Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
All characters are over 18.
I was always the guy with the camera, not the guy in the picture. That was my life in a nutshell. The name's Jack Listron, twenty-two years old, and absolutely nothing special about me. I woke up each morning in my cramped one-bedroom apartment, made coffee that was just good enough not to throw away, and dragged myself to my photography studio downtown. The walls were thin, and I could hear my neighbor's TV through them most nights. I usually ate cereal for dinner while watching whatever garbage was on Netflix.
My job was pretty much the only bright spot. I got to photograph beautiful women all day for various clothing catalogs, makeup ads, and sometimes even fancy magazine spreads. You'd think that would be awesome, right? Wrong. It was like being a kid pressed against the window of a candy store, never allowed to go inside.
"Jack, can we adjust the lighting? Something's off," Valerie said, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. She was modeling summer dresses today, and her curves filled out each one perfectly. Her eyes were bright blue, and when she smiled, guys practically tripped over themselves.
"Yeah, give me a sec," I replied, moving the softbox a few inches to the left. I tried not to stare as I adjusted the equipment.
The models were always nice to me, but that's where it ended. I was just the photographer guy. The invisible man behind the lens. They chatted and laughed with me during shoots, then put on their coats and left, heading off to dates with guys who probably looked like movie stars. Not boring, plain-faced guys like me with thinning brown hair and a slight beer gut I couldn't seem to get rid of.
"That's perfect," Valerie said, striking a pose that showed off her long, tanned legs. "You always know just how to make me look good."
If only you knew how good I already think you look, I thought, hiding behind my camera. The viewfinder was my shield, the only place I felt comfortable looking at these women. Through the lens, I controlled everything - the light, the angles, the mood. In real life, I controlled nothing.
I watched as Valerie checked her phone between shots. She smiled at something on the screen, probably a text from her boyfriend. I'd seen him once when he picked her up after a shoot - tall, chiseled jaw, the kind of guy who never had to worry about being alone on a Friday night.