Royal Games (Dating Games Book 5)

by T. K. Leigh

  “I thought you came out here to take photos of an old drive-in,” I comment, every click of the shutter ratcheting up my anxiety. “I’m sure that’s a much more worthy subject.”

  “Not a chance in hell. I can’t think of a more worthy subject than showing you how beautiful you are, scars and all.”

  “Did you study photography in college or something?” I inquire in an attempt to distract myself from posing as Anderson’s unexpected model.

  “Took a few classes. But my main course of study was history and economics.”

  “Hence your uncanny knowledge of President Lincoln.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Then how did you get into photography?”

  He pauses for a moment, peering into the distance. “My therapist suggested it as a coping mechanism. A distraction. A way to channel my anger into something positive.”

  I nod, not pressing him any further. I know how difficult it is to talk about loss. To relive the darkest moments of your life.

  “At first, she proposed art.” He chuckles, his eyes gleaming with nostalgia. “Let’s just say Disney won’t be hiring me as an animator anytime soon. I can draw maybe three things. A tree with a single branch and a swing. A flower. And Rufus’ face.”

  “Rufus?”

  “My sister’s cat when we were kids.” He brings his camera back to his face. But this time when he snaps photo after photo, the sound of the shutter isn’t as jarring. Now that we’re talking, I’m not as uneasy about being on display for him to find every imperfection.

  “So instead of drawing happy little clouds, you learned to take pictures.”

  “There’s still art involved. It’s not as easy as grabbing a camera, then just pointing and shooting. There’s a difference between a photographer and someone with a camera. A big difference.”

  “And that is?”

  “A photographer is trained to find the beauty in the mundane and ordinary.”

  “Like an empty field and rundown drive-in that’s seen much better days?”

  He grins. “Exactly.”

  “Will you show me?” I ask after a few more clicks of the camera.

  “Show you?”

  “Yeah. Show me how to do what you do. See what you see.” I soften my voice. “How you’re able to find beauty even in something that’s worn and broken.”

  Anderson lowers the camera, closing the distance between us until our bodies are only a breath away. When he pushes a tendril of hair out of my eyes, his fingers graze the contours of my face, sending a jolt of electricity through me, his touch the most potent drug.

  He cups my cheeks, his expression filled with understanding and compassion. “Even broken things deserve love.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anderson

  “Photography isn’t something you can learn overnight.”

  I step away from Nora, my subconscious reminding me I’m the last thing she needs in her life right now. She’s just been through a divorce. And there’s still the mystery of the ashes. I refuse to cause her any more pain, and that’s exactly what I’d do. There is no future between us. How can there be?

  She takes a moment to regain her composure, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t expect to.” She flashes me a grin that causes my insides to tighten and skin to heat. “But perhaps daily lessons while we’re on the road could be beneficial.”

  My lips quirk into a smile, spontaneous yet refreshing. Just like everything about my time with Nora.

  “Here. Take this.” I hand her the camera.

  She squints, an adorable look of confusion crossing her expression as she stares at the screen and buttons. I walk behind her, peering over her shoulder. Her hair blowing in the breeze tickles my face and I inhale, her scent like a natural aphrodisiac. This is only our second day together, but I can already tell I’ll miss that aroma when I return to the real world at the end of this journey.

  Leaning over her, I point out the button on the top right of the camera. “This is your shutter. It’s what you’ll use to focus and take your photos.”

  “It doesn’t do it automatically? Like on a phone?”

  “It can.” I touch her shoulder, and she faces me. “But trusting the camera to automatically focus on exactly what you want it to doesn’t always work well. There have been some incredible advancements over the years, but it still can’t do all the thinking for you. Why would you want it to? I prefer a more advanced kind of autofocus.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Well, there are two. Single-servo and continuous-servo.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “It’s in single-servo mode right now. It’s great if you don’t have a moving subject.” I help her raise the camera back up. “You press down the shutter halfway, like this.”

  I adjust my body so I’m flush behind her, pointing the camera at a tire in the distance. My finger hovers over where hers is set on the shutter and add a bit of pressure, but don’t press all the way. Then I pan back and forth over the tire, keeping it in frame but changing the view.

  “See. The camera already focused on that tire. As long as I keep this slight pressure on the shutter, I can move the camera and it will still only focus on that tire, even if it’s almost out of frame. It won’t focus on anything else until I take my finger off the shutter.” I remove my finger, nudging the camera toward the tattered movie screen before pressing the shutter halfway once more. This time, it focuses on a rip in the screen.

  “And if I want to take a picture of that?”

  “Then you press the shutter the rest of the way down.” I fully press the button, and it clicks, capturing the image.

  “What about the other way to focus? Continuous-servo was it?”

  “That’s good if you have a moving target. Like if you’re on a photoshoot with models and want them to keep moving without having to set up each individual pose.”

  “You’ve shot models?” She waggles her brows, her playful side coming out.

  “I have.”

  A wry smile crosses her face. “Lucky girls.”

  “You can pose for me. You won’t hear any complaints.”

  She bats her lashes, passing me a demure look. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  My pulse skyrockets, the idea of Nora posing seductively causing an inferno to burn inside me. She won’t be the first woman I’ve taken risqué pictures of. But something about the thought of snapping photos of her, giving her direction on how to pose, has my imagination working on overdrive, every muscle in my body hardening.

  “So, continuous-servo?” her voice cuts through.

  “Right.” I tear my gaze back to her. “Like I said, it’s good for moving targets.” I grab the camera from her and make a few adjustments to the mode before returning it. “Now the camera will continue to focus on an object whenever the camera or subject is moving. Remember the tire before?”

  She nods, her attention glued to the viewfinder.

  “Now look.”

  I cover her hands with mine, directing the lens at the tire. When it comes into view, I press the shutter halfway, the camera focusing on it. But this time when I move the camera, the tire doesn’t stay in focus. Instead, it tries to focus on the next large object it comes across, which happens to be a rusted speaker.

  “See? As long as I press the shutter halfway and move the camera, it will keep trying to focus on something else.”

  “And a moving target?”

  “Well, if you focus on a moving target, the camera will keep refocusing as that target moves. Instead of like in single-servo where if a subject moves, you’d have to manually refocus, in continuous-servo, the camera will continually refocus on the moving target.”

  She nods. “I get it.”

  I drop my hold on her, albeit reluctantly, allowing her to play around with the camera.

  “Don’t get too overwhelmed with the technical aspect. The different types of focusing are just instruments
to make it easier for you to come up with that finished product.” I lick my lips, trying to figure out a way to explain it so she’ll understand. “Think of it like an artist’s paintbrush or charcoal pencil.”

  “That makes sense.” Squinting, she lifts the camera and snaps a few photos, her face lighting up with excitement when she checks her work on the viewfinder. Then she faces me. “Thank you for showing me this. For letting me know this side of you.” She laughs under her breath. “I never would have taken you for the artsy type, or someone interested in photography.”

  “Is that right? Then what did you think when you first saw me?”

  “That you were a pompous ass who tried to impress me with his useless knowledge of Abraham Lincoln.”

  “Really?”

  “Well… No.” She bites her lower lip, holding back her smile. God, I love when she does that. Makes me want to bite her lip, too. Makes me want to do a lot more than just bite her lip.

  “Tell me.” I widen my stance, crossing my arms over my chest.

  She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. She opens her mouth, but is cut off by a gruff voice.

  “Hey! What are you two doing here? Didn’t you see the sign?”

  She stiffens, and we tear our gaze toward a wooded area in the distance, a heavily bearded man stalking toward us. Then she flings her wide expression back to mine, looking to me for instruction.

  I grab the camera from her and shove it into my backpack. “Let’s go.”

  Taking her hand, I drag her back through the field, our pace almost a run. By the time we reach the fence, our laughter is infectious, filling my heart with feelings I didn’t think I’d experience again. Maybe my diagnosis isn’t the death knell I’d originally thought. Maybe it doesn’t have to dash all my hopes, plans, dreams. Maybe I can still have it all. Maybe I still deserve to have it all.

  I drop her hand as we approach the fence, looking at her to ask if she’ll be able to do it again, but she’s already climbing.

  “For someone who seemed hesitant to break a few rules, you sure know how to scale a fence.” I make my way up the links, then leap onto the other side, landing with little effort.

  I glance toward the field, grateful when I notice the man retreating to wherever he came from. Creed’s probably having a heart attack that I trespassed on private property. If we’d gotten arrested, he would have lost his mind. Not to mention, Nora would find out I’ve been lying to her about who I am.

  “What can I say?” She shoots me a mischievous grin as her feet hit the ground, forcing my eyes back to her. “Maybe you’ve brought out a side of me I’d forgotten about.” She approaches the passenger side of the Wrangler and I follow. But unlike all the other times, she doesn’t step out of the way to allow me to open her door. Instead, she draws her body closer, her eyes not straying from mine.

  “Is that right?” My voice is husky, my breathing heavy.

  “That’s right.”

  My heart skitters to a stop when she lifts herself onto her toes and curves toward me. But instead of pressing her lips to mine, she turns at the last second, kissing my cheek before lowering herself. A tingle spreads through me, emanating from my cheek and flowing out to the rest of my body.

  “Thanks for that, Anderson. It’s exactly what I needed today.”

  I reach for her, and she leans into my hand, closing her eyes. As I admire her with her hair tumbling around her face, I’m struck with an unsettling sensation of déjà vu, knocking the breath from me. My ears ring as flashes of that night all those years ago play before me like it was yesterday.

  The doctors telling me Kendall didn’t make it, that there was nothing they could do. The heart-crushing truth that she was gone. Forcing Creed to give me the keys to the SUV, needing to get as far away from that hospital as possible so I could breathe. I barely remember anything after that, until I found myself darting from the car and sprinting down an embankment toward a smoking SUV, the front end smashed into an overgrown tree. In my mind, if I couldn’t save Kendall, at least I could save someone else.

  Again, it wasn’t enough.

  “Are you okay?” Nora’s voice cuts through.

  I rip my unfocused gaze toward her, blinking repeatedly, shaking off the memory of the worst night of my life.

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat, breaking the connection. “Just having a déjà vu moment.”

  She gives me a flirtatious grin. If she notices my changed demeanor, she doesn’t mention it, turning back toward the door. I grab the handle and open it for her, placing my hand on her elbow to help her up. I peer at her as she sits in the passenger seat, trying to remember the image of the woman I pulled from that car. But I can’t see her anymore. It’s gone, something in my brain protecting me from it.

  “I seem to have a few of those when I’m with you, too. Maybe we knew each other in another life.”

  I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Maybe.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nora

  “Okay, okay. I have one,” I announce as we make our way through the Texas panhandle toward Amarillo, where we plan to stop for the night.

  The past few days have been exactly what I needed, even if it bears little resemblance to the trip I originally imagined. Instead of spending my nights meditating or doing yoga, Anderson and I watch a movie while drinking wine out of plastic cups. I usually fall asleep before the movie’s over, and when I wake up, he’s tucked me into my bed and left water and a few aspirin on my nightstand.

  Around nine every morning, he knocks on my door, greeting me with a cup of coffee and a panty-dropping smile. Then we hit the road, where we pass the time playing Would You Rather between making stops on my list so I can spread more of Hunter’s ashes. But I’m no longer only leaving them in places on the list. I’m also leaving them in other spots we discover. Ones I think Hunter would appreciate.

  Anderson still hasn’t pushed to find out whose ashes I’ve been spreading across the country. I can tell he’s curious, but that’s as far as it’s gone, allowing me to keep this to myself. Just like I haven’t pressed him to talk about the weight I can see burdening him.

  “If you were reincarnated into an animal based on your personality, what do you think you would come back as?” I push a strand of hair behind my ear.

  Ever since Anderson loosened my ponytail in the field the other day, I haven’t put as much effort into my appearance as normal. It hasn’t been without a struggle, though. It’s difficult to break habits. Not to mention, every time I look into the mirror and see my wavy hair and the smattering of freckles across my nose that Hunter adored, it reminds me of the girl who lost everything. I’ve hidden that girl beneath layers of makeup and perfectly straight hair for years, pretending she didn’t exist. In my mind, if I didn’t look like that Nora anymore, I wasn’t her. But maybe it’s okay to be that Nora again.

  “That’s a good one.” Anderson pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, drawing his brows together in contemplation. “What do you think I’d come back as?”

  “You know the rules. You need to answer first.”

  “Fine,” he huffs, feigning annoyance.

  He peers forward at the terrain that’s become less green over the miles, signaling the fact we’re nearing the desert regions of New Mexico and Arizona. Then onto California and the end of the road, something I don’t want to think about. When I started this journey, I looked forward to reaching California and having this trip behind me. Now, I hate the idea of everything I’ve experienced with Anderson ending. Of walking away and never seeing him again.

  “I think I’d go with a cheetah.”

  “Is this solely based on your affinity for Cheetos?” I joke, having grown familiar with his preference in junk food.

  He chuckles slightly, his eyes wrinkling behind his dark sunglasses. “We share certain characteristics. The cheetah is active with a sense of adventure. They’re in tune with their surroundings and are able to react quickly to any perceived thr
eat. I’ve been known to be manipulative to get my way.”

  “Oh really?” I respond sarcastically, all too familiar with his ability to get what he wants. After all, it was his unique powers of persuasion that convinced me to agree to his ridiculous proposal that we drive together across the country. “I never would have guessed that about you.”

  He flashes me a devilish smirk before looking back at the two-lane road in front of us. “I’m also loyal to those I care about. Sometimes to a fault. I’ll fight for you, despite the personal cost to myself.” He peers at me over the rim of his sunglasses so I can see the honesty in his words. “Not to mention, I find cheetahs to be charismatic as hell. And that certainly describes me to a T.” He winks.

  “I can’t argue with that.” I pause, then add, “Except about that charismatic part. I personally find you dull and boring.” I force my lips into a straight line to fight the grin threatening to break free.

  “Dull and boring?”

  “I’d probably have more fun scrubbing tile grout for days on end than I’ve had with you on this trip.”

  “If that’s the case, I can make a detour to the airport in Amarillo.” He puts the blinker on as we approach a highway on-ramp. “I’m sure you’ll find a rental car there.”

  “No!” I shout, placing my hand on his arm.

  “That’s what I thought.” With a sly grin, he turns off his signal. “Your turn, gorgeous. What animal would you come back as?”

  “A horse.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “They’re reluctant to trust, but once they do, they’re loyal. They’re dependable and strive to have peace and harmony in their world. Like me.”

  “Hmm…” His brows pull together in concentration.

  “What?”

  Anderson waves me off. “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t think you’re horse material. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Oh no? Then tell me. What animal do you think I’d come back as?”