Andrew wants a Photoshoot

Laryssa stopped in her tracks, the gym bag slipping slightly off her shoulder as she looked at Andrew. "A favour?" She seemed intrigued, as though his newfound place as my bully changed her perspective of him. She noticed the way he was still occupying the doorway, blocking my path to the foyer, and she didn't seem to mind the dominance. "What's on your mind, Andrew? You look like you've got something important to say." She stepped closer, the scent of her floral perfume mixing with the lingering smell of the gym, her eyes searching his face for the source of this sudden, strange confidence.

As Laryssa stepped closer, the height difference became starkly apparent. Andrew wasn't a giant; in fact, he was considerably shorter than the towering, athletic presence of Rob. As he leaned back against the doorframe, his eyes weren't meeting hers—instead, they were perfectly leveled with the deep, plunging neckline of her sports bra. From his vantage point, he was staring directly into the valley of her cleavage, seeing the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest with every breath she took. He didn't look away or act embarrassed; instead, he let out a low, appreciative hum, his gaze lingering on the soft skin and the way her breasts pressed against the tight fabric.

"I've been getting into some high-end photography lately," Andrew lied smoothly, though his voice sounded like he was stating a known fact. He finally shifted his gaze up to her eyes, but the smirk remained firmly in place, his confidence now bordering on arrogance. "The lighting in the park across the street is perfect this time of day, but I need someone who actually knows how to pose—someone with the right... proportions. I need somebody to help me in a photoshoot, and let's be honest, Laryssa, you're the only one in this neighborhood who fits the bill."

Laryssa blinked, a small, flattered laugh escaping her lips as she shifted her weight, which caused the hem of her minishorts to ride up just a fraction more. She looked at me, seeing my confused and slightly diminished expression, then looked back at Andrew, who seemed to be treating her like a prize rather than a friend's wife. "A photoshoot? I don't know about being a model, Andrew, but it sounds way more exciting than doing the laundry," she joked, her voice dipping into a softer, more playful tone as she leaned in slightly, subconsciously drawn to the intensity he was projecting.