Exposure_A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  “Would you mind signing my ass, Westin Drake?”

  He shook his head. “Can we review this script please? In less than an hour, you are going to need to be in front of a camera with a shovel in your hand. The world will be watching you talk community garden, and I doubt you’ll be so feisty then.”

  She cleared her throat and went almost white at the idea of being on the other end of a camera again.

  “Right. We need to focus.”

  “Exactly.”

  She sat down next to him and picked up the notes for the spot with her lines highlighted in pink.

  “Why are my lines pink?”

  “Going out on a limb here, but it’s probably because you are the female.”

  “Sexist.”

  “Oh, please let’s let it be just a highlighter. I can’t do sustainable food and sexism all in one day.”

  “Fine.” After a minute, she wiggled in her seat and flicked her hair, which was now begging West to reach out and touch her.

  “Sorry. It’s just that these jeans are so… tight.” Her mouth quirked and West wondered how one woman could possibly be all of these things.

  He was reminded of their first breakfast when she said it was only fair that he was a little dense. The same rule applied when he thought of Meg. It was out of balance for a woman who captured incredible images of the Spirit Bear and the Polar Bear to be so funny. Or for a woman who could discuss regions of the world most people had never heard of and make them sound so fascinating that he wanted to get on a plane. Or for a nationally recognized photographer to giggle at getting her ass waxed. She could not possibly be everything. But he looked at her and her expression danced with the playfulness of a woman who, despite the polish, still wanted to smell like coconuts. He had a feeling she was everything.

  You’re screwed, the only functioning part of his brain declared.

  West had resigned himself long ago to companionship or sex. The two didn’t exist together. Now that he knew Meg, he wasn’t sure how he was going to go back once she left. There was no way she would survive in his world, even if she wanted to, so he needed to reel this in before he started telling himself stories. He loved a good story, but acting had taught him that fiction was not life and once the director yelled “cut,” reality was what he’d be left with.

  “You still smell like coconuts,” he said before he realized he was speaking.

  She wrinkled her face in bemusement. “I never agreed to give up the coconut oil. Besides, Rudolpho said it was a ‘fabulous body drink,’ direct quote.” She extended her arm and ran her hand along the length. “So smooth,” she said.

  Where the hell had all this skin come from? He was comfortable with her in long and flowy, but he was starting to think the polish had been a bad idea. Now, in addition to wanting to be near her, he wanted on top of her.

  West stood up abruptly to look for Hannah. If anyone could bring a cold bucket of reality to the situation, it was her, but of course, when he needed the distraction, she was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter Eleven

  After the surreal experience of standing in front of three huge cameras and saying, “Good Morning, America,” there was something invigorating about being in the open, windy air with a shovelful of dirt in her hands. This was a project she could get behind, Meg thought as she tried to ignore the click of the cameras. She and West were adding the topsoil to a planter full of radish seedlings. The community garden was one of four Next Generation was opening around the city. The gardens each had a lead crew member—an NG employee—and the rest of the work was to be done by neighborhood volunteers in exchange for a produce box each week. The remaining harvested veggies would be sold to local restaurants and the proceeds would help sustain the garden, as well as fund community outreach.

  Red-cheeked and enveloped in the smell of soil and the outdoors, Meg felt, for the first time, that she might have a place in the city after all. That she wasn’t only a photographer and there were several ways she could live a life that was true to her spirit. West was charming and chatty so she didn’t have to be and when the press sent a question directly to Meg, it was usually something about her travels. She found that practice did ease some of her nerves and she could share parts of her story that were entertaining.

  “Okay, one last question and then these two need to be going,” the CEO said to the crowd.

  “West, mind if I ask something personal?”

  “Aw, Tony. What’s with the manners? You’re usually the first one to take a personal shot without asking.”

  “Guilty, but I thought since it’s a community event and all, I should show some respect.”

  “Yeah? Remind me to hang around community gardens more often. In fact, if I plant one of these at the hotel, will you guys pack up and leave?”

  “Not a chance. Do I get my question?”

  “Not a chance,” West said, placing his hand at Meg’s lower back and moving her toward the staging area where the Next Generation marketing team was going to hand them each a T-shirt and then, if all went according to plan, they would get into an electric car provided by the company and be delivered safely home.

  Green event number two was almost in the bag when West heard a flurry of cameras behind them.

  “Are you two dating now?” Tony the asshole, as West affectionately called him, yelled out.

  West, back still toward them, closed his eyes and gave himself a second to soak in his stupidity. The cameras continued as he slowly removed his hand from Meg’s back.

  “Keep walking toward the entrance. Do not look back and do not answer their questions. Behind you is what I refer to as a swarm.”

  “As in bees.”

  “Closer to wasps. I’m sorry. I put my hand on your back, and by tomorrow morning they’ll have us picking out our children’s names.”

  “Shouldn’t we get married first?” Meg said with a surprising calm. It was a clear indication she didn’t understand the power of a swarm, and that need to protect her surfaced again. He wasn’t sure protection was possible at this point in the game.

  “Clever, but I forgot the ring.” His eyes cut to Hannah, who had flown in for the event. She recognized his expression and since she no doubt wanted West to continue playing nice, she intercepted the small group of reporters advancing from the press area.

  “That’s okay. I’m not a ring kind of woman anyway.” Meg kept walking.

  “You’ve given this some thought?” West asked, glad their banter was a distraction. He could hear raised voices behind him.

  “No. I can’t imagine myself with one of those big… rocks on my finger. Seems like it would get caught on everything. Are they supposed to be following us?”

  “No.” He moved to put his hand on her again but caught himself this time. “Hannah will take care of it. T-shirts, big smiles, and then we are free. Did you want to go to the pier, or are you busy?”

  Meg took the T-shirt offered to her and so did West. They flashed camera-ready grins and right as they were preparing to make a clean getaway, Meg hesitated and turned to face him. He wanted to turn her back around because the cameras were snapping and it looked like they were practically nose-to-nose. Not good, West thought. But her eyes locked on his and somehow in the middle of the community garden party, even with the advancing swarm, he wanted to hear what she had to say more than he cared what was going to be made of it.

  “What’s going on? With us. Is there an us?” she asked, eyes curious and confused.

  Yeah, not what he was expecting, and certainly not a conversation he was going to have in front of hundreds of strangers.

  “Let’s get in the car.”

  “No, I mean before you whisk me off again, can I get some clarification?”

  “In the car, Meg. Believe me, now is not the time for us to play our little game.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  Holy shit. Paparazzi had slipped past Hannah. The slimy ones always did and West felt at least two
at his back. His heart was at a full gallop and she wanted answers. He was sure he’d had a nightmare that went along a similar path, but certainly not starring Meg Jeffries.

  He risked the picture, took her by the arm, and leaned into her.

  “I’m sorry. We can go home, but if we continue having this conversation, it will be turned into something bigger than it is and you will be all over the gossip rags by the morning. Is that what you are looking for? One more word and we’re there.”

  Meg stiffened as if she’d been awakened from a trance, shook her head, and climbed into the backseat of the car. West quickly slid in next to her and almost slammed some idiot’s hand in the car door. He’d been blunt, maybe a little rude, but the need to protect her became more and more fierce the closer the piranhas got to her. She was a grown woman and he knew it wasn’t rational, but he felt responsible and she’d become important to him. Christ, how had he let that happen?

  They drove in silence as Meg tried to figure out what had happened. One minute she was having a genuinely amazing time and the next, she was standing her ground. All she knew was before she was going to be pushed into yet another car or offered one more amazing city adventure, she wanted answers.

  Was he Westin Drake, the blockbuster movie star screwing with her head for an audience, or West, the man whose expressions lately seemed like his next breath might depend on her?

  Meg had always been patient. It might have appeared to be a spontaneous act when she took the job with National Geographic, but the truth was she’d been waiting her entire life, watching others pass by and leave. She’d spent years taking pictures of the family cat, her room, or a rock in a tide pool. She got her camera by the time they took Sage to college and a pass to use the darkroom at her high school by the time Anna went. She’d been capturing images her whole life, so while many viewed her chosen profession as daring, it was a slow and patient progression. She was rarely in a hurry, but she needed to know what was going on with West in that moment, right then.

  The panic on his face had been a first, and again the vulnerability behind it was something she would not soon forget.

  “I like you,” he said, eyes still hidden behind sunglasses despite the shadows of the setting sun. “I enjoy being around you and I keep coming up with excuses, which is crazy. I’m sorry, I honestly can’t explain it.”

  Meg thought the answer was obvious but wanted to hear some confirmation from him first in case she’d lost her mind and only imagined they were having fun together. She needed to know when he took her around the city or they were joking around that it was real, a genuine friendship and not some sideshow. She knew bullshit was his business, but it wasn’t hers.

  “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot back there, but lately I feel like I’m being sucked into a tornado and dropped from place to place.”

  “You are,” he said.

  “Oh, well that explains it then.”

  West confirmed her address with the driver and Meg was more confused.

  “So this is all part of your show?” she asked.

  He laughed. “I don’t have a show. I have a life that requires me to do some pretty absurd things, but I am a normal human being.”

  “I doubt that. You seem pretty extraordinary to me.” They pulled up in front of her apartment and West handed over her coat.

  “Only one more event, Meg. Stand firm. No matter what they try to lure you with, leave it at one more and get back to your life. We have your gallery show last, so at least it’s on your turf. Have a good night.”

  The driver opened the door and Meg stalled by attempting to put on her coat while sitting. It had grown a little colder, and sure it was weird she was putting on her coat to walk fifty feet to her front door, but she needed some time to think.

  West reached over to help and she gave up the arm wiggling.

  “Do you want to come up to my apartment? I know it’s not the adventure you had planned, but my pizza delivery guy has a tattoo that says ‘Mom’ across his neck, so that’s something.”

  When he didn’t respond, she gathered her twisted coat in her arms. “I like you too, West. I think we get along and I’d be interested in having a pizza with you. Do we need to alert the Special Forces for that type of thing, or can you simply… you know, come on up?”

  The interior of the car was dark now, save for the muted glow from above them, and Meg felt bad for the driver, who was still standing out in the cold holding the door for her. West took off his sunglasses and stuck them in the pocket of his blazer. He looked out the back window of the car but stayed put.

  Meg wanted the comfort of her apartment. It had been a long, smiley day and now it was over. Stepping from the car, she thanked the driver and turned toward her door. She heard the other car door close and West saying something to the driver. As she stood with her key in the main door to her building, West came up next to her.

  “Do you have any good movies?”

  She laughed, pushed open the door, and knew he was taking a chance on her, on them. She liked him even more.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Want to see something?” West asked, one large veggie pizza and the director’s cut of Forrest Gump later.

  Before she could answer, he started lifting the hem of the T-shirt he’d brought with him. When West joined her at her front door, he held a bag Meg would later learn was a change of clothes. Turns out, he carried comfortable clothes with him anytime he had to wear dress shoes and a jacket. He had changed in her tiny bathroom while Meg ordered the pizza and thought back to the first time they’d met. Westin Drake was not the kind of man to get caught without underwear.

  Speaking of underwear, twisting from her place on the chair next to him, she could now see the waistband of his boxers as he lay sprawled on her couch and continued lifting his T-shirt. Meg swallowed. She’d been around men most of her career, seen them in various stages of undress, but there was no denying that her heart picked up at a glimpse of his dark skin in contrast to the blue of his shirt.

  It seemed West was wearing a mask, a persona, from the watch on his wrist to the pomade in his hair. Rudolpho had given her an extensive history of hair-care products, and Meg caught herself examining strangers to determine whether they used gel or pomade in their hair. West was a pomade guy. Everything about him appeared to be calculated for maximum effect, but there was something so unadorned, scrubbed, and touchable about his skin.

  “See this?” He was leaning up and pinching his stomach just above the waistband of his jeans.

  “What… exactly am I looking at?” Meg’s eyes were stuck on his belly button and a light dusting of hair that led places she’d honestly never thought about until that moment. Sure, she’d noticed him, his unfair, almost female cheekbones, his shoulders, the silver ring that looked like a branch on his right hand. She hadn’t been completely immune to the beauty of him, but her imagination had not quite traveled this road yet. The road to his body was too obvious a choice. Meg always thought “obvious” lacked imagination.

  Since meeting West, she consciously tried to see past his beauty, focusing instead on their conversations and the fascinating contradictions that swirled through their time together. Practically every woman wanted Westin Drake’s body. Now that he was giving her a preview, the body was fun too.

  West’s eyes sparkled at her long stare. “Speak up if you see something you need, Meg?” He lifted his shirt a little more in a teasing way that made her laugh. Turnabout was fair. Although she might collapse if he stood up and started shaking his ass.

  “You asked me if I wanted to see something. You have my attention.”

  “I can tell.”

  He ran a palm across his now-bare abs. Meg’s mouth went dry, but there was no way in hell she was giving in to his game.

  “Oh, please. I’m sure there’s nothing under there that I can’t Google on the Internet. Are you going to tell me why you’re pinching your abs?”

  “Any time a scene or photogra
ph is taken of me without my shirt on, this is photoshopped.”

  Meg’s gaze combed his body, stopping at some of her newly discovered favorite spots while she tried to figure why anyone would want to standardize all the exceptional planes and edges that made his body so much more than perfect.

  “Seriously?”

  West nodded and dropped his shirt back down over his stomach. Meg sat up in the overstuffed chair. “That seems like a lot to take in. I’m not sure how they focused on that tiny spot.” She waved her hands in the air to encompass his long frame across her couch, his arms tucked behind his head and legs crossed casually but hanging over the edge.

  His expression softened and he pulled at his shirt again, as if making sure it was adjusted back to the most flattering position. How was that possible? Meg thought. How could someone so casual, so seemingly at ease with his body, his looks, be insecure about… skin?

  “Aw, look at you stroking the ego. According to my trainer, that section of my stomach is where I keep my beer, and I’m not giving up beer.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s practically in my blood. My brothers have a brewery. It’s bad enough I left them behind for ‘twinkle town,’ as my dad calls it. If I gave up beer or started drinking that low-calorie girl shit, I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “The family business is beer?”

  West sat up and nodded. “My brothers, and my dad on occasion, are Foghorn Brewery.” He said it with such pride, as if she should recognize the name.

  Meg was stumped.

  “They’re up in Petaluma. The operation is bigger now. They recently took over the old poultry plant. My grandparents had a farm in Petaluma years ago. We’re fourth generation.”

  “You’re a farm boy?”

  “No. I mean, I remember going there as a kid, but they sold it and retired. I do try to hold my own at the brewery when I’m home. They work long hours and enjoy calling me their little sister.”

  “That’s a little harsh.”

  “You haven’t met my brothers. That’s a light tap. In their eyes, anyone who takes a shower or gets a haircut is a girl.”