Backup camera

Her hands stay pressed uselessly over herself, her bare thighs pressed together, her cheeks burning so hot she can feel the heat radiating off her skin. She stares at Marcus, who's still standing at the edge of the patio with the black camera bag in his hand, his expression unreadable in the fading light.

The silence stretches. She can hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

"I should've gone inside," she says, her voice small and fragile. "I don't know why I stayed out here. I just—I couldn't move. And then you came back and I—" She gestures vaguely at the lounger, at the mess, then lets her hand fall. "I'm so sorry. This is so mortifying. Please don't tell Joe."

Marcus shifts his weight, the camera bag creaking in his grip. He looks at her for a long moment, then his mouth quirks into something that isn't quite a smile.

"Tell him what? That his girlfriend got herself off in the backyard after a photo shoot?" He pauses, and his voice drops a little, softer, almost thoughtful. "That's not the part I'd lead with."

She blinks, her throat tightening. "What do you mean?"

Marcus steps closer, setting the bag down on the lounger beside her. He doesn't look at her body — his eyes stay on her face, steady, calm. "I mean that was kind of hot. Seeing you out here, not even knowing I was watching." He tilts his head. "The backup camera was on the tripod the whole time. It probably got all of it."

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