Off Camera (Love Through a Lens, #3)

by Chelsea Curto

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.

“Glad to know you aren’t going to hack me into a million pieces. You’re adverse to the side effects.”

“You’re pretty. Very pretty, and also the first woman who hasn’t made fun of me for liking superheroes. I’m wondering if my friends put you up to this as some sort of dare, because I’m not sure what the hell I did to have someone as gorgeous as you rattle off comic book titles at me.”

“I have no clue who your friends are.” “Probably for the best.”

“How do you know I like sports?” “You started talking faster when you pointed out a basketball game was on.” “I didn’t know I was so easy to read,” I say. “I’m a good listener,” he says.

“You don’t wear boat shoes to events where the dinner plate costs two hundred bucks a head?” “Fuck no,” he says. “Crocs only.”

“I, for one, think they shouldn’t just be confined to the kitchen. They should be cleaning the living room too.” I elbow him in the ribs. “Asshole.”

“If you end up with your head in a toilet, I’ll hold your hair back,” I tell her.

“Thirty-four.” “What was the Great Depression like?”

you’re going to find your girl.” “She’s not my girl,” I say, and he snorts. “She’s your girl.

“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.”

Stop staring at me, Dal. Maven is way hotter, and she’s the star of the show.” “Yeah.” Dallas smiles. “She is, isn’t she?”

Swooping in and saving the day.” “I don’t think I’m doing anything. You’re just hanging out with the wrong people.” The overhead lighting dims. The atmosphere turns intimate. “Guys who don’t deserve your attention,” he says, looking at me.

“Who does deserve my attention? Anyone in particular?” “We could start with men who don’t get food on your dress. Followed closely by dimwitted fuckwads who don’t want you to talk about things you’re passionate about.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who takes what they want.” I run my hands up his chest and tug on his tie. “But you can be greedy with me, Reid.”

“I have a confession to make, but you have to promise not to make fun of me.” “Oh no. Is this where you tell me your fetishes? That you’ve had a relationship with an inanimate object?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, and never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that would be as hot as it is.

I make jokes when I’m nervous. Jokes that aren’t funny,” I tell him. “I make you nervous?”

“I’ve never had a one-night stand. Not that I’m implying that’s what this is or anything. I’ve never kissed someone without knowing what they like, and I⁠—” “Reid?” “Yes?” “Shut up,” I say, crashing my lips against his.

“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.

I think I’m in a daze. Seeing stars and lots of pretty colors.

“Jesus Christ,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “I don’t think he’d approve of what happened in here.”

“You’re a nice guy. You blush, for heaven’s sake, which is the cutest thing in the world, by the way. I didn’t think you’d have an A+ dirty talk game, and I’m surprised.”

Are you a goddamn wizard?” “That’s the character I sometimes use when I play Dungeons & Dragons. Supreme magic-users.”

“Am I dead?” Reid pants, putting one hand on either side of my head as he calms down. “I think I might be dead.” “I’m heading that way too.” I close my eyes and blow out a long breath. “Maybe we’re both in heaven.” “I definitely am.

I’d sneak into your apartment and surprise you on your bed while reading a comic book.” “Naked, hopefully,” he says. “In a Chewbacca onesie,” I say. “You know the way to a guy’s heart.

“You were writing my name in your diary, weren’t you? Playing MASH and using me on your lists of wives.” “We’re probably going to end up living in a shack. I’m sorry about the hole in the ceiling,” he says. “I’ll decorate and make it nice.

“Sometimes I think the bar for my species can’t get any lower. Then there’s someone like him who reminds me women’s standards for men are in the depths of hell.”

I’ve got nothing to hide. I already cleaned up the bodies.

Nothing screams ‘first date’ like murder jokes.

You’re probably a terrible driver, aren’t you?” “Guilty.”

“I picked them up at the farmers’ market around the corner. I saw the tattoo on your finger, and I thought they might be your favorite flower.”

“I’ve always liked plants more than people.

“Romance?” I ask. “You read romance books?”

“And all these men—men who can bench press my body weight and play hockey for sixty grueling minutes—sit around and talk about romance novels?”

I’m used to people telling me romance books are stupid and I should read something with real substance.” “That’s fucked up, isn’t it?” Reid says, frowning. “I hate that we live in a world where people like to shit on the things that make other people happy.

“Someone told you that what you do is meaningless, didn’t they?” Avery blinks. She wrings her hands together and touches her necklace. “What makes you say that?” “Because I used to do the same thing when I talked about my dad.”

Still questioning how the hell this woman is in front of me, looking up at me like I did something spectacular, like hang the fucking moon.

I’m in big fucking trouble.

“I’d like for you to get off.” “In front of everyone? Seems a little presumptuous.

All is right in his head.” “Debatable,” he says,

I’m not sure if I want to murder him or kiss him. I’m afraid it might be both.

I might be the guy who loves relationships. The guy who craves a partner and someone to do life with, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever fall in love with Avery fucking Sinclair.

That would be playing with fire. A stupid game with stupid prizes, and the last thing I want to do is burn. Not when I can win and watch her catch flames on the way down.

Fuck him for being a nice fucking guy.

“Where did your box go?” “My box?” “The thing you were carrying into my office before the game.”

“You saw me and didn’t stop me?” “Nah. You looked excited. I thought I’d let you have your moment,”

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur. She whines, a desperate noise that has me close to losing my mind. “Tell me I should put you down and ask you to leave.”

Where’s your enthusiasm, Duncan? Me See you then!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!