Nine Lives

Calories

As it turned out, Blake had planned much more than just a starter menu and a cheese marathon.

As we approached KFC for our options of boneless chicken, fried chicken or shredded chicken, another royal menu appeared from under Blakes polished seat. I blushed as he proudly passed me the writing, obvious to the effort he knew I appreciated. We ordered the same once again - fried chicken burgers.

The quarter I managed was delicious - crumbly, tender, rich...yet the guilt was richer. I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind, pressing pause on the internal battle between body and brain. Blake distracted me enough; we sat in another identical parking lot, speaking about Blakes hidden love for photography. He showed me some of his work on his phone, explaining each photograph with precise detail. They were phenomenal. The lighting, the shadows, the models, the backgrounds...even the tiniest specifics such as a colour code with the main model in red and the passerby in the background blurred behind a crimson coat. He had an attentive eye for art.

I admired his shoots, listening intently as he explained his inspirations and ideas, showing me before and after shots and introducing me to his friends in the spotlight of his lense.

The boy with striking red hair, covered in tattoos from his neck to his tanned kneecaps, Harry, was named. Blake said they had been friends ever since his first job - an underage bartender in a rat infested pub bar - the older, 'seriously dope' supervisor sparking a bond with Blake as he taught him the ropes. They both quit together years ago, Harry pursuing hairdressing and Blake hopping from place to place.

Harry had a flare for style, his heavy cargos and icy chains putting an edge on his tailored stubble, a neon green top strangely complimenting the khaki bottoms that were ribbed at both knees. The backdrop of central London completed the masterpiece, green flowers sprouting from between a metal gate as Harry pressed his flawless features into the industrial copper. The shadows passed perfectly over his nose and jaw, creating the illusion of prison bars alongside the corresponding slit highlighted on his left eyebrow. All in all...the outcome was beautiful.

The next photo was of the girl with whips of silver cream, the ringlets of glossy curls falling at shoulder length upon her bare shoulders. Nina was gorgeous, her slim frame and perky bust outlined by a skin tight white romper, the red rose in her nest of delicate twirls completing the innocent look and adding a fizz of colour. Her smile was immaculate, the camera zoomed in to just below the elbows, an upper body shot of pure perfection as she flashed her pearls at the glass, catching the wonders of her dusty highlight as it lit her features up like a Christmas tree. She looked like a goddess, hair styled still, a smile that lit up her red lips and a figure that was made for an angel. What if she was Blake's girlfriend? A strange twang of dark electricity bolted through me, comparison digging a dark hole in my mind. She was ridiculously flawless, there was no way Blake hadn't shacked up with her. But apparently, she was more like family.

'These are...honestly Blake, I have no words." I was, quite frankly, in awe of his talents.

"Speechless on the first date, now that's worth a photograph..." I stiffened. He said date. Date.

Surely, that meant Nina wasn't his girlfriend. I let out a grin at the thought of it, planting the seed that maybe, just maybe, Blake found me just as beautiful as I found her.

Stop. I have a boyfriend; a loving, caring...protective boyfriend. Jackson and I had lived what felt like a lifetime together. Why was my mind suddenly shifting?

We spoke for a while longer, him telling me all about the new camera he saved up for, saying it was the best gift he ever bought himself. I let my thoughts of Jackson drift away...far, far away. Then, as I hid the remainder of my unfinished burger in the bottom of our second paper bag, Blake was off again. We drove for longer this time, into the depths of a street I wasn't familiar with. There were signs illuminating the puddles, reflections naming chippies and kebab houses. We pulled up on double yellows, Blake unlocking the door and throwing a wink my way before running up the street and into an off-license. I sat patiently, waiting for his return. This was exciting, I was actually enjoying myself for once. He had left the heating on for me, the warmth from the footwell calming my shivers and aiding my goosebumps. I was surprised at the fact another menu hadn't appeared yet, the sudden stop peaking my curiosity. As if on cue, a message popped into my mailbox.