Caught on Camera (Love Through a Lens, #1)

by Chelsea Curto

National television. My best friend kissing me in front of thousands of people. Shit. “Delete it,” Shawn says, and there’s not a lick of kindness behind the command as he holds out his hand. The photographer cradles the Nikon to his chest. The lens is so long, it could probably spot every pore on my face. Capture the horror in my eyes and the fear wedging its way between my shoulder blades like a visitor overstaying their welcome. “You can’t do that.” He lifts his chin defiantly in a challenge. There’s a badge hanging from his neck, and I see his name in big, bold letters. DARYL KENNEDY, ESPN. “It’s private property.” “This stadium is also private property. Delete it and hand over the disk, or I’ll make sure you never step foot in here again,” Shawn says, and I can feel his threat between my breasts. At the base of my spine, a fierceness I’ve never heard from him before coming from his mouth. “Asshole,” the photographer grumbles. He pops out the disk and drops it in Shawn’s hands. “Thanks,” Shawn says, and he shoves the disk in his pocket to keep it safe. He turns his attention back to me and tucks a piece of hair that’s snuck free from my braids behind my ear. “Are you okay?” “Me?” The word squeaks, and I clear my throat. “I’m—I’m fine. Why… why wouldn’t I be? Are you okay?” “I’m okay, but I have to get back to the field,” he says without any urgency. He’s still holding my hip with one hand, and his fingers are dangerously close to the small space of bare skin under the h...