Off Camera (Love Through a Lens, #3)

by Chelsea Curto

Tired of guys who believe women are only allowed to occupy certain spaces in the world. I don’t know when common decency—like holding the door open and not making sexist jokes—became the bare fucking minimum, but gosh I hate it here. I’d rather be single for the rest of my life than deal with this shit on a consistent basis.

“God, she’s beautiful,” he says. “Look at her. I get to wake up to that face for the next fifty years, and I’m going to want fifty more.” “Shit.” Maverick drops his head back and sniffs. “Why am I crying? I never fucking cry.” I wipe my eyes. “Because she’s perfect for him, and all we’ve ever wanted is to see Dallas happy.”

“You really are giving the wrong people your attention. I’m here, and I like loud. I like enthusiastic. I want you to tell me what you’re thinking, and I want to talk you through it. Would that be okay?”

I love when the quiet ones surprise you. Just when you think you have them figured out, they do something out of character, like get on their knees and eat you out like you’re their favorite meal.

He’s leading our game, but I’m still a winner. I get to be here with him.

“Is he dead? Oh my god, he’s going to be so pissed if he’s dead,” Maverick says when I get close. “How did he not see the ball?”

“You can take care of yourself. I see that. I know that. You’re a strong, independent woman, Ave, and that’s badass. But I’d like to help a little bit. If you’ll let me.”

“You never take up too much space, Ave. Not with me,” he says. “I think I’d like you to take up more of it.”

“Sounds like you might be jealous, Sinclair.” I reach a hand up and brush my fingers down her cheek. “But you don’t have to worry about them. I’m only looking at you. I have been for a while now.”

I leap to my feet and crash into him. “You came,” I whisper around a sob. “You called,” he murmurs into my hair, his embrace an envelope of comfort. “Any time I see your name on my phone, I answer within seconds. My sleep-deprived, subconscious brain knows to answer too, apparently. Call me one of Pavlov’s dogs.”

“This might be my favorite part of Christmas. Ho, ho, ho, am I right?” “Shut up and fuck me, baby,” he says, and I do.

“I want you too, but let’s get you fed first. You can tell me about your day. I can watch you pull the pepperonis off your pizza before you take a bite. After, you can have me in whatever position you want.” “How do you know I like to eat the pepperonis first?” Avery asks. “Been watching you for a while, Sinclair. It’s about time you caught up.”

“You’re mine,” I tell her, letting the words slip free and she smiles. “Today. Tomorrow. For as long as you’ll have me.” “Yours,”