right?

Finally, after what feels like minutes of silence pulsing between us, a pathetic sound rips from my throat. “Trust me, I want to continue, it’s just…I’ve never, uh, taken a nude picture before.”

Lake cocks her head curiously. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Not even a dick pic?”

“Not really my style.”

“Huh. Is it stupid to admit that I kind of thought guys just had a whole folder of dick pics to choose from?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No, Knox definitely has one. And please don’t ask me how I know that.”

Laughter colors her tone, sucking all the seriousness out of our hotel room. Lake doesn’t seem disappointed in the slightest. Of course she wouldn’t be; she’s never made me feel guilty for voicing my anxieties or wanting to take things slow.

“Honestly? I barely take nude pictures myself. I’ve seen too many documentaries about them getting leaked for revenge. I guess I just thought this would be something nice for you to have, if that makes any sense,” she blabbers, hiding her face in her hands.

I crouch down so I’m eye level with her, carefully pulling her fingers away. “Of course I want to have them. Especially because you want to give them to me. It’s an act of trust that I don’t take lightly.”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. You can be honest.”

“I am being honest, Lake. We’re together a majority of the time, but when we’re not, I look at pictures of you to keep us connected. The ones we’ve taken together, the year-old ones on your Instagram, anything.”

She pokes me in the arm playfully. “Oooh, you miss me.”

I rest my head against her naked thigh, staring up at her through thick lashes while her hands perform calming ministrations in my hair. Deft, slender fingers corkscrewing overgrown strands.

“Like hell every time we’re apart,” I whimper.

I’m not a particularly clingy person. Well, I wasn’t before Lake. I’ve come to realize that a lot of my befores are void now. There’s no denying the fact that this girl harbors half of my heart in her chest.

“Because you love me,” she jokes.

Because I…love…her.

Oh my God, I do. Why has it taken me this long to tell her? I’m literally the only card-carrying member of the Lake club. I’m so in love with her that my friends can see it. Hell, the whole world probably can too. Just thinking about her makes my heart skip in some primordial way. My body feels like a furnace, and my train of thought course-corrects to whatever avenue she occupies in my lovesick brain.

“I have since the moment I met you,” I reveal, more than willing to scream it from the rooftop.

Her eyes double in size. “Not possible.”

“Very possible. I love you, Lake Capitano.”

“I love you, Sutton Whittaker.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate my sentiment, and the gasp of relief that exits me sounds a lot like a squeaky wind-up toy.

A sincere smile puffs out her cheeks. “Since you’re so in love with me, does this mean you’ll stick my Polaroids in your hockey helmet like a soldier sticks pictures of his loving wife in his helmet before going off to war?”

“If I did that, I think I’d be too distracted to focus on the game,” I joke, nuzzling my nose into the soft meat of her leg, mentally picturing myself on the ice as I’m hyper fixated on the sexy Polaroid haunting my every move.

I’m practically the poster boy for pussy-whipped.