Stand-In Star by Rachael Johns

sweet, yet so obviously potent, she told herself to slow down. One of these would be more than enough. Yet, as they waited for their meals, awkward silence ruled again so she tried for small talk to stop from downing the cocktail in one gulp.
    “How did you become a paparazzo?”
    He choked on a sip of his cola. His eyes were wide as he spluttered. She picked up a napkin and handed it to him. He took it and patted his lips.
    “You obviously like photography,” she mused. “The photos of sunsets and bridges on your walls are amazing. Did they come first or did the invasive photos of celebrities?”
    She saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. “Geez, don’t hold back.”
    She shrugged, cracking a tiny smile but seeing no reason to pretend the profession sanitary. “I’m a cultural anthropologist. It’s my job to be curious.”
    “Fine. The paparazzi shots came first. From them I learned I like taking photos. They gave me the wherewithal to travel and the sunsets and bridges began when I did.”
    She knew a person could earn big bucks taking celebrity photos but she also thought it had to be a fairly thought-out career choice. And she wanted to know more. “And now? Do you like taking glamour shots?”
    “Not quite as much as you like asking questions.”
    She got the feeling his words were supposed to be cutting, but they sunk into her, making her bones feel all hot and liquidly instead. For a moment, she forgot what they were talking about, forgot who they were aside from two very sexual beings.
    When she dragged her mind back from the brink, she asked, “So why not take photos of the things you love, then? The bridges? The sunsets?”
    “Glamour photography is where the money is since I ditched the paparazzi. It’s also what gets my name and brand out there. I told you I have a photography school. My reputation as a legitimate celebrity photographer gets Shooting Stars clients. I’m very sought-after now, and all the photos of celebs are like free advertising for the school. They kind of go hand in hand.”
    “I see.” She took another sip of her drink.
    “There’s no money in art photography,” he added as if this explained everything.
    “There’s not a lot of money in what I do,” she bit back. “My parents wanted me to be a dentist because they earn good salaries. But it’s not all about the money.”
    “It is in my world.”
    His tone told her that was the end of the conversation, but she’d never been good at biting her tongue. “Can I ask why?”
    “You can, but I probably wouldn’t tell you.”
    She offered him the sweetest of smiles. “I could look you up on the Net . ” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t done it already. Her brain hadn’t been working properly since she’d heard about Daisy’s nomination and been asked to attend. If she were honest, her brain hadn’t been working since Daisy died six months ago. She pushed that thought aside, not ready to analyze what that meant. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”
    He looked at her near empty glass, and then past her. “Should I call the waiter for another drink?”
    She smiled. “I’d rather hear your story.”
    “Are you academic types always this pushy?”
    “Always.”
    He picked up his glass and drank some water. “Fine. If you do your research, you’ll find I stole my father’s crappy camera at fifteen and started sneaking out of the house at night to steal photos of celebrities.”
    “Wow. Ambitious.”
    She wanted to know more about the life he mentioned but as if the conversation was over, he signaled for a waiter and asked her, “Do you want the same again?”
    “No thanks.” Her head already felt slightly woozy. No matter how divine that drink had tasted, she couldn’t risk another one. Not in his enigmatic presence. “I’ll have a mineral water please.”
    The waiter came. Drinks were ordered. Holly was desperate to get back to the career conversation, fascinated to know more, to