Page 41 of Almost Enough

“Tilt your chin up a bit,” the photographer instructs me.

I listen, trying to act natural, but my mind keeps wandering back to Beau.

Violet nudges me. “You good?”

I blink and nod. “Yeah, just…distracted.”

The photographer adjusts his camera, waiting for me to get my shit together. I’m too caught up in the tension building in my chest, the weight of unspoken desires that exist between me and Beau.

Then it happens. I blurt it out before I can stop myself. “I think I might have just had a mini orgasm because Beau called me a good girl.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Violet’s eyes widen, then without warning, she bursts out laughing, her whole body shaking. The photographer’s camera clicks at the exact moment, capturing my horror.

I stand there mortified as Violet wipes tears from her eyes, still in hysterics.

“Oh my god, tell me I didn’t just say that out loud,” I whisper, mortification heating my face to what must be the exact shade of my hair.

Violet manages to compose herself, though her shoulders still shake with suppressed laughter. “You absolutely did. But I think only I heard you.”

“Nope, I definitely heard that, too!” Violet’s brother, Ethan, calls out.

I whip my gaze toward him. “Shut your stupid face, Ethan. Or I’m telling your boyfriend about the time you cried at the end of Finding Nemo.”

Ethan and I have a love-hate, sibling-like relationship. I have no qualms ratting him out if he doesn’t keep his lips zipped.

Ethan has the audacity to smirk. “He already knows. I told him on our third date.”

“Oh, so you told him about the fish tears, but did you tell him about the other thing? With the karaoke machine? The Britney song? The cowboy hat⁠—”

Ethan’s eyes widen. “Truce!”

The photographer clicks his tongue. “Can we focus? One more, ladies. With feeling.”

I paste on my brightest smile, trying desperately to ignore the burning sensation spreading from my cheeks down my neck. Over the photographer’s shoulder, I catch Beau watching me from across the room, his dark eyes intense, one eyebrow slightly raised.

After the photos, I make a beeline for the bar, ordering a double shot of tequila that I put down in one burning gulp.

“Rough night?”

I nearly choke on the aftertaste, jumping out of my skin at the sound of Beau’s voice directly behind me. That intoxicating scent of cedar, mixed with something uniquely him, hits me before I even turn around.

“You have no idea,” I mutter.

He steps closer, his arm brushing mine as he signals the bartender. “Whiskey, neat.”

The bartender slides his drink across the bar, and Beau lifts it to his lips, taking a slow sip while watching me over the rim of his glass. The way his throat works when he swallows makes my mouth go dry.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice quiet enough that only I can hear.

“Of course I’m staring. Have you seen yourself?” The tequila has made me bolder, or maybe it’s just the way he keeps looking at me like he’s imagining all the ways he could take me apart.

His eyes darken. “Careful, Red.”

“Or what?” I challenge, emboldened by liquid courage and the memory of his hands on my skin. “You’ll punish me?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks.

I lean closer. “I think I’d like to be punished as long as it’s your hands doing it.”