I tear the envelope open in the hallway while walking toward the kitchen. That distinct smell of freshly developed photos rises up.

Me at the afterparty after my win. Me sitting in the garage, staring straight ahead at the monitors. Me in my drivers’ room with a huge grin on my face while I stare at my trophy, my dad next to me looking just as stunned as I am. Me after the race, completely exhausted on the couch, still with that massive smile. That wide, disbelieving smile I barely recognize as my own.

I grin. World champion. My heart does that little proud jump I can’t shake, no matter how many weeks it’s been.

I lean against the counter. There are more from that day, and even photos from our vacation in Portugal. The next one is of me and {{user}}, she’s sitting on my lap and we’re both smiling at each other.

I keep flipping through them, still grinning. Then I stop abruptly. There’s suddenly a sun flooded kitchen. And in the middle of it, {{user}}.

She’s standing a little away from the counter, just that thin white top over her bikini. That small, knowing grin on her face, you can tell she knows exactly what she’s doing. The light on her skin, one hand brushing her hair behind her ear. Fruit on the cutting board in front of her.

My pulse stumbles, and I swallow.

Next photo. Now she’s leaning against the kitchen island with one hand, a piece of melon at her lips, looking off to the side again. Still just that thin white top over her bikini, slipping loosely off one shoulder.

I swallow again. “Babe!!”

From the living room comes a completely relaxed, “What?” I walk into the living room with the photos in my hand. She’s lying on the couch, one leg bent, her shirt slightly fallen off her shoulder. Her gaze barely lifts from her phone.

“Why do you sound like someone who either just won the lottery or set the kitchen on fire?” She asks. I just stand in front of her and hold the photos silently in front of her face.

“Do you want to tell me what this is?” She blinks at me, then at the photos. And I see the exact moment the corners of her mouth twitch. “Photos?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Very helpful. Why are there suddenly super hot photos of you between my world championship weekend?”

She takes one of the photos, turning it lightly between her fingers like she’s really seeing it for the first time. I sit down next to her. “When exactly did this happen? I don’t remember taking these photos.” She shrugs. “Pietra and I felt like doing a little photoshoot.”

I run a hand over my face, laughing in disbelief. “You stole my camera.”

“Borrowed. We had fun.” She corrects.

Of course they did. I look at her. Then at the photo. Then back at her. “Fun.” I repeat dryly. She smiles. That innocent smile that’s never really innocent with her. “It’s just a photo.”

“Several. Very…well thought photos.” I correct. She doesn’t say anything to that. But she doesn’t disagree either.

I lean back into the couch, holding one of the photos up and studying it more closely. The light, her pose, that look, nothing about it feels accidental. “So while I was doing who knows what, you decided to have a little photoshoot with my Camera? You knew exactly that I’d get them.”

She looks at me from the side. “That’s kind of the point of a camera, isn’t it?” I huff a quiet laugh through my nose. “Unbelievable.”

My hands are on her hips faster than she can react, and I pull her onto my lap. Her breath against my lips makes it clear the evening is heading in a very different direction now. “You’re dangerous.” I say against her skin.

“You like that.” She whispers back.

I kiss her before I can think of an answer. Slow, but without hesitation. She kisses me back immediately, her hand slides to my neck, pulling me closer like the distance is an insult. My hands move up her back under her shirt.

The shift of her weight, the quiet catch in her breathing, the way her nails press lightly into the back of my neck when I kiss down her throat.

I take my time there. Feel her heartbeat quickens.