Jake Melnick's Corner Tap Photos の小説・ストーリー

I smile inwardly feel him close to me. "Soooooo, What do you guys do?" Abby can't help herself. Jake glances at Alpha and then back at her waiting on him to answer. " I own this club." Alpha speaks up. "Well, I woke for him." Jakes answers half way truthfully. "Ohhh." Abby says and before she can stick her foot in her mouth the cocktail waitress returns setting down our shots and the two beers.

Nico “More beer?” Jake, my campaign manager and closest friend, asks. “Whisky,” I tell him, “I need it.” He smirks as he pours me a shot and slides the tumbler across the brass table in my home office. “You look like you need a shot or five,” he mutters, trying and failing to sound sympathetic. I sigh and grab the tumbler between two fingers and gulp it down. “Send it coming.” The last one week has been a rollercoaster of some sorts.

That earned another round of laughter. Jake had pulled out his phone. He snapped candid photos of Aurelia sipping champagne, Aurelia laughing, Aurelia looking half-serious while Delphine explained tomorrow’s schedule. Then he leaned across the table for a round of selfies—himself pressed cheek to cheek with Aurelia, then both of them with Delphine, and finally even John, who actually cracked a rare smile. The photos came out beautiful. Aesthetic, golden, effortlessly glamorous. Aurelia stared at Jake’s phone when he showed them, unable to hold back her grin. “These look like we’re in a magazine already. I love them.”

A few other couples were making out or fucking on the large sectional couch and the other bed in the corner, but most eyes were on us now. Tyler smirked down at me, his blue eyes dark with lust. “You look so fucking good like this, Sophie. All flushed and dripping. But the night is young.” Before I could respond, another guy from the circle downstairs stepped closer. His name was Jake — tall, lean, with messy brown hair and a tattoo sleeve running down one arm. He had been watching the whole time, stroking himself through his jeans. “Mind if I have a turn?” Jake asked Tyler, his voice rough.

Most just stared. Jake rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, this is Drew,” he said, pointing to a lanky guy with glasses at the nearest desk. “That’s Raj and Kevin by the coffee machine. Mitch and Tyler are over there pretending to code, and the one with the headphones who’s ignoring everyone is Elliott.”

Diane usually kept it locked, but she was busy collecting bowls, and the door had been left ajar. I slipped inside sideways. Jake followed and pulled the door shut behind him. The shelves gave up their secrets at a glance — old cardboard boxes, moldy toolkits, empty parts bins. Jake went down the row, digging through every box. "Empty." "This one too." He crouched to check the last box, flipped the lid open, and an old newspaper spilled out. He looked up at me, his face twisting into a stiff, forced smile. "Maybe the stamp really was just a factory error—"

As we lay in bed last night, Richard told me of his plans, so I knew this was coming. The video switched to live footage in downtown Chicago near the PPS building. Reporter Claire Russo scurried after Jake Barnes with her microphone out. “Mr. Barnes, why didn’t Mr. Mackenzie give advance notice of his retirement? What will you do now? Do you have someone in mind for his replacement?” She fired off the questions too fast for Jake to answer as he marched toward the glass doors of the building. The sound of water splashing on the counter caught my attention, and I set the kettle down. I had over-poured water into the strainer. Grounds and a hot puddle spread across the granite.

Mid-afternoon brought the usual: a couple of tradies in hi-vis arguing amiably about footy, two students with laptops open to notes neither of them were reading, an older couple sharing a pot pie and silence. Mediocre—the kind of place you chose when you didn’t want the world to look directly at you. Jake Michaels sat with his back to the wall, a schooner sweating on the varnish. His pack was looped around his ankle—not because he thought someone would nick it, though that happened too, but because muscle memory never stopped being practical. He wasn’t drinking so much as sharing a table with the idea of it. His eyes were on his phone, thumb frozen on the wrong photo.

“Yep. What’s up?” “My little sister, she’s not in high school yet, but she’s super interested in photography. I really loved the ones you took of the team, and I was wondering if you’d be happy to have a chat with her at some point? I know she’d be really excited to learn anything she can. And well…” Jake looked away for a second. Mia held her breath. “Maybe I could take you out for a milkshake after to say thank you?” Tilly gaped at him. Her mouth was completely suspended. Mia did the only thing she could do and gave her a swift kick under the table.

They laughed it off before Ryan showed Alex around the house—the compact kitchen with its well-stocked fridge, the guest room with a view of the backyard garden, even the small home office where Jake edited his photos. “I’m a freelance photographer,” Jake explained as they paused there, pointing to a wall of framed shots: crashing waves, cityscapes at dusk. “Mostly outdoor stuff, but I dabble in portraits.” Alex leaned in to examine one, a black-and-white of Ryan mid-laugh, capturing his vitality perfectly. “This is amazing. You really got him.” Jake’s gaze flicked to Ryan affectionately. “He’s an easy subject.”