*Warning: Intended for 18+ only. Contains graphic language and sex, as well as depictions of violence and sexual assault that may be disturbing to some readers.*
Niall Donovan is a talented photographer. When it comes to women, he can have his pick and has. But beneath the flirtatious, joking smiles he's hiding long buried pain and traumatic memories. Memories that are breaking the surface once more. Memories that he’ll do anything to shut up. When suicide doesn’t work for him, he indulges in pills, drugs, and physical pain. They seem to help some, but they barely take the edge off.
London Black has been put through the wringer. Between a car accident that nearly killed her, months of physical therapy, and finding out the boyfriend she moved to Midtown for has been cheating all along, she’s done being the sweet wholesome girl everyone thinks she is. A one night stand with the sexy photographer she meets at a club is just the thing she needs to boost her ego. It does more than that when the explicit photos of them are the main exhibit at the local art gallery. Embarrassed, angry, and now without a prospective job, she confronts him on opening night. But when he offers her a generous deal with room and board in return for more photos, she accepts. Taking naked photos with him for a large sum of cash doesn’t seem like that horrible of an option, and besides they both intend to keep things completely professional.
When the shutter starts snapping, however, it’s hard for either to deny what's developing between them. Neither are in a good place and prefer those desires stay hidden in the dark, but the camera doesn’t lie. Baring it all may expose more than their bodies. But exposing their hearts may be more than Niall or London bargained for.
“Christ, Niall! Ye got a big set of bollocks, don’t ye?” Grant laughed as soon as I grumbled a half-hearted “yeah” into the phone
I grunted, sitting up in bed and looking around my bedroom. What time was it?
“The feck are ya talkin’ about, arsehole?”
“I’m talking about the exhibit tonight.”
“What about it?”
He wasn’t making any sense. As far as my work went, the collection of candid shots I’d taken were the tamest I’d done in a while.
“I just went tae get coffee and saw a nice big poster for it in the window of The Pump & Grind. Ye got yer head buried in some brunette’s snatch.”
“What?!”
“Here I’ll send ye a pic.”
I heard the snap of his camera phone and a second later my phone buzzed. Sure enough a picture of me going down on London filled the screen. At least they’d covered her breasts with the title of the exhibit.
“Oh feck! Oh feck, she grabbed the wrong negatives!”
I was out of bed and charging down the hall to my dark room as Grant broke into snorting laughter on the other end. Sure enough, when I tore the other negatives from their clip, they were the candid photos I’d meant for Hayley to grab. Not that I really needed confirmation of this given Grant’s picture.
“Shite!”
Grant managed to calm his laughter just a little, still snorting randomly as he asked, “So I take it the lovely brunette doesnae have a clue aboot this, does she?”
“Nope.” I sighed, already pulling on a pair of jeans and sneakers. “Can ya come get me? I need ta talk to the gallery as soon as possible.”
“Um, ye kin they’re no’ openin’ until tonight tae prepare fir the openin’, aye?”
“God. Feckin’. Dammit.” I growled, pressing my forehead against the doorjamb. “They cannot show those pictures! Who the hell even gave them the go-ahead with what we were doing in those?”
“I’m goin’ tae see yir bollocks tonicht, aren’t I?”
“Ya were the one sayin’ they were big.”
“Aye! Noo they’ll be huge all blown up for the exhibit!” He erupted into another fit of laughter. I sighed.
“It’s not funny, Grant. This chicks goin’ ta skin me alive if she sees these.”
“Aye, probably...but think positive. Maybe she won’t see them?”
“Ya think so?”
“Feck nae! Unless she was just visitin’ she’d be blind not to see these. They’ve plastered ye two all over town.”
Feck.
J.A Howell is an office drone by day, and a writer by night. Her love of writing took off when she was eleven years old and decided to fill a composition notebook with stories to read to her friends. Many years (and notebooks) later, not much has changed. She still loves writing and sharing her works with others. When she isn’t writing, she can often be found trying her hand at whatever artistic pursuit strikes her fancy. J.A. Howell resides in Apopka, FL with her husband and their menagerie of animal children.
