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a penis fades away and I start to really focus on the work at hand. I play with lighting and angles, highlighting veins and ridges, getting a soft-focus face in the background of some pictures, a full-focused face behind others. I make sure his abs are the star of some shots, and spend a lot of time spinning around his cock to get the best angle.
    What. Is. Life.
    Finally, Rob says, “I’m starving.”
    I look at my watch and two hours have flown by without even noticing. Peter took a few breaks to pump himself back up, but other than that, he’s a really professional subject. He didn’t even crack any stupid dick jokes.
    Rob, however, made tons. That was fine by me, because honestly? Everyone loves a good dick joke. Also, he was really complimentary when he looked over my shoulder as I reviewed shots before toying around with the lighting. Flattery will get you everywhere with me.
    In the end, it was like a real, professional gig.
    Peter pulls his clothes back on while I put my gear away.
    “I’ve never seen anyone that intense in their work before.” Rob helps me collapse a few light poles. “You really worked it hard in there.”
    I shoot him a look. “I thought you ran out of dick jokes?”
    “No, it’s not a dick joke. I’m just… I’ve never seen a photographer at work like this before. You took it really seriously, even though I was certain you’d hate it. I’m impressed.”
    This surprising compliment makes me smile. “Thanks.”
    Peter hands me a check and winks. “We should do this again sometime.”
    “Food!” Rob suddenly claps his hands together. “I’m dying for some food. And we should celebrate with drinks. Meredith? What do you say?”
    My gut instinct screams no, but why not? I mean, really. I just had my first professional gig in I don’t know how long, which means celebrating is in order. And I was planning on drinks tonight anyway. “You know what, why not?”
    “Atta girl!”
    Rob flashes me a gorgeous smile, and I know I shouldn’t, I know I should avoid at all costs, but I can’t help but want to see more of it. I want to hear his laugh again, watch those dimples appear on his cheeks. I’m such a sucker.
    “Awesome. You know where Tom’s Town is?” Peter, now fully dressed, leans against the door frame in a very model-esque way. Methinks the photoshoot went a touch to his head.
    I nod to answer his question. Doi. Tom’s Town serves devilled eggs made with gin, of course I know where to find it. Pssht.
    “Great! We’ll see you there!”
    I walk the boys out and dash back up to my room to pull everything down, just in case Jane comes home and starts snooping. I have to control the message with her, something my journalist friend would know all about. I also need a new outfit. TT screams something cute but relaxed. Dress shorts and an off-the-shoulder top, mayhaps.
    Dear god, I’m trying to find a date outfit. What am I doing? I have to show Rob I am unimpressed. I have to show him I haven’t thought about our perfect kiss twice an hour since it happened. Which should be easy. Since I’ve actually thought about it four times an hour.
    Anyways, I can’t cute up and drink. I don’t need to pick up any more effed-up clients.
    I pull up my favorite Frank Turner album and blare it the entire drive to the bar, screaming along the whole way. This, ladies and gents, is what victory looks like. For the first time in weeks, I can afford my own drinks. Honestly, does a girl need anything else? I mean besides, you know, her apartment back and all. Besides that bit, though, does a girl need anything else?
    I park next to Rob’s black Corolla and find myself wondering about what he said yesterday, about great minds. Was it just the car thing? Or did he see more similarities in us? He wants me, I’m pretty clear on that. Well, okay, he’s been pretty direct. And there was that killer kiss yesterday that absolutely shouldn’t have happened.
    And what else could we possibly have