Dark Frame

East Park - 2

by

Iris Blaire

Chapter One

Evan

I was a diva for thinking that my life would dramatically change when I came out of the gigantic closet-o-porn.

Surprisingly, much is the same, other than the fact that I get to dress like a real live person and wear a bit of lip gloss and mascara when I go to class. And there’s also the whole every-person-glancing-at-my-tits-real-quick-when-they-pass-me-in-the-halls deal, but I got used to that fast, maybe because more girls are willing to openly gawk than boys.

It’s a bit empowering, to say the least.

But most importantly, Dallas isn’t distracting me to the point of my grades dropping. Especially now, with my last massive final looming right over my shoulders. I’m so close to a summer of freedom that I can taste it—and it tastes a hell of a lot like an ice-cold IPA and a hot dog piled high with mayonnaise and grilled onions.

That’s the other thing… I haven’t exactly told Britain that I’m quitting EPE.

I mean, she automatically figured that I was giving my spot up as lead model, considering I’m moving across the country. But she still thinks I’ll be game for shooting during breaks and summer for the newly-national East Park Exposed. I mean, what kind of idiot would give up that fame?

But the thing is—I never wanted fame. I wanted money. And a seasonal EPE model—even if the magazine is national—will make nothing.

Does that make me superficial? I don’t know—it is porn.

* * *

When I get home from the last day of school before my final, I throw my purse on the couch and call for Britain and Delilah. I don’t get an answer so I know they must still be on campus. Perfect—a few hours of total quiet is exactly what I need to get this studying out of the way.

I make my way upstairs and hear the shower turn on. Glancing into my room, I spot the t-shirt and jeans thrown onto my bed before walking to the bathroom and opening the door. Steam wafts across my face, and I pull back the shower curtain to a very naked Dallas pushing back his wet, shaggy hair and blinking at me. He isn’t surprised—that much is obvious. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he attempts to feign innocence.

I raise my eyebrow and try to force myself to remain calm, but it’s impossible to do so with all of that hot water dripping down his hard, perfectly cut chest—and abs—and everything else. Keeping my expression straight, I say, “What happened to packing?”

He cocks his head and smiles. “Fuck packing. I get my girlfriend for only a few more days. I’ll wear leaves if I have to.”

I huff. “Damn you.”

He reaches out and toys with the button on my shirt with his wet hand. “That was a rude response.”

“I need you gone today,” I plead. “You are the biggest distraction known to mankind and I need to ace this final. You know I do.”

He lowers his head just a bit, his blue eyes begging me. “Evan Cosette. What is your current GPA?”

I cross my arms over my chest and jut my chin. “You know what it is.”

“For the sake of my point…”

“Four-point-oh, okay?”

“And what was the lowest grade you’ve gotten on a bio test this year?”

“Eighty-nine-point-five. Almost a B plus!”

He plucks the fabric overlay from my button, shirt falling apart to reveal cleavage.

“I think you can sacrifice a half-hour of studying to take a shower with me.”

Another button bites the dust.

“I hate you so much, Dallas Whitley.”

I’m undressed in a matter of seconds. Dallas whips the shower curtain back and pulls me into the tub. His hands find my ass to hold me up as I wrap my legs around his waist. He growls lowly. I feel him grow hard against my leg as he pushes me up to the tile of the shower wall.

“Baby,” I murmur as his tongue glides across my jaw. The stubble on his face electrifies my slick skin and suddenly I don’t give a flying fuck if I study at all for my final.

His mouth continues to travel south, teeth clamping around my nipple. I cry out and lace my fingers through his hair, grinding my hips against his.

“I need you now,” I breathe.

He lifts his head, his eyes finding mine. Water drips from his chin and he’s absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“I have no idea what I’m going to do without you for seven whole months.” His fingers clench around my thighs.

I open my mouth to respond, but he’s too quick. He silences me by biting down on my lower lip, and as his teeth drag across the sensitive flesh, he thrusts into me with one swift motion.

I’m entirely caught off guard, screaming into his shoulder.

His fingernails dig into my ass as he picks up his pace, ramming into me over and over. I love it when he has his way with me, when the sex is wild and reckless and completely unstaged. It solidifies the fact that we’re alone and only doing this for ourselves.

“Hold on,” he breathes, and lets me down. He pulls the shower head from the wall.

My heart hammers dangerously in my chest, and I bite the corner of my lip. I know what he wants to do.

We maneuver around a bit until he’s lying on the floor of the bathtub, the shower head in his hand. I kneel over him, my knees on either side of his hips, and slowly sink down onto his cock, reveling in the way he fills me. I love how helpless he looks when I grind myself against him. I’m convinced I have all of the power until he shifts the shower head, the jet blasting my clit.

I scream at the pressure. Nothing in the universe has ever felt this fucking blissful. My eyes flutter open for a second to rest on his deviant smile. I bounce quickly on top of him, desperate for release, the stream brushing back and forth against my clit.

“Come for me, Evan,” he orders.

It’s too much. My fingernails sink into his shoulders and I shudder my orgasm. He presses the shower head even tighter against me, holding my lower back and refusing to let me escape the mind-blowing pleasure. It’s not until his body grows rigid and he finally comes does he release me from my prison of ecstasy. I collapse on top of him.

“Holy fucking shit,” I breathe.

He wraps his arms around me and chuckles darkly. “How about a good orgasm to kick off your study session?”

* * *

Four hours later, I’m cross-legged in my pjs on top of my bed, a handful of flashcards in one hand and an unwrapped Snickers bar in the other. Dallas enters our room with an extra-huge cup of tea for me.

“You’re sure taking this anti-diet thing seriously, aren’t you?” he says, nodding to the candy.

“Hey, fuck you,” I reply, taking the tea.

“You’re welcome.”

“And keep quiet about that. Britain still doesn’t know.”

Dallas sits on the bed and raises his eyebrows. “Seriously, Evan? You need to tell her. She’s your best friend and if you tell her your reasoning, she’s going to agree with you.”

“Listen, bro, Britain is my best friend. I know her better than anyone. She’s not going to be pissed that I don’t want to model anymore. She’s going to be pissed that we aren’t collaborating. Britain and I are a total team.”

Dallas shrugs. “So continue helping her with choosing images.”

I scowl at him. “Stop thinking of everything, will you?”

He grins and pushes away my books, wrapping his arms around me. “That’s enough studying for tonight.”

“But—”

“I’m serious, Evan. You’re going to get an A, so chill the fuck out, okay? Jesus, I’ve never seen anyone so addicted to studying before.” He pulls me down onto the pillows. “No, wait—I’ve never seen someone so addicted to studying and so disgustingly beautiful.”

“Uhh… thanks?”

“I mean, I’ve had to kick those nerds out of the bio computer lab before. They definitely get a bigger hard on for studying than you.”

“Doubtful,” I say dryly. Then an idea comes to mind. “Mmm… studying. Just thinking about it.” I accentuate my breathing for the act and my eyes flutter shut. I bite my lower lip, my fingers caressing my neck and trailing downward. “Yeah…” I cup my breasts and let my hands fall to my navel. “Studying,” I pant. “Yes. Oh, God.” When I slide my hand beneath the waistband of my yoga pants, I open one eye to spy on Dallas. His mouth is wide open in sheer shock.

I bust up laughing before he has the chance to say, “Is this what you do locked up in your room for all those hours?”

I snort. “Totally.”

“Oh, Evan.” He lies back down on the pillow and wraps his huge arms around me. “I have no idea what I’m going to do without your warped sense of humor.”

I snuggle against his chest. “I’d rather not talk about this.” He’s leaving at the end of the week for Costa Rica—with Laina, his field partner. Obviously, Laina isn’t the worst part of the situation. Dallas leaving me is. But I can’t help adding Laina into the equation, mainly because she’s so fucking awesome. She has this adorable girl-next-door look with mousy brown hair and huge green eyes. She giggles a lot, but she’s also really funny. And smart. She’s super smart.

I’m not jealous of Laina. Why would I be jealous of a girl who gets to spend seven months with my boyfriend in the secluded Costa Rican rainforest? Okay, I am jealous. I’m super fucking jealous. But I trust Dallas.

Right?

My gut clenches. He tilts my chin up so I’m looking right at him, and his eyebrows furrow. “Hey… everything alright?”

I swallow and nod. “Just going to miss you is all.”

His lips press gently against mine. “I’m not ready to leave you for so long. It’s too soon.”

“I know.” It’s only been a couple of months that we’ve been together, and now we have to be apart for seven. Not only that, but when he’s finally back in the States, he’s flying out to Boston and staying with me for only a week before he has to head back to California and finish out his semester.

Not fair.

I study his face, his unshaven jaw a mark of his own manic study sessions during finals week. I kind of like it. The corners of his icy eyes crinkle as he smiles at me.

It’s the last thing I see before attempting to drift off.

* * *

I can’t sleep.

While Dallas is snoring, I head downstairs and make myself another cup of hot tea. As it steeps, I walk over to Britain’s desk and sit, opening up a browser page and typing in the name of East Park’s school newspaper. On the homepage is their headlining article for the end-of-the-semester issue. It’s a photo of Dallas, Adam, and all of the part-time models. The article is on East Park’s national expansion after the inclusion of male models.

Britain and the newspaper photographers didn’t want Delilah and me to take part in the shoot. While we were partnered up with Dallas and Adam for the last issue of EPE, Britain didn’t want us to be portrayed as their token women.

Sorry, Evan, she said. I want readers to see the men as accessible, and they won’t if they’re never seen with other women.

But Dallas is leaving EPE anyway! I argued.

She told me that wasn’t the point. He had to set the stage for all male models following him.

I hadn’t thought of him posing with another woman until that point. I brushed off the concept of the shoot like it wasn’t a big deal. It was Dallas’s job. He had to do what he had to do.

I watched the shoot with Britain and Delilah. It took place on the EPE football field, and it was like the three of us were benched. Adam and Dallas were in shorts, the girls topless and in tiny black underwear. It was raining. We watched beneath an umbrella as Kayden, a tiny blonde number, was instructed to grind against the side of Dallas as he wrapped his arms around her. Kayden played it up, smiling and giggling and flirting, getting in his face as he was instructed to grab her ass, their lips brushing, bodies wet and tight and, of course, stunning. She nipped him on the neck once, and that’s when I thought I was going to puke. “I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered to Britain.

“Don’t be a drama queen,” she told me. “You know he cares about you more than anyone in the world.”

I did know that. Of course I knew that, but at that moment, a different universe threatened to reveal itself. What if I had never been paired with Dallas? Would Britain have stuck him with another girl, and would he have grown lusty enough over her to break up with Trish anyway?

I stare at the picture on the browser. All of the models sit in the mud on the field—Dallas and Adam and eight part-time female models. Kayden clings to Dallas’s side, his arm snuggly wrapped around her ass, their lips brushing in a faux kiss.

His eyes are closed.

His eyes are fucking closed.

I shut the browser and run my fingers through my hair, tugging until my scalp hurts.

Trust him, trust him, trust him. I chant over and over again in my head.

He was with Trish for five years when he fell out of love with her.

He’s only been with me for two months. And now he’s leaving for seven.

Britain

These bitches have no idea what the fuck they’re doing.

Finding a replacement model for Evan has been a goddamn nightmare, to say the least. Since I hate bloating her ego more than it’s already bloated, I’ll probably never tell her that she’s the only one of her kind. It’s not just that she’s a natural. It’s that she doesn’t give a shit about her modeling, so she’s the girl that always takes risks, and those risks happen to work out in her favor.

Jana, the girl I’m photographing now, cares too much about her image. It’s why she’s trying to hide her crotch as she poses on the bed instead of splaying herself like she should. And it’s not even like these photos are going in an issue. All I’m doing is auditioning to see if anyone has what it takes to be a lead, and so far, nada.

The worst part is that Jana is so gorgeous. Dark, creamy skin and these huge brown eyes—plus, tits to die for. If she would just let go a bit, she’d look like the perfect headlining model instead of an awkward stripper.

“Alright.” I let my camera drop. “We’re good here.”

Jana sits up, blinks, and frowns. “That’s it?”

I’ve only been shooting for five-ish minutes. I scratch my head awkwardly and shrug. “Yeah, I… uhh… usually can see all I’m going to see in the first fifteen shots or so.”

She knows I’m not impressed. Slowly, she rolls off of the bed and trudges to the makeup room to change. When I know she’s gone, I groan and fall onto the bed myself.

Hell, if I have to, I could probably shop sexy expressions on their faces to replace the awkward ones. My dad and my older brother, Cameron, are hard at work developing new photo touch-up software with their company team. Luckily, with my dad being the CEO, it means I’ll have access to that software right when it comes out.

I don’t ever throw around the fact that my family is worth a small fortune. I’ve always tried to make it in the world by my own means. I mean, other than the free software. But who can blame me?

“That bad, eh?”

I lift my head to see Evan leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. There’s a look on her face that I can read like a first-grade chapter book. It says that we need to talk.

“You’re quitting for good, aren’t you?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “How did you know?”

I sigh and sit up. “You’ve been a humungous fat ass lately. I mean, sneaking down for a spoon of cookie dough at two in the morning? Come on.”

She doesn’t look the least bit ashamed. “Hey, now, coming out of the erotica closet took a toll on me.”

“Bullshit,” I counter. “The only thing it took a toll on was your spare tire.”

“Whoa, bitch.”

“Evan.” I put on my super serious face. “So, you quitting, or not?”

She bites her bottom lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m quitting.”

I fall back onto the comforter and rub my eyes. “Fucking fuck, fuck. I’m so effed in the A.”

“Oh, give me a break, Brit. You literally have a million or more girls all over the U.S. who would die to take my place. The new leading bitch doesn’t have to be from East Park. She can be from anywhere. Just put an ad on Craigslist or something.”

“Oh, okay, put an ad on Craigslist. That sounds like a great idea to keep my studio nympho, exhibitionist, and STD-free.”

“Come on, you know we’re all exhibitionists here,” she says. “Well, except for you. You’re a little voyeur.”

“Not anymore,” I reply. “This little audition stretch has cured me of wanting to see naked women fake an O-face.”

She giggles, and then there’s an awkward pause between our banter. “I’m really sorry, you know,” she finally says. “It’s not like I wanted to fuck you over. It’s just, balancing Harvard and EPE, even as a part-time model, is going to be way too much.”

“Even when your boyfriend will be in Costa Lalaland?”

She flops down on the bed next to me. “That will probably make it worse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Worrying about Dallas on top of worrying about staying afloat in classes on top of moving so far away from home on top of being in a place where I’ll be freezing my sorry ass off in the winter….”

“I got it, I got it.” Well, actually, there’s one thing I haven’t. “Why are you worried about Dallas?”

“You know… for his safety… against the monkeys.”

It’s almost creepy how easily I can figure out what’s going through her head. Maybe we need to be a couple. “Who’s the girl?”

Evan groans. “I don’t want to talk about the girl, okay?” She sits up. “Can we please not talk about the girl?”

“Alright, alright,” I say, even though my curiosity is piqued to the extreme. “Instead, why don’t we talk about how the hell I’m going to explain you throwing in the towel to A.J?”

* * *

“Absolutely not.”

A.J.’s underling, Melissa Wayworth, says it almost flippantly.

“Uhh… well, even though I’m her best friend, she has a mind of her own, you know. I can’t force her to stay in EPE if she doesn’t want to.”

Melissa leans back in her computer chair—my computer chair. I had to move my work computer into the studio after A.J.’s “assistants” decided to make regular trips and watch my editing like a hawk. Shouldn’t they have better things to do than hang out in a smut house?

“You can force her, and you will. End of story.”

“But…”

“I’m here to talk business. Please, let me finish. Mr. Harrison has decided that the first national issue of EPE will be in October. We’ll launch the new image with Halloween.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Halloween and porn... talk about a party.”

“And what better place to have a Halloween-themed issue than in New England?”

I open my mouth to respond, but only a strangled squeak emerges. Finally, the words come to me. “You want the first issue shot in Cambridge, don’t you?”

“Cambridge, Boston, you know. The general area. We’ll boost model morale by sending everyone over there, book the whole venue for a week or two, have a bit of bonding time.…”

“What about school?”

Melissa deadpans. “Your models will be paid more money than they’ve ever seen for posing naked and you’re worried about a bit of school?”

No, not really. I’m not worried about my models and the amount of money they’ll make. I’m a bit more disturbed at the fact that Amora Acquisitions wants to follow Evan out to Boston to make sure that she’s in the first national issue. Isn’t that considered stalking?

Melissa swivels around in her chair and grabs a folder, handing it to me. “Here’s a list of selected models that Mr. Harrison himself has chosen to be featured in the issue. You’ll need to make sure that each of them fills out the correct paperwork and gets it back to a rep by the end of next week.”

I flip through the papers. “When will I see a rep?”

“There will be one at the auditions, of course.”

I glance up at her. “Auditions?”

“On Wednesday.”

I narrow my eyes. “I never scheduled an audition.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Melissa responds calmly. “We did.”

“You scheduled an audition.”

“For Wednesday. Don’t worry, we got the advertising handled and everything.”

“So it won’t just be hobos off the street showing me their diseases.”

She shoots me a fake grin, stands, and brushes off her pin-striped skirt. “Hopefully not.”

I flip to the front page of the file and see that the top two models listed are Rylan and Dallas. Mr. Harrison is going to be a very disappointed man. Being that Melissa seems to be in a don’t-argue-with-me-and-just-do-it kind of mood, I decide not to say anything.

Chapter Two

Evan

“She said what?”

Britain stands in the kitchen like she’s trying to be evasive but knows she can’t be. I sure as hell won’t let her leave. She pushes her hair back and mumbles, “Shesaidthey’reshootinginCambridge.”

“And you told her no, right?”

When Britain flinches, I know she didn’t. She quickly straightens and says, “Dude, it’s not my fault. I kept telling her no and she told me to force you.”

I bark a laugh. “That’s a joke.”

Britain narrows her eyes. “Hah.” She sighs. “Sorry, Evan. There’s nothing more I can do other than continue to say no and get hounded.”

She’d do that for me—I know she would. But I don’t want her to. “I guess I’ll give Amora Acquisitions a call tomorrow and tell them to not waste their time flying their asses out to Boston.”

“Because you’re so full of yourself that you’re convinced Amora is taking our entire team to Boston just to work with your school schedule?”

I know she’s kidding. Well, half-kidding. She cracks a smile.

I jut my chin in the air like a douche and say, “Yeah, dude, I’m fucking hot,” and she laughs.

* * *

When Dallas gets home from his orientation for the new semester, I show him the file Britain gave me. The first page has both of our names written on the top of a list of models Amora Acquisitions wants to take to Boston.

“I don’t know if they’re stupid or persistent,” I groan, falling back onto my bed.

“Persistent,” Dallas says. “That’s how business works. They’re hoping we cave and they’re using force first.”

“You think they’ll follow me all of the way out to Boston to get me in this shoot?”

Dallas shrugs and says, “I think they can follow you and still make a great shoot even if you reject them over and over, but they’ll be hounding you the entire time they’re there.”

“Well, what about you?”

He’s stretching himself out like a cat on my bed. The pose looks really feminine for him and makes me laugh. “What about me? I’m headed to Costa Rica. They know that.”

“And if they stalk you all the way to Costa Rica to get you to pose?”

Dallas shrugs. “If they pay me and it doesn’t get in the way of my research, why the hell not?”

I roll my eyes and turn toward the window. There’s nothing in that answer I can be mad about. In fact, maybe I should have the same attitude about the situation that Dallas has. But I know that if I let Amora Acquisitions or A.J. Harrison get to me, they won’t ever let me go. It’ll be another request two months later, and I can’t afford that, not with Harvard.

“I have to put my foot down now.”

“I know you do,” Dallas says.

I turn back to him, keeping my arms crossed. “But you don’t.”

Dallas sighs and rubs his eyes. I’m picking a fight. I don’t usually do this, but I have been more often lately. By his gesture I know that he realizes it too.

“No. I mean, other than being out of the country, not really.” I narrow my eyes at him and he widens his own. “What? I juggled grad school and modeling last year. Why would it be different this semester?”

Oh, I don’t know, Dallas, because your girlfriend won’t be modeling, which means you’ll be grinding up on someone else.

And I know what happened last time. He fell out of love with his girlfriend and into love with his coworker. I just happened to be on the lucky end of that trade off.

I should tell him how I’m feeling. That would be the adult way to handle my worries with the guy that I love. But I’m feeling less of a grad student right now and more like a sophomore in high school, so instead, I shoot him a plastic grin and say, “Oh, no reason.”

He sits up. “You pissed at me?”

I don’t feel like explaining it to him. I feel like he should already have a clue as to why I wouldn’t want him modeling without me. “I’m just tired, Dallas.”

“Seriously? It’s eight.”

“And I’ve had a long day.”

“And I leave in forty-eight hours. I thought we were spending time together tonight.”

“What were you planning?”

“Well, nothing. I thought you were planning something.”

I fall onto the bed. Maybe my bitchiness is justified. “Nope.”

We both sink into an awkward silence. The kind when both of you are pissed because the other is pissed, and there’s a bunch of unanswered whys floating through the air but no one actually wants to voice them because you’re both pussies.

Finally, he mutters, “Goodnight, Evan,” and turns off the lamp.

I sleep pretty restlessly. For one, I don’t know how to fix my silent emotional argument with Dallas. I’m pissed, and technically, he did nothing wrong. And two, I know I’m going to have to put my foot down with Amora Acquisitions tomorrow and stop making Britain perform all of my dirty work for me. She doesn’t deserve that.

I never thought that erotic modeling would become so dramatic. I was never ashamed of showing off my body, and the separation of my work life and school life with the help of an alias kept everything nice and sweet and completely unemotional. But the past couple of months have revealed an entirely different beast. Bringing a boy into the mix, Britain giving up the reigns... posing for EPE has become a complicated ballgame.

That’s why I wanted out.

And I’ll get out. I just need to put my foot down, for both me and Dallas. Even if he says he would still model if he weren’t in the field, the fact is that he is in the field.

We were destined for a life of biology, not a life of porn, for crying out loud.

When I feel Dallas get up in the morning to go shower, I pretend to be sleeping. He leaves the house before I’m up, and when I ask Britain where he went, she looks at me like I’ve grown a horn for a nose.

“Why the hell would I know these things over you?”

I shrug defensively. “You were down here when he left. Just thought I’d ask.” I pull out my phone to text him, but then I put it away. If he really wanted me to know where he was, he’d text me first.

Instead of calling Dallas, I walk outside to the pool and call the Amora Acquisitions headquarters. It takes me about two hours of transfers and holds before I’m finally where I need to be—speaking with one of A.J. Harrison’s assistants.

“Hi… err… my name is Evan Cosette… I’m a model for East Park Exposed.”

I receive silence for a response.

“Ummm… anyways, I’m on the list for the fall launch issue, but I can’t model because I’ll be in the middle of grad school at Harvard.”

“Ooooohh!” she practically hollers. I pull the phone away from my ear. “Rylan Willow! One moment, let me transfer you over.”

“But…” I begin, but it’s too late. I’m already listening to shitty elevator music again.

To my surprise, the shitty elevator music ends abruptly. “This is A.J.”

Oh, damn. Sent straight to the big man on campus. “Hi, A.J. This is Rylan Willow.”

“Rylan.” His voice is silkier than I remember. “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

I’m about to respond before my mouth snaps shut. He’s been waiting? As in, someone was supposed to relay a message to me and never did, or he’s been waiting because he’s cocky enough to think he has me figured out?

I assume the latter.

I clear my throat and throw on my big-girl voice. “I wanted to fact-check some information with you. My manager informed me that you’re insisting on having both myself and Dallas Whitley participate in the fall shoot.”

He chuckles deeply. “By your manager, I’m assuming you mean Britain.”

I hate the tone of his voice and the way he wields it. It’s like he’s trying to stick me in the dumb little girl box.

“Correct. Britain, my manager, who has been my manager for the past two years.”

“Go on.”

“I’m aware that she specifically relayed the message to your staff that I would no longer be performing for EPE due to grad school at Harvard.”

“I see.”

“Her message was challenged, and I just want to make it crystal clear that Dallas and I will not be a part of the launch issue, nor any issue thereafter.”

Damn, I have a good big-girl voice.

A.J. releases that chuckle again. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard. “Trust me, it isn’t necessary to reassure me.”

I give silent sigh of relief. “So this was all a misunderstanding, then?” Britain must have blown the whole situation out of proportion. Maybe she just imagined A.J.’s assistant being forceful.

“You will model for me.”

…. Well, fuck.

“Excuse me?” I counter.

“Don’t get me wrong, Miss Willow. I understand your dilemma. I went to grad school too, you know. For a successful individual, a graduate degree is almost necessary, and I very much admire your drive.”

“Thank you,” I murmur awkwardly.

“On the other hand,” he continues. “Grad school bills can be expensive. If you don’t mind me asking, how much have you paid off already?”

I did mind him asking, but I wasn’t about to keep my mouth shut at this point. “I have a semester paid off,” I reply. A semester plus living expenses. And that was from the incredibly successful issue of EPE that I shot with Dallas.

“Do you know what an advance is, Miss Willow?”

Yes, I know what an advance is. I’m not an idiot. “I believe so.”

“And would an advance of fifty grand change your mind?”

I nearly stop breathing. Okay, I do stop breathing until I realize I’m getting dizzy. “Uhh… what?”

“An advance of fifty grand if you sign a contract stating that you’ll be the cover model for the launch issue. You’ll receive the money directly after the Boston photo shoot.”

Fifty grand. Fifty fucking grand. I wouldn’t have to get a loan out for next year. After moments of silence, I finally spew the only words that come to me. “Are you shitting me?”

He laughs again. “No, no. I am not shitting you. This is a testament to how impressed I am with your work. I need you. EPE needs you.”

And now I really don’t have a response. My mouth hangs open as I search for words, but he breaks the silence first.

“This is only for the launch issue. After that, we’ll never bother you again, unless, of course, you want to be bothered. I’ll even have my lawyers write a clause into the contract for you.”

“What about Dallas?”

A.J. responds immediately. “What about him? I’m sure you’ll agree he’s an attractive gentleman, but the photos you took with him are stunning because of you. You created the chemistry between the two of you, I can tell.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

“I’m confident that you’ll give me equally stunning photographs with another male model.”

My stomach lurches. Posing with someone other than Dallas, considering how steamy our shoots got, won’t exactly be a walk in the park.

“How about you think about it tonight, and I’ll give you a call back tomorrow?”

“I… yeah, sure, that sounds good.”

“Wonderful. Nice speaking with you, Rylan.” He hangs up.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I sit at the edge of the pool and dip my feet in the water for a while. There’s really no way to sort through any of this. Maybe that’s because I already know.

I know I’m going to model for EPE again.

It’s the only logical answer. Fifty grand isn’t exactly chump change for me. It’s a year’s worth of tuition and bills if I live within my means. And signing on for one more issue also means that A.J. and Amora Acquisitions can never harass me to do a shoot again.

When I walk inside, Britain is waiting for me by the counter. It’s like she senses my unease or something. Behind her chunky glasses, she stares at me with huge bug eyes. She holds a spatula above a sizzling pan of bacon and eggs.

Finally, she asks, “You want some?”

I shake my head. “Can’t. I’m vegan again.”

Her jaw drops. “No, Evan. Tell me you didn’t give into him!”

I tell her the reason why. She turns off the stove and starts to laugh. Not really the reaction I was expecting.

“Jesus, Evan. Do you realize what this means?”

I shrug. “If I do the issue, I’m off the hook for the rest of my life.”

Britain shakes her head. “You aren’t going to want to be off the hook for the rest of your life. You know who they pay fifty grand an issue for modeling? No one. Unless you’re famous.”

I dip my fingers carefully into her pan and snap off a crumb of bacon. God, I’m going to miss this stuff. “Your point?”

“My point is your supermodel-status resume. Forget biology, Evan. You know whose dream it is to make a great living off of modeling? Everyone’s. It’s everyone’s dream.”

I sigh. Great, now my best friend is trying to convince me to show off my tits for the rest of my life.

And, like she’s reading my mind again, she says. “And I’m talking real modeling, Evan. Runways and high fashion and crazy hair and bushy eyebrows. Modeling with your clothes on.”

I pop the bacon into my mouth. “Can we see how the launch issue goes before you start planning the rest of my life?” I say as I chew.

She smirks. “Whatever, glam-girl.” She dumps the bacon and eggs onto a plate. “You tell Dallas yet?”

“Of course I didn’t tell Dallas yet. I just found out.” Well that and he’s particularly evasive today, possibly because of our awkward argument last night.

“How do you think he’s gonna react?” Britain asks. “You know, to the whole possibly-dry-humping-other-dudes thing?”

“Honestly, I don’t think he’s going to care.” My answer sparks a weird, enigmatic anger in the pit of my stomach. “We already talked about it. He said he’d be fine modeling with other women. I’m assuming, being that he’s an educated guy and knows a bit about feminism, the reverse would be true, right?”

Wrong.

He comes home in the afternoon. Now it’s day and a half before he’s going to be gone for months. I ask him what he did all day and he tells me that he was at school with Laina, preparing research for their trip. Of course he’d be with Laina two days before he leaves, even though she is the one he’ll be with for the next several months, and I’m not.

This trail of thought is leaves my blood boiling, news of A.J.’s proposal escapes my lips a bit more brazen than I mean for it to.

Dallas’s blue eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Can you believe it? Fifty grand.”

“You said no, right?”

I laugh cruelly. “No. Of course I didn’t. In case you’ve forgotten how enormous my debt is going to be when I graduate, I need fifty grand like I need air.”

Dallas’s face falls dangerously flat, and he sinks into the desk chair in our room. “You’re modeling for EPE in Boston.”

“Yeah.”

“Without me?”

“Unless you want to fly back from Costa Rica for a quick photographed Bostonian dry hump,” I joke. I can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t amused. “What’s the problem? Yesterday you said you wouldn’t have a problem modeling without me. How is this any different?”

“Yesterday was theoretical.”

I groan in frustration. “Theory is supposed to reflect reality, hello.”

“Well I don’t want my girlfriend erotically posing with some other guy, hello.”

And suddenly the base of the problem slaps me straight in the face. “You don’t trust me.”

His eyes show defeat. “Evan, I never said…”

“You think that you are more loyal than me, even though it was you who cheated on your girlfriend a couple of months ago with a model.”

His eyes flash fire. “You’re not being fair.”

“I’m being plenty fair.” I cross my arms. “I’m doing it, Dallas. It’s my job and I’ve been doing it for years.”

I’ve never seen him look so angry before. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “But when you end up falling for some other guy, I’ll be the first to say that I told you so.”

My heart crumples in on itself, and suddenly I’m no longer angry. I’m hurt. He thinks nothing drives me other than sex. Like I don’t care about what we have and the next guy in line can replace him painlessly.

How have I never seen this ignorance from him before?

His eyes soften, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s about to apologize, but it’s too late. I inhale one slow, shaking breath, and say, “I need you to stay somewhere else tonight.”

He doesn’t argue once. He doesn’t say he’s sorry either.

He says nothing.

He stands from the chair and retrieves a black duffel bag from the closet. He tosses into it a change of clothes, his deodorant, and a toothbrush. Without looking at me, he leaves me alone.

I hear the door slam downstairs, and I collapse onto my bed.

I curl up into a ball and try my best to quiet my petty sobbing, but I do a horrible job at it.

Why is this explosion between us happening now? The past couple of months were nothing but bliss. We studied together and explored each other and were perfectly content.

My heart clenches. “Because love isn’t about sex, Evan,” I whisper to myself.

I guess I never understood love, then. I mean, I love my mom, and I love Britain. But every guy I dated who found out about my modeling was always triggered by me sexually, including Dallas. I guess I just thought Dallas was different because we connected on a million other levels.

Maybe I just didn’t know better. But our so-called love was based on a lust forced by our stupid job. And now the two of us are falling apart before we’re even physically apart.

There’s a reason for that.

Britain

I don’t go out on dates with douches often. And when I say douches, I use that term liberally, considering I’m referring to all of the male variety.

But there’s a guy name Hayden who’s was in my music class last semester. He seems like less of a douche than most of them. Of course, my first warning should be that he’s two years younger than me. Dating a younger guy never works—I mean, unless I’m like, thirty. But a guy isn’t mature until he’s well into his twenties, and sometimes, not even then.

I know I’m only twenty-two, but I’ve had my share of hookups, and I’m over them. I’d rather keep a vibrator under my pillow and focus on school until Prince Charming comes along, if that ever happens.

But when Hayden started making small talk with me in class and texting me after the semester was over, I thought, you what, he has nice eyes and a cute ass. Why the hell not?

I decided not to tell Evan, even though I know she’ll kill me when she finds out. But right now, she has her own problems and I’d feel guilty about pestering her over one tiny date. I know Dallas left in a storm this afternoon and hasn’t come back, and Evan’s been quiet in her bedroom ever since.

She must have dished the news about the launch issue, and I guess he didn’t take it well like she thought he would.

“Hot damn, girl, you look divine,” Delilah says when I make my way down the stairs in stilettos, clinging to the banister in the hopes of not falling flat on my ass. I don’t do this whole girlie dress-up thing often. I don’t have the need to, being as I’m always the one behind the camera.

“I feel like my hair looks like a washed-out curtain,” I say when I finally make it to the safe landing of the living room.

Delilah shrugs. “Yeah, it kind of does, but it suits you. Like the angelic version of Wednesday Addams.”

“Oh, that’s just great.” I comb my fingers through my hair and think of putting it up, but I’m too late. There’s a knock at the door. Delilah jumps up and answers it, and I hear the soft sound of Hayden’s voice.

“Sure, I’ll go grab her,” Delilah says, and when she turns back to me, her eyes are saucers.

Wow, she whispers. Well, at least I have Delilah’s approval.

Hayden has even dressed up for the date. Well, when I say dressed up, I mean a button-up shirt and some slacks. But surprisingly, not a lot of guys even do that. He’s tall, with thick golden hair, hazel eyes, and dimples that would probably drive any girl crazy. I grin inwardly. I could definitely see myself getting into bed later tonight with him—even though I promised myself I was done with the whole hooking-up thing.

Fuck it.

“You ready?” he says.

It’s just a standard dinner and a movie night. Nothing bravely romantic or out of the ordinary, which I’m fine with. Dating and I have had quite a break, so it’s better to ease back into the water than to jump head first, I guess.

Hayden talks too, which is great. I hate that horribly awkward silence on car rides with guys I don’t know too well, but realize the one thing running through both our minds is where the night will go—if we’ll make it to second base or further.

He asks me about school and my hobbies and where I’m from. His voice is smooth and musical. I wouldn’t mind listening to it for hours. Every time I glance over and read his face, I can’t tell if he’s asking me because he genuinely doesn’t know what my hobbies are, or he’s afraid to bring up EPE. But I’m not shy.

“I’m a photographer,” I finally tell him over dinner when our waitress begins to pour the merlot.

He raises his eyebrows in interest. “Really?”

Maybe he doesn’t read East Park Exposed. Which is unlikely because every guy on campus and even most girls read East Park Exposed. Then again, who really spends time going over the credits on the opening page? No one. They skip right through to Evan’s tits.

I’m about to break the news to him of my job, but he suddenly makes the question so much harder to answer when he asks, “So, what do you photograph?”

I swallow my wine. “What?”

“You know—cityscapes, nature, portraits, candid shots…”

Boobs. I photograph boobs.

“Uhh… people?” I tell him.

He chuckles and takes a sip of wine. “You don’t seem too sure about that.”

Here goes nothing. “Have you ever heard of East Park Exposed?”

A strange silence suddenly drops on the table. His whole body stiffens and he narrows his eyes, slowly setting down his wine glass. “What about it?”

“I photograph for the magazine.”

Tension electrifies the space between us. Suddenly the brightness in his face is gone, and he pulls up his lip in disgust.

Whoa. Totally not a reaction I’ve ever received from a guy before. Usually it’s on the polar opposite end of uncomfortable. They start giggling like they’re in junior high and ask me perverse, sexist, and inappropriate questions.

Why can’t guys just respond non-douchily? Is that so much to ask?

“So, like, what—were you seriously strapped and needed to make some money on the side?”

I curl my finger around a lock of my pin-straight hair and tug. “Not exactly.”

“Was it some weird internship or something?”

“Uhh… no. I sort of… founded the magazine.”

Now the disgust on his face practically blinds me. You’d think he was a saint or something.

Then again, I haven’t asked him any questions. Maybe he’s a missionary. Maybe he’s a pure virgin boy who’s never looked at pornography in his life.

Like any of those exist anymore.

“You’re kidding me,” he says dryly.

I’m about to respond, really, I am. I’m about to make an excuse for myself, quickly thinking of ways to paint EPE and my job in the most angelic light possible—when he walks by.

My eyes shift from Hayden to lock on him.

He’s well over six feet with short, dark hair, golden eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones. The kind of guy you could photograph from any angle and get the perfect shot every time. The kind of guy that, even in a suit and tie, I can tell he has to be perfectly cut.

I haven’t seen him in years.

“Sweet Jesus,” I whisper. “Jaime?”

“Excuse me?” Hayden asks.

I glance at him. He looks pissed—I can’t tell if it’s because I just took the Lord’s name in vain or because I’m gawking at my brother’s best friend.

I stand up.

“What are you doing?” Hayden doesn’t sound pleased in the slightest.

“Give me just a second. If the waitress comes back, order me chicken marsala.”

“But—″

I don’t hear the rest of his sentence because I’m half-way across the restaurant, following Jaime and his petite, pretty date to their seats.

He’s about to sit when he sees me. I’m standing in the middle of the restaurant with my fists clenched at my sides, wearing the glasses I’ve had since high school, my straight, signature-Britain hair, and a dress that doesn’t fit me right.

Just as gawky as the last time he saw me, four years ago.

His eyes light up. He motions to his date that he’ll be a minute before pushing his chair in and making his way toward me.

My nerves get to me, and I look around. This isn’t exactly the perfect place for a reunion—standing in the middle of waitress traffic where both of our dates will be studying our interactions closely. I turn on my heel and hurry to the lobby at the front of the restaurant, not surprised when he follows.

If anything, he’s followed me to torment me.

Let’s see how much has changed in four years.

When he reaches the lobby, he leans up against the wall and looks me up and down. Suddenly, I feel way too sexy in this dress.

“Well, well, Britain McCulley.”

I cross my arms awkwardly. “Hi… Jaime.”

A whole rush of emotions come swimming back to me. Mostly negative ones, but there are a few gems. Jaime is my older brother Cameron’s best friend. My brother was enough of a playboy himself, and, well… Jaime was a hundred times worse. They’ve been that way since they went through puberty together, an event I witnessed almost every single moment of. I’ve pretty much known Jaime since I exited the womb.

But being a playboy isn’t what puts a bad taste in my mouth when I think about Jaime. It’s the fact that, over the course of my entire life, he’s been there to tease me relentlessly about every aspect of my personality, my behavior, and my body. He was that asshole.

And I never understood why. He was popular and deviant and blew through girls like packs of gum, yet he took extra care to make my life a living hell whenever he could.

Like the time he found my tampons and strung them like Christmas lights outside my bedroom window when I was thirteen.

Or the time he was supposed to lead me blindfolded to my surprise birthday party on my family’s patio and pushed me into the pool.

Or that one summer when he intimidated my high school boyfriend so badly that he broke up with me the next day.

And here’s the kicker. It would be one thing if he grew up to be old and fat and balding at twenty-six, and I looked as hot as Evan, or Delilah. I generally don’t give half a damn about appearances, except for this moment, when I see Jaime-fucking-Rivera for the first time in four years and he looks like a god.

I knew he was attractive, I just didn’t know how attractive. Cameron told me he’d been working with him in an accounting internship at my parents’ software company when he was getting his bachelor’s at Stan State, and his modelling career took off after he graduated.

He was cute back in high school, but still had too much of a meat head appeal for me. Now, as he walks closer, reaching out his hand, he’s all swag and no sneer. He’s ballsy enough to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and I’m brought back to all of my buried, hidden fantasies of him.

Yes, even though he was a total dick to me, he was hot and gave me attention. I often toyed with the idea of him deflowering me when I was a teenager.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he says.

I shy away from his touch. “I see your confidence hasn’t dwindled either.”

He laughs and sighs. His body is too close. “When I found out you were shooting for an erotic magazine, I couldn’t believe it. I figured that you must have gone batshit insane after high school, cut your hair off, started smoking, got a couple of naughty piercings…”

I chuckle nervously. “Surprise.”

“I mean, little Britain McCulley? My chaste, blonde, inherited sister?”

The way he calls me his sister makes me internally cringe. He reaches out again like he’s going to touch my face, and I grab his forefinger, resisting the urge to break it in my fist.

I won’t be patronized.

I used to fall for that shit as a teenager. I can’t count how many times this boy left me in tears. But I have a hell of a lot more stamina now.

“Awh, you thought I was chaste. That’s cute.”

I release my grip and he slides his hands into his pockets.

“It’s a coincidence seeing you here.”

“Why’s that?”

“I thought Cameron would have told you.”

I shrug. “I don’t really talk to him much.”

“Aren’t you wondering why I’m in town?”

“No?”

“Britain,” he elongates my name to sound all whiny. “I’m auditioning for your magazine.”

My heart stops. Oh hell no.

“You’re what?”

I want to slap the smile right off Jaime’s face. “My agent received the audition email a few days ago and sent me over. Said the rag was going national and looked promising. I read up on the credentials, and when I saw your name listed as founder, let me tell you…”

I’ve tuned him out. This can’t be happening to me. Sure, I’ve grown a hell of a lot more confident since high school, but there is no way that I can handle Jaime Rivera during the chaos of prepping for an issue of EPE.

No escapes my mouth.

He stops mid-sentence. “Excuse me?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, don’t even bother auditioning.”

He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. I can only see his forearms below his rolled-up sleeves, and even they are threaded with muscle.

“I’ve already had my helping of you, Jaime, and to be honest, I don’t think your pride will allow you to be a model for EPE.” I point to my chest. “I run the shots for the whole magazine. You spent your entire youth tormenting me, and I don’t think you’ll be able to take orders from me efficiently and seriously. And if you do show up to the shoot, I’ll make sure to voice my concerns to my overseers.” In the same breath, I add, “It was nice to see you,” and turn on my heel.

“You’re wrong, Brit,” he calls, but I don’t stop for him.

I won’t ever stop for him again.

I return to my table only to realize that Hayden is no longer there—just his drained wine glass. I sit down and wait, thinking that maybe he went to the bathroom, but the more time that passes, the more I come to terms with the fact that my date has ditched me.

“Cocksucker,” I mutter under my breath, and flag down the waitress.

Hayden not only didn’t order, but also didn’t pay for our wine. I ask the waitress to bag it and pay her, tipping her liberally for pretty much wasting her time, and then I hail a cab.

I should be livid. Maybe I should shed a few tears for the sake of being a girl ditched at a fine Italian restaurant. But the fact is, I can’t even get my mind to wander in the direction of Hayden and is asshatery.

My thoughts and rage are fixed firmly on Jaime.

Chapter Three

Evan

It’s embarrassing how fast things with me and Dallas spiraled out of control. I feel like a fool caught in the heat of lust. It would be one thing if he had come back to the house and begged to sort things out like he had done when he broke up with Trish and sat on my doorstep all night.

I guess I don’t know him like I thought I did. Maybe that behavior from Dallas was a fluke, because he was as tangled in lust as I was.

The next time I see him is when I meet him at the airport—before he leaves the country for seven months.

My heart pounds in my chest. I’m nervous only because of how confused I am—my own pride has kept me from calling him, and I have no idea what’s going through his head. Hell, I hardly know what’s going through my own.

I spot him by the coffee shop right before security. The only text I’ve sent him since he left was one telling him I’d be here today, to which he responded with a simple ‘ok’. Maybe he’s come to realize the same thing that I have.

Which is okay, I guess, because I already know how the next few minutes are going to pan out.

He’s dressed much too nice for jungle hiking. He might be wearing the same exact thing as when I first laid eyes on him—black slacks and a stiff, white button-down shirt. His hair is just as disheveled too. My heart twists in my chest.

I really thought I loved him. I was just never able to differentiate.

He spots me and smiles softly, but it’s definitely a sad sort of smile. When I reach him, we hug, but nothing more. He smells like he always does, spicy and citrusy.

Laina waits for him by security. God, this blows.

“You still doing the launch?” he asks.

I nod, and he frowns.

“I don’t know what happened, Dallas,” I say. My voice is shaking and I wish it wouldn’t. “I really thought we had each other figured out, but I guess we don’t.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, and I feel the knife of regret slowly rip through my insides.

He reaches out and cups my chin with his hands. His eye brim with concern and sadness, like he’s taking his time. I wish he wouldn’t. For the sake of my sanity, this moment needs to end as soon as possible. “We moved too fast, didn’t we?”

My nod is barely a shiver. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we did.” Granted, it was hard not to.

“You think we should take a break,” he says. It isn’t a question—I feel like he’s been reading my mind since I walked into this airport.

I take a deep breath when my eyes begin to water. I can’t let him see me cry right now. If I cry, then he’ll feel horrible and we’ll kiss and not break up. The cycle will repeat itself. But it will be worse this time, because we won’t be together.

“I think—″ I wait, taking the time to conjure the perfect words. “I think that you’re amazingly brilliant, and sexy as hell.”

The corners of his mouth perk up.

“And what we had was fun. But that’s all—fun. I don’t know if it’s strong enough to hold us together while we’re apart.”

His eyes begin to water, and all I know is that he better not fucking cry right now. I won’t be able to keep control of myself.

“I wish we had more time,” he says.

As if on cue, Laina calls Dallas’s name and points to her watch.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter quickly.

He leans down and softly kisses the top of my head, and my eyes flutter shut, savoring him. I know I shouldn’t be. I should be tossing him over my shoulder like every other hook-up and move on with Harvard and modeling and my life.

But there’s something about Dallas Whitley that I’ll never be able to shake.

He squeezes my hand and turns away. I force myself to not buy into the sentimental bullshit of watching him go through security until the second that I can’t see him anymore. Instead, I quickly turn on my heel and hurry out of the airport like the place is on fire, diving into my car parked in short-term. I collapse into a puddle of tears.

I keep trying to tell myself that this is typical break-up crying. That I’d sob over any boyfriend, because that’s what emotions do, right?

But deep inside, something nags at me, screaming that this is a horrible mistake. Dallas understood me on a deeper level than anyone—even Britain. He got what it was like to be both an erotic model and a bio major. A difficult degree and a job taboo as all hell. He was willing to joke about it, to tear guys apart who threw offhanded comments at me, and to understand my crazy before an exam and help me study through it.

Maybe we shouldn’t have immediately jumped into becoming lovers. But we weren’t just lovers.

He could have been on the way to becoming my best friend too.

I curl up into a ball in my seat and allow myself to cry for a few more minutes, and then I start my car and drive home.

The second I walk inside, Britain knows. She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she moves from the computer to the couch, pats the seat next to her, and asks, “Wanna talk about it?”

I wipe my eyes. “Not really.”

“Wanna scoop out some coconut milk ice cream and watch a couple of horribly corny chick flicks?”

I nod, and she prepares the ice cream as I change into my pjs. I toss a couple of blankets on the living room floor and get situated as Britain flicks through options on Netflix. When we finally decide on a rom-com that looks achingly bad, Delilah comes home, throws her keys and purse on the couch, darts up the stairs, and shrieks, “Wait for me!”

She returns in a satin pink camisole and matching pants—something I’d catch a second-grader wearing—and plops in the middle of us with a heaping bowl of popcorn. I feel a million times better already.

If a bad movie and a couple of girlfriends can make me forget about Dallas, even for an evening, then maybe I made the right decision.

Maybe I really wasn’t in love.

Britain

Audition day is weird as balls.

First of all, it’s uncomfortable. My team walks around, performing their tasks stiffly and manically. I’m almost positive it’s because of the Amora Acquisitions rep. This time, a man named Dwain watches over us. Dwain isn’t the kind of guy you think of when fun and sexy media comes to mind. Dwain reminds me of a geometry substitute teacher. He’s gangly, balding, and wears a heinously patterned short-sleeved button-up shirt tucked into a pair of over-sized Dockers. He’s also always writing on his iPad. The fact that he so obviously doesn’t fit into a room filled with half-naked women and men is, humorously enough, setting everyone on edge.

Apparently, Dwain isn’t the only Amora Acquisitions rep attending the audition. There are five more coming at noon. This is what’s setting me on edge, considering I can hardly handle Dwain. But the one good thing about Dwain is that, even with the timid substitute teacher look, he’s not afraid of barking out orders to my workers.

I’ve never felt more organized before an audition in my life. There’s an entire waiting room set up right where the front door is. Potential models sign up with one of my writers, grab a number, and then wait until they’re called. All of my models who are helping with the shots today have been through hair and makeup, and we still have two hours to spare.

Evan is a train wreck. She doesn’t simply look like a train wreck—her head isn’t screwed on straight either. After all models are done in the dressing room, Evan practically stumbles into the studio in her bathrobe, her hair a rat’s nest. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose permanently Rudolph-red. She looks… well… almost monstrous. The other models, including Delilah, begin whispering rapidly to each other. I snap my fingers and glare at Delilah when she looks at me, and she sulks in the corner like a punished puppy.

Ugh. Girls.

“We don’t need you today,” I tell Evan. It escapes my mouth more harshly than I mean it to, and I know I’ve given those gossiping girls fuel for their fire.

She stares at me blankly and scratches her head. “What do you mean?”

I groan, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the house. When I shut the door, I look her straight in the eye and say, “Be honest—how intimate was your audition shoot with Dallas?”

When I say his name, she flinches. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, the shoot on the pool chair that was his audition for EPE.” When she flinches again, I continue. “See? You really think I want to damage you more by making you do that again with a guy that isn’t… him? No. So you’re sitting this one out.”

Her eyes grow fiery. “I don’t need you to be my emotional babysitter. I can handle myself.”

“Obviously, you can’t.” Her face twists until she looks like she’s about to cry, so I add, “I’m doing this because A. I’m your best friend, B. I have enough sample models, and C. you’ve already done enough for EPE. Hell, you’re coming back for the launch shoot even though you specifically stated that you want nothing to do with this shit when you’re at Harvard. So take a break, will you? Christ.” I point toward the kitchen island. “Eat your damn nasty vegan protein drink, take a shower, read a book, and I’ll let you know how it goes.”

I turn on my heel and hurry back into the studio, shutting the door and locking it behind me for effect. Two more of A.J. Harrison’s cronies have arrived, and they’re both dressed in black and holding cameras. Immediately, my defenses go up. As they stand by the door and fiddle with their equipment, I march up to Dwain.

“What are they doing?” I point to the cameramen. “I take the photos. That’s how it goes.”

Dwain holds out his hands. “Calm down, calm down. A.J. thought it would be better if you were able to relax for once and soak in the whole experience of the audition. If you’re not so focused on taking photos, you’ll be able to see more clearly how the models themselves respond to the audition.” When I arch my eyebrow high, he adds, “You know, like on America’s Next Top Model, all of the judges are usually hanging around a monitor and not actually taking the photos.”

“This isn’t a television show,” I snap. Technically, this asshat is my boss, but I don’t give a shit. Obviously, he knows nothing about this industry.

“A.J.’s orders,” Dwain says, which ends the conversation. I growl in frustration. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you the reigns back before you know it.”

Just the fact that he has to say that makes my insides knot. “Sure, whatever.”

All auditions will take place in the typical bedroom scenario. I try my hardest to push for the pool, but that’s another thing Dwain puts his foot down on. A.J. says the bedroom is generic enough to get a good read on everyone. Whatever. That’s why we won’t be able to get a good read—because no one is going to be willing to take risks.

Actually, every time I make a suggestion, Dwain tells me to stuff it. I’m also not allowed to be involved in the sign-up process or help out the set. So I end up sitting and fuming on a barstool in the studio kitchen, watching A.J.’s cronies take charge as the models slowly begin to trickle in.

And now I get why they won’t let me be a part of the sign-in process—they’re actually turning people away at the door. At first it’s for the obvious reasons—too pudgy, too gangly—but then the assistants from Amora start turning away more and more—people who are hot, people who could potentially be great models. And it finally gets me out of my seat. Infuriated, I push through the sample models and tap Dwain on the shoulder. “What the hell is going on?”

His lip pulls up into a sneer. “You, Miss McCulley, are out of line.”

I’ve been pushed around enough today. “Listen, Dwain. This is my fucking magazine, and I can break the contract whenever the hell I want.” Technically, this is the truth, although Amora will keep the rights for another two years. “Why are all of these people being turned away?”

“They don’t fit the East Park brand.”

I am seriously going to deck this guy.

I look at the models who have gotten through the gatekeepers. All tall and white, with that signature Abercrombie look. Actually, they look almost identical. I swear, even the guys and the girls look they could be from one creepy Mormon family.

“Hi, I’m here to audition.”

The voice strikes me as familiar, and when I turn to look, I watch Jaime hand his headshot to the assistant by the door. The assistant lets him walk through, and he spots me. I stare him down, and he immediately goes on the defense.

“Give me a chance, Brit.”

I grind my teeth. Dwain asks me if I know the guy, but I don’t respond. I study Jaime up and down before saying, “Well, at least you aren’t white.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Uhh… thanks?”

“Fine, I’ll let you have your twenty minutes.” I step toward him, keeping my chin in the air. “But, too be honest, I don’t think you’re even serious about the gig.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, Britain. You think I’m just here to torture you?”

“No, I think you’re here to torture me and have a chance to pose with some gorgeous naked women.”

“I take my job pretty seriously, thank you.”

“Then prove it,” I state boldly, and march away.

One of the Amora assistants calls all EPE staff into the back room, but before I can head that way, a pretty brunette girl catches my eye. “Excuse me, Ma’am.”

I shudder involuntarily. “I’m not a Ma’am, but what do you want?”

She snaps her gum. “Are we gonna have to, like, fuck on camera right now, or what?”

“Oh my god,” I mutter, spinning on my heel without answering. Jaime’s laughter trickles across the room like liquid fire.

Brunette gum-snapper asked if she’d have to fuck on camera, and now this room is set up like a porno.

The sheets are red and satiny, and there’s a huge fuzzy heart pillow in the middle of the bed. Gag me. On top of it, the room is way darker than it needs to be, giving the whole space this gross seventies feel. I’m surprised they haven’t ripped out the flooring and put in shag carpet.

“What is going on with this lighting?” I say out loud to no one in particular. Not a soul responds to me, although there are a couple of women in dress suits glaring at me as they clench iPads in their hands. I walk over to a guy adjusting a light and say, “Hey, you, the lighting is way too dark in here. You’re going to make even the skinniest girl look lumpy, and all of the shadows really awkward.”

He waves his hand at me in dismissal. “Don’t talk to me, I just take orders.”

I groan, looking around for anyone that will listen. It takes a whole fifteen minutes for the word to finally get around to Dwain that Britain is unhappy, and I really think he hates me now.

I win on the lighting and get the Amora workers to amp it a bit, but unfortunately, Dwain won’t budge on the fuzzy red pillow that I find pedophilic and not sexy at all.

The chairs that we will watch the auditions from are lined up on the side of the wall like a jury. I sit in the very back corner, Delilah right next to me, and Adam next to her. The rest of the models fill up the back row. They all have their arms crossed and look either pissed, uncomfortable, or scared.

“This isn’t fun,” Delilah whispers to me. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“I know what you mean,” I answer.

“When you said we were going national, I didn’t think they’d be taking over like this.”

I didn’t either, did I? Maybe I didn’t care to even think about it. The money was so good that I subconsciously knew if they took over, it wouldn’t matter. Now, looking at my models and how petrified they all seem, not thinking about it was a mistake.

How can I fix this?

I lower my head and close my eyes, thinking quickly. Pulling a small notebook from my pocket and the pen from behind my ear, I write each sample model’s name on a separate sheet of paper. Then, starting with Delilah, I give them each a theme, and write, no matter what the photographer tells you, stick to this. I hand Delilah the stack and mutter, “Pass them down.”

She finds hers and passes the stack. She reads the paper, arches her eyebrow, and looks at me. “For real?” she says. “What’s the point?”

“I know what’s good for EPE,” I whisper, nodding to the associate ushering the first female model into the room. “They don’t.”

“I got you,” says Adam. He must have overheard me. I should probably whisper softer considering A.J’s cronies are sitting right in front of me.

“Miss McCulley, would you be so kind as to select a sample model for this young lady?”

Wow, first time I’ve been asked to do anything. It’s actually a bit shocking.

The girl is very slight in frame with no ass or boobs. She almost looks like she’s twelve. Knowing Amora Acquisitions, they’ll probably want to hire her. My mind is twisting perversely. Adam is our tallest, broadest guy. I’m thinking the juxtaposition will make for a great photo. Plus, I gave him hunter with his prey for the theme.

“All right, big guy. Go get ‘em.”

“Sweet.” Adam jumps to his feet and Delilah rolls her eyes, brushing red curls off her shoulders.

The girl is beautiful and doe-eyed and looks absolutely petrified. She fits Adam’s theme perfectly, which is kind of disgusting. She might even be shivering. When she sees Adam, she looks like she’s about to cry, which is funny considering how gorgeous Adam is.

The photographer, a tall, skinny, white, and incredibly city-chic-cliché looking guy, cocks his head to the side and says in a tenor voice, “Okay, I want you two to pose like both of you are made of the most delectable dessert and you want to eat each other up.”

I—without even attempting to hide my actions—slap my hand to my forehead.

Miguel, my model on the end, busts up laughing, and the Amora assistant in front of him shoots him a dirty look. Ella in the middle mutters, “Why don’t they just pose normally—like they want to fuck each other,” and that leaves all of my models in hysterics. I can’t help but crack a smile.

Dwain turns in his seat and barks, “Get them under control.” I shrug in response. This is way too much fun.

Adam catches my eye and winks at me. The girl crawls onto the bed and he follows her. As the photographer is finding his position, Adam slinks his arms around her waist and whispers something into her ear.

Whatever he says, it works. When the photographer begins, she crawls away and he grasps her foot, pulling her back to him. Her body glides against the satin sheets and he pins her hips to the mattress.

“Less aggressive, boy,” Dwain says.

Boy? He didn’t even take the time to learn my models’ names?

Adam doesn’t act like Dwain’s command fazes him at all. The way he arches his back makes him look like a cat, his hands stiff and clawed around the model’s hips. She twists her body around and it’s a beautiful shot that the photographer isn’t taking advantage of.

“Fucking idiot,” I whisper, and Delilah nudges me in the arm.

The Amora Acquisitions team write furiously on their iPads. None of them look very enthused. Adam wraps his arms around the models’ torso and pulls her up until they’re both kneeling and facing the camera, her back pressed to his chest. He drags his bared teeth across her earlobe, runs his hands up her ribcage, links his fingers beneath her bandeau, and tugs down until her breasts are exposed.

Leave it to Adam to be ballsy with a girl he’s never met before.

It’s like it doesn’t even cross his mind that there are twenty people watching him, half of them typing on their iPads like scientists at a research exhibit. Not hiding behind the lens makes me feel naked and exposed to the situation, an ache building between my legs. Everything that’s happening in this room is incredibly voyeuristic and weirdly fucking hot.

The female model releases a small gasp, and Adam whispers something else in her ear. I can tell by the way Delilah is so stiff that she’s not too happy. Considering how loose Adam always acts, it’s hard to remember that they’re constantly on-again off-again.

With stiff, crooked fingers, Adam runs his claw-like hands right over the girl’s breasts, and she closes her eyes and arches her back like she enjoys the sting of it. Another perfect shot, but the dumbass photographer is, again, shooting from the wrong angle. I ball my hands into fists. I wish I could use this, just like I used Dallas’s audition. The only difference is that I’m going to have to reshoot this entire session.

I grunt in frustration, but none of the Amora assistants seem to notice.

Even worse than shooting from the wrong angles is when the photographer decides to end early, even when the auditioning model is so willing to continue. He shouldn’t have, considering the next string of models either act like or express that they don’t want to take their clothes off. One of them, as Ella is hanging all over him and trying to portray the weightless theme that I gave her, blatantly says, “This is making me uncomfortable.”

“Hold up, hold up,” I yell as I stand. The photographer purses his lips and drops his camera, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with the model or with me. “Do you know what East Park Exposed is?”

The guy shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“And this is making you uncomfortable? Neither of you are naked yet.”

“I don’t know, I just…”

“What do you think we do, Photoshop your nipples on?”

Delilah snickers.

I get another wave of nasty looks from the Amora crew and finally crack. “Stop looking at me like that! You know I’m right!”

After the slew of uncomfortable candidates, there’s a slew of generic candidates. My own professional models look like broken toy soldiers as they attempt to play sexy with them. Now I don’t know if it’s the photographer or simply a string of bad luck. Finally, a crew member calls number sixteen, and I smack Delilah on the knee.

“You’re up.”

Jaime walks into the room.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Delilah breathes.

Adam grunts uncomfortably next to her.

I grab her shoulder to gain her attention. “I need you to screw this up,” I mutter.

“What?” she hisses. “Are you fucking insane? He’s gorgeous.”

“I know him, and he’s an ass to work with. Just do as I say.”

She groans and stands, trudging to Jaime and holding out her hand. “I’m Delilah.”

“Jaime.”

Delilah gapes at him, and then she slowly turns toward me.

Oh, fuck.

I’d forgotten that I spilled my secrets to Delilah and Evan one night when the three of us were drunk at the house. We were talking about dumb high school perceptions and decisions, and what we would tell our teenage selves if we could.

And I drunkenly said, I’d tell my teenage self to stop fantasizing about Jaime eating you out, because he’s an asshole and will never do anything other than tease you.

Delilah and Evan responded with a chorus of, Oooooh, Jaime! That’s when I told them about my brother’s douchebag best friend.

Delilah’s eyes hold a deviant glint as she connects the dots. She wouldn’t.

She would.

I’m so screwed.

As the photographer finds an angle, Delilah whispers into Jaime’s ear her plans. He nods.

Before the photographer has even begun shooting, Jaime has swung Delilah up into the air. She wraps her legs around his waist and presses her forehead to his.

“Move onto the bed,” Dwain orders, but Jaime doesn’t listen to him.

And then they’re kissing.

Several of the models hoot and holler. “Yeah, baby!” Miguel yells.

Crazy that a simple kiss can spark such a reaction from a room of soft-core porn stars.

But it’s not just a simple kiss. Delilah drags her teeth across Jaime’s lower lip. He unhooks her bra seamlessly without stumbling once. She arches her back, letting one hand drop and clutching his neck with the other. It’s like her creamy porcelain skin is spilling off and over him. It’s such a goddamn perfect shot despite my reservations with Jaime, and I swear if the photographer doesn’t catch it, I’m going to punch him in the nuts.

Suddenly, a feeling I’ve never experienced during a photo shoot swells in my gut—jealousy.

I shove my fists into my stomach, as if that will stop it. What the fuck is my problem?

The way she gyrates her body against his makes me sick, even though they’re perfect together. There’s no way Jaime won’t make the cut, so I better get used to the thought of him.

Existing in my business, my job.

Existing in my life again.

She presses herself to his body. His tongue glides up her neck and he nips at her jaw.

Then his eyes break away from her, and he finds me in the dark sea of observers and models.

Chapter Four

Evan

Summer passes by as I sit in my room, studying my ass off.

It’s the perfect way to tune the world out and prepare for Harvard all at once. I go through all of my old textbooks, read through the chapters, and complete the study guides. Not everyone gets such an amazing opportunity like me to attend one of the best schools in the world. I need to grab it by the balls and take charge.

I have little control in the rest of my life. Like my love life.

And being sucked into EPE again.

When I’m not studying, I’m working out. It took me only two months to let go completely, and I can’t believe how out-of-shape I got. I loathe the gym, so I do my cardio elsewhere, jogging through the neighborhood when it’s cool enough outside. And I go swimming.

I love swimming. I love how the water fills my ears and the entire world is silent. It’s like I can almost feel my brain taking a break.

When it’s finally time to say goodbye to California for the year, it’s less hard than I thought. I’m getting over the heartbreak of Dallas, and I know I’ll be seeing Britain and Delilah in a couple of weeks anyway.

The only hard goodbye is Mom.

My mother is a smart woman. When explaining my breakup with Dallas, she waves her hand in front of her face. “You’ll get over him the moment you enter that sea of East Coast boys. I promise you.”

And that is literally the end of the conversation.

She makes me vegan potpie the day before my flight leaves. We stay up all night to watch crappy soap operas and I fall asleep on the couch. When she shakes me awake, it is 3:30 in the morning. She tells me my flight leaves in three hours and I burst into tears, pulling her into a hug.

* * *

Nothing says boring like a United flight across the continental U.S. I order two vodka sodas on the rocks over the course of the trip and barely keep my buzz from it.

I don’t get nervous until I’m in the airport and have to find my way to the train that will take me to Cambridge. With a little help from airport security, I manage to buy a ticket from an automated machine and locate the train station outside the airport. I’ve already downloaded maps of Harvard onto my phone, and it shouldn’t take long at all to walk from the train stop to campus. I already did the college dorm thing when I was a freshman. I’m a pro at this.

So why is my heart pounding?

Because you’re away from home, Evan. You’re alone.

I take in deep breaths through my nose. The train slows, and I get off at my stop. This isn’t Cali. Only the middle of September here and it feels like January back home. I pull my sweater tighter around me as I lug my massive rolling suitcase behind me with my other hand. Setting my GPS, I follow the streets to the most prestigious university in the U.S.

I’m in Perkins Hall. I chose it because it was the exact opposite of any kind of dorm room I’ve ever seen in the western United States. It’s what you imagine when you think of New England and Ivy League. Dark brick, old pillars—even the smell inside of the building screams that it’s been here forever. It’s a drastic change from home. I chose to move here before I knew that I was breaking up with Dallas, but now that I have, it seems completely appropriate.

Starting fresh in all aspects of my life.

I receive my room key and sign off some paperwork with my RA. The hall is strangely quiet—so much different than my experience at East Park my freshman and sophomore year of college, especially on moving day. Those roaming the halls are dressed in nice clothes and tote rolling suitcases behind them instead of the duffels and cardboards boxes undergrads usually lug into the dorms. I think that graduate students realize most of the shit you bring to your dorm room ends up going unused anyway. Too much time is spent studying and partying to need anything more than clothes and a laptop.

My room is on the second floor. I make my way up the stairwell and down the narrow hall to room 212. Unlocking the door, I allow it to swing open only to be incredibly underwhelmed.

The room is about eight feet by twelve feet. There’s a small window at the end with dingy blinds and a bed. Typical dorm, but even smaller than I’m used to, because almost all graduate dorms are for single dwellers.

I roll my suitcase to the middle of the floor and sit on the mattress. I’m pretty good at being alone. Having a hard major during my undergrad meant a whole lot of time spent alone. But I always had my dorm mate to come back to. And then later, when I was a junior and a senior, I always had Britain and Delilah.

There’s that kind of alone, and then there’s this. My heart clenches in my chest. This is going to be a bitch getting used to.

“Damn, you’ve got a way better view than me.”

A tall blonde guy stands in my doorway, leaning up against the wall like he owns the place. His hair is thick and wavy and falls to his chin, and when he looks from the window to me, he smiles warmly. For a blonde, his skin is really tan—he isn’t from around here. He’s also pretty cute.

He holds out a hand. “Sorry. Miles.”

“Hi, Miles, I’m Evan.”

“Trying to meet everyone on the floor right now. Less awkwardness later.”

“Understandable.”

His grin gets bigger. “You’re my neighbor.” He points to the room directly across from me. “What are you studying?”

“Chemical biology.”

“Ah, smart, I see. I’m getting my master’s in English.”

Ugh. Who would get a master’s in English? How pointless. Of course, I don’t say that. I just nod and grin. “Nice.”

“Where are you from?”

“California.”

“What school’d you go to?”

“East Park.”

“Ah, East Park! I heard they have a great porn mag coming off that campus. You wouldn’t happen to be a porn star, would you?”

My breath catches in my throat. Caught, caught, fucking caught. I’ve been on campus for three minutes—how the hell did this—

He busts up laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I mean, not about the porn mag. Did you know about that?”

I exhale out of my mouth and shrug. “Too busy in the lab to be paying attention to anything on campus.”

“Thank God I don’t know that feeling. You headed to the barbeque?”

“The what?”

“The welcome barbeque for Perkins hall.”

“How can there be a barbeque? It’s fifty degrees out.”

“I know, I know. I’m from San Diego. Not used to this weather either.” He pushes his hand through his hair and looks around. “Alright, now that I’ve probably scared you to death with talk of porn and fifty-degree barbeques…” he points behind him. “I’m gonna head out. Nice to meet you, Evan.”

I hold my hand up. “You too. See you around.”

Miles leaves, and I stare at the empty doorway like it’s on fire. If today weren’t strange and jarring enough, Miles just topped the cake.

As I close my door, my phone buzzes once in my pocket. I pull it out to see a message from Britain.

Really hope that you’ve started working out. AA (haha, like alcoholics anonymous) re-evaulated our time at Cambridge and decided we needed an extra week, so we’ll be there in eight days.

Eight days.

Eight days?

I have orientation for my program tomorrow. I start lab work next week. More likely than not, my professors will grind us to the bone from the very start to make sure we’re up for the challenge. On top of it, I’m starting my internship for research on the first of October.

And now the EPE crew is flying out in a week.

I have to keep reminding myself that it’s just one more issue. One more issue and I’m done forever.

I pull my sweater tighter around me. Somehow, that thought doesn’t make me feel better. But I text Britain back anyway:

Bring it.

Britain

This should be the start of a joke: How many erotic models can you fit into an airplane?

There is one good thing about this situation: no “assistants” from AA are on our flight. They will be flying into Boston tomorrow.

Of course, I end up in the window seat right next to Jaime.

“I swear Jaime, if you don’t stop asking me….”

“Brit, I need you to let me do this. For my personal growth.”

“I will not let you dry hump my best friend for your personal growth. I will never let you dry hump my best friend for your personal growth. You know why, Jaime?”

“Brit.”

“Because you’re annoying as fuck, that’s why.”

God, this is all too familiar.

The lady behind me clears her throat, probably in disdain of our conversation.

“Tsk, tsk. I don’t remember you having such a mouth.”

I roll my head from the window to him. He’s pivoted in his seat so that he’s facing me. He’s enjoying this.

“A lot of shit changes in college. Don’t you agree, or are you a drop out?”

My burn doesn’t look like it fazes him. “I graduated, thank you very much. Who gets to model with her?”

“What?”

“Who gets to model with Rylan?”

“I don’t know, okay? And I don’t care. Just not you. You don’t get to model with her because you don’t even want to. You just want to get under my skin.”

A devilish smirk graces his full lips for half a second. He hasn’t shaven in a few days, making him seem so much older than when I saw him before I left for college.

If only he would act older.

“Why do you think I want to get under your skin so badly?”

The fasten seatbelt light blinks on.

“When have you not?”

He chuckles. “Touché.” Finally, he leans back in his seat and shuts his eyes.

I wish I knew his agenda. Unless he doesn’t have one. Unless he’s really here just for the job, for the money, and I have nothing to do with anything.

Only a happy coincidence.

Loud chatter springs from the seats in front of me. Luckily, all of my models get along well enough with each other. That’s the thing I’ve discovered with this magazine. Erotic models don’t have a particular personality. Before I met Evan, before I started conceptualizing what it would be like to create a magazine like EPE, I thought that college-aged erotic models might act the same as high fashion models. Vain and lacking character, maybe with anorexia or a coke addiction. They’d all like to party too.

But that isn’t really the case. The personalities of my models vary because their only similarity is that they’re all (or once were) college students.

Really, that’s all they are. College students. College students confident enough to do just about anything for money desperately needed.

I can’t wait until the plane takes off and I can pop my earbuds in—hopefully painting a clear picture to Jaime that I’d rather not catch up. When Chloe passes me to get to her seat, she smiles. I smile back. Chloe is the petite model who posed with Adam during the audition. Shiny, black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a spatter of freckles. Imagine Lucy Lu to the power of cute. That’s Chloe.

We only hired her and Jaime off of the audition. Eight models I’m taking to Boston, plus Evan. Hopefully I can conjure a powerful enough chemistry between all of them.

My phone starts buzzing. I look down to see the person I least expected.

Dallas.

Good grief. He’s probably one of those lame ex-boyfriends, calling his ex-girlfriend’s best friend in attempt to win sympathy points by bitching about how much he’s still in love with her.

Still—I really like Dallas, even if he and Evan couldn’t get their act together enough to long-distance date.

I ignore the call, but then I text him back:

Boarding for Boston. Call you when I land.

Hopefully that’s good enough.

“Has Cameron mentioned me at all?” Jaime asks.

I do my best not to look irritated with him. “Nope, not since you got into that trouble right after I graduated high school.”

He thinks for a moment. “What trouble?”

“The bar fight.”

“Ah. I was hanging with the wrong crowd.”

“You’re lucky my father liked you enough to never fire you.” When he doesn’t respond, I continue. “You always hung with the wrong crowd, including my brother. Babes, booze, fist fights… nothing was ever enough for you. At least my brother got out of it.”

“And I didn’t?” I can tell he’s losing his cool edge.

“I don’t know, did you?”

He doesn’t answer. “So that’s all Cameron said about me?”

I think for a moment, and glance over at him. With the straightest face I can manage, I say, “He also told me I wasn’t allowed to fuck you.”

He bites back his lower lip in attempt to hide his smile, and then shakes his head. “Hearing dirty words from your mouth is going to take some time getting used to.”

“Just wait until you’re on set with me. It gets real bad. Cunts and cocksuckers everywhere.”

In the midst of taking a sip of water, Jaime chokes.

“Kidding. Sort of. Just cocksucker, mainly.”

“God, kid, who did you inherit this mouth from?”

“Probably you. You know, in the midst of all the torment.”

“Okay, okay, I got it. I was an asshole to you.”

“Understatement.”

Our plane moves into the runway queue.

“Well, I’m done, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Not really.”

“How can I prove it?”

I stare at him hard. He looks sincere, but it’s impossible to tell with Jaime. “You can apologize for everything you’ve ever done to me that made me feel insecure about myself.”

“Jesus, Brit. How the hell am I supposed to remember?”

“Figure it out,” I say gruffly.

He says nothing else to me as we take off, thank God. When we can finally use electronics, I pop in my earbuds and crank up the volume on M83, shutting my eyes for almost the entire flight.

* * *

I don’t even know where I’m going.

I’m essentially alone in chaperoning my crew. I’m doing the rounding up, the screaming at everyone to stop fucking around, and the dealing with maps and directions.

Lucky for us, AA isn’t being stingy. I’m expecting to have an army of booked cabs waiting for us, but instead, we have a shuttle.

Our own shuttle.

A man in a nice suit waits by baggage claim with a sign that says East Park Exposed.

“Fabulous,” he exclaims when he sees the wave of us approaching him. “Hurry up and grab your things; the carousel is already running. We have a time frame.”

“Time frame? But we aren’t even shooting until Wednesday.”

The man hands me an iPad. A bloody iPad. “I was instructed to give this to you.”

“I—what? This?”

“Yes. Instructions and schedules have been uploaded and will continue to be updated if situations change.”

“Brit!” Delilah hollers. She points to a bag on the carousel.

“Yeah that’s mine. Grab it for me, will you?” I turn back to our chauffeur. “Where are we headed tonight?”

He nods to the iPad. “All on the device, I assure you.”

I poorly hide my sigh of frustration.

My team consists of eight models: Delilah, Adam, Jaime, Miguel, Patrick, Chloe, Jessica, and Ella. I have to remember to make sure they’re following me like kindergarteners on a field trip so I know that no one is being left behind. And it’s not like I’m over-exaggerating. I’ve almost lost Adam and Miguel twice. Go figure.

Our shuttle is the shiniest vehicle in the passenger loading area. Black and waxed to perfection, I feel like I’m half-way famous. The windows are even tinted.

While the boys act like gentlemen for once in their lives to load the luggage into the back, I take a seat right behind the driver and power up the iPad.

The only thing installed is Amora Acquisition’s own application. It opens by itself. Hello, Britain. You have two new videos.

Creepy.

I plug my headphones into the iPad before opening the videos. Delilah plops down next to me, which is a surprise, considering she’s been hanging onto Adam the whole trip.

“Hey, bestie,” she says, snuggling up to me.

“What’s up?”

“The boys are being obnoxious and you look a bit lonely.”

Lonely? Do I feel lonely? I feel like a mother trying to round up a bunch of ADHD chickens, but that’s a bit different.

“So Jaime…” Delilah whispers to me right as he walks past us. “Is that like, the Jaime?”

I groan in response.

“Holy shit, Brit! Why didn’t you want to hire him? If that hottie took the time and effort to torment me all throughout my childhood, I’d be his personal slave.”

“Dear God, Delilah,” I mutter. “Have some dignity.”

“I do have dignity,” she argues. “Tons of it. I’m just saying—a boy doesn’t spend his entire life tormenting a pretty, adorably dorkalicious girl like you unless he’s secretly in love.”

I glance behind us. I catch Jaime staring, and he looks away.

“You don’t understand.” I turn back to Delilah. “Jaime was a hellion of a teenager. I was one of his many playthings.”

“Yeah, yeah, Brit. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Let’s not talk about this.” I hand her an ear bud. “Want to watch a super-secret and important video with me?”

“Do I ever.” She pops the ear bud in and leans in close. I play the video.

A.J. Harrison—the A.J. Harrison—slowly fates into the picture. He’s in some old-fashioned study. I feel like I’m watching Masterpiece Theatre.

“Hello, Miss McCulley. I hope that you and your team had a safe flight.” He seems sincere, albeit a bit monotone. “You should be on the shuttle and on your way to our location.”

“It’s like he’s watching us or something,” Delilah says in a hushed voice, like she’s in awe of the technology.

“He’s probably just a good guesser,” I say.

“Your shoot location will serve as your lodging for the next two weeks. Hired staff will be staying with you for up-keeping and catering.”

“Up-keeping?” Delilah asks.

“Picking up our shit.”

A.J. continues. “You will have two break days available to you—Saturday and Wednesday. On these days, please relay to your team that they are more than welcome to tour the area on their own. However, on days where we shoot, all team members should be through hair and makeup by ten in the morning and remain on the premise, even those who won’t be participating in sessions.” A.J. gives a soft smile. “It is best for us to have back-up models at the ready. Also, this experience is an opportunity for all of your models to learn.”

“He talks like he’s some sort of model coach or something. Like he’s Tyra Banks.”

I nod. “It’s all part of the show. He wants me to trust him.”

“I will be continuing to send you videos and messages on your device throughout the course of your next two weeks here. Hopefully they will assist you in managing your shoots. All of my assistants will be entirely at your disposal.” He then lowers his voice. “I have to be clear with you though—none of my Amora employees are used to taking orders from a woman as young and—vivacious as yourself.”

“Vivacious?” Delilah giggles.

“He’s mistaking my mouthiness for high-spiritedness.”

“So please, be patient with them, and also remember that you hold a valuable artistic eye. I hope the collaboration goes smoothly between all of you.

“I’ve attached a second video that may help you imagine what I have in store for this launch issue. Please let me know if you have any questions. Although I cannot make it out to Boston, I hope that we can effectively communicate our ideas and creativity with the use of this device over the next two weeks. Please let me know tomorrow how the process is going.”

I close out the video and open up the other one, playing it as the shuttle takes off from the airport.

The video starts off with the text “East Park Conceptualizations, Fall 2013” scrawled across a black background. Sketches slowly fade in and out. A montage.

I hold my breath as I soak in the ethereal sketches of models on a white background.

“It’s kind of weird to see ‘conceptualized’ boobs,” Delilah says, and it’s my turn to snicker.

But soon, we aren’t tossing jokes back and forth. Because the sketches start getting… well, fetishy, to say the least.

“What the fuck,” I murmur.

Bondage and gore and dark shit that AA must think is reminiscent of Halloween. There are even some orgies thrown in the mix.

And hardcore scenes. Some AA artist has sketched out several hardcore scenes for inspiration.

“Are we…” Delilah gasps. “Are we supposed to be fucking each other this issue?”

I frown, shaking my head. “That was never in the agreement.”

The last sketch fades out, and I shudder.

“That was weird,” says Delilah.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I still have control.”

I hope I do. I hope I still have control.

* * *

“Holy shit,” says Adam when we roll up to our shooting location.

I’m too busy with my mouth hanging open to concur.

We’re in the driveway of what looks to be a multi-story, old estate. Red bricks tile the walls and ivy grows around the windows. Pillars line the front entrance, one stamped with a historic building plaque.

“I already feel the nightmares coming on,” says Jessica, my token blonde, skinny model. She sneers in disgust.

For anyone to have disgust for this building is an outright crime. Moss creeps over the static water in the fountain. Curtains are thrown over all of the French-paned windows.

This place is photographer’s gold.

“Welcome to Veda Manor,” says our chauffeur. “This historic building used to be the home of the late Arthur Veda, a wealthy banker in the nineteenth century.”

To my utter surprise, no one speaks a word while the chauffeur continues.

“It was rumored that he and his beautiful wife participated in many unspeakable acts of desire with couples of similar… tendencies. You will find that these fetishes were engrained into their marriage so deeply that the building’s architecture caters directly to their habits.”

“Fuck yeah, sex swings, baby.” Adam thrusts his hips forward.

I roll my eyes. “Handle him, please,” I tell Delilah. She simply sighs and looks over at Adam impatiently.

I’m sure the Veda’s extracurricular activities are the reason why AA chose this house for the Halloween shoot. It’s the perfect mesh of creepy, taboo, and sexy.

A young redheaded woman wearing a black dress emerges from the front door. “Hello, everyone!” she says brightly, and then looks around in question. “Britain McCulley?”

I raise my hand. “Present.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jaime smirking at me.

“Welcome!” she holds out her hand. As she walks forward, I take it. “My name is Elizabeth and I am head of the staff at Veda Manor. We will be taking good care of you for the next two weeks. Shall I show you your rooms?”

She waits for me to nod before ushering us inside Veda Manor. The sound of our rolling suitcases is like a stampede.

Immediately, it’s like I’ve walked into another world. Although the sun is just starting to set, it feels like midnight. Shades are drawn everywhere, and the walls are all illuminated with the glow of soft, warm lanterns. They are deep crimson, bordered and finished with oak. A Victorian staircase wraps around the cylinder entryway. A massive crystal chandelier hangs from the room’s core. Of course, the whole place isn’t really spooksville. It’s not like the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland where cobwebs and dust are added for effect. Everything is spotless, all chrome, crystal, and bronze shining.

I look around at my models, their mouths agape as they stare at our surroundings.

“This is the foyer, and upstairs are your rooms. You should each have your own. I will leave you to it to explore the place by yourselves. Let me know if you have any questions.”

It’s easy for me to lug my suitcase up the stairs because I’m not a diva and I don’t over-pack, but some of the girls are having a hell of a time carrying their stuff. Hell, the guys are too. “What did y’all pack?” I cry. “Rocks?”

“Dildos,” Jessica responds. Some of the boys guffaw.

The second floor is the girls’ floor (not like it matters—everyone has seen each other naked anyway). My room is placed right in the middle of Delilah and Chloe. I know because a bronze plaque with my name engraved onto it is slid into the tag holder on the door. That’s some fancy shit right there.

Even Evan has her own room. Not like she’s going to be able to stay at the manor at all during the next two weeks. I talked to her last night, and she said that even though she’s only been in school for two weeks, she has homework up the ass and will probably to leave to go back to Cambridge right after her shoots.

Speaking of Evan…

I grab my phone from my back pocket and text her before entering my room:

You’ve gotta see the place we’re shooting/staying at. Can’t wait to see you tonight!

I tuck my phone in my pocket and open the door to my room.

I shouldn’t have expected anything less than a bedframe of polished wood and a thick, ruffled canopy. The linens are obviously new—straight out of an insanely expensive department store like Anthropologie. I’ve got to say, while it’s too girlie for my everyday tastes, vacation-Britain is saying hell yes to this bit of extravagance.

There’s a huge fireplace and mantle next to a door that must lead to the bathroom. I check out the vintage tile and the footed ceramic bathtub, realizing I share the space with Chloe. She peeks her head in from the other side, her eyes bugging. She points to the tub. “I will definitely be soaking in that all night.” She grins at me.

“Go for it,” I say as she swings back into her room.

I walk over to my bed and fling myself onto it. Ugh. I don’t understand how flying can be so exhausting when I’ve been sitting all day.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out.

Evan: I simultaneously miss you and want to murder my lab instructor. It’s a strange feeling. I can’t wait either.

I text back: Apparently the staff is supposed to wait on our every whim. Maybe I can have someone go on a vodka run.

Evan: Sounds divine. See you in a few hours.

As soon as I set my phone down, the iPad chimes. No rest for the weary.

This time, the message is from Elizabeth. Please tell your team that dinner will be ready in one hour.

I send a mass text letting everyone know, wondering if I can get a quick nap in before dinner is ready. I kick off my shoes and rest my head on my huge plush pillow, my eyes losing focus until my vision suddenly snaps back again.

I’m staring at a painting.

Not a family portrait, either, or some cute painting of a pond and ducks. Nothing that you’d normally assume would be in an old manor from the 19th century.

I hop out of bed and whip out my phone again, snapping a photo of the portrait and sending it to Evan. Here’s a taste of how nuts this place is.

The portrait is of a young woman in an elegant ball gown. Her hair is wild, and the ball gown is pulled down so that her voluptuous breasts are spilling out. She sits on a wooden chair with a dress hiked up to her hips, a man in trousers and suspenders—probably a peasants uniform at the time—with his head between her legs. The woman looks like she’s mid-orgasm.

Evan: What the actual fuck.

Me: Inorite?

Evan: I have GOT to get myself over there.

Me: Yes. STAT.

I have a really strong feeling that this isn’t going to be the weirdest picture I find in the manor.

* * *

I’ve never had a dinner in my life like the one I am having tonight.

First of all, there are name tags by everyone’s plate. I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve ever had an assigned seat was at a crappy wedding when the bride and groom wanted everyone to have no fun and forced us to sit next to total strangers.

Secondly, all of us are drinking from crystal goblets and fine china. I don’t know WHOSE crystal goblets and fine china—if they’ve been purchased for us by AA, rented from the catering company, or property of the Manor itself (the latter would be creepy). There are two turkeys, piles of rosemary potatoes, and vegetable platters. There are also skinny versions, from vegan options to gluten-free options. Catering for models must be such a pain in the ass.

We’re all sitting down and halfway through our delectable meal when Evan enters the dining hall.

The room, like it is fine tuned to dramatics, drops silent, and Evan says, “What is this? Are we at fucking Hogwarts or something?”

Suddenly, all of the awkward tension has evaporated. Some of the guys give Evan a standing ovation (including Jaime. Of course he would). And Evan smiles sweetly, strutting to my end of the table. She wears a long-sleeved, loose dress that drops to her thigh. It shimmers black and red in the light of the candles.

She takes a seat next to me, and I mutter, “You just had to make an entrance, didn’t you?”

“Duh,” she replies. “Ok, I’m about to eat a horse. Point me to the vegan shit.”

Half-way through dinner, one of the staff members hands everyone at the table a schedule for tomorrow. The AA assistants are taking a red-eye tonight and will be in Boston tomorrow morning, and that’s when we’ll start to shoot. Even though I’m completely capable of photographing without them, but whatever.

“So we have no idea what the shoots will consist of until tomorrow?” Evan asks.

I turn the volume all of the way down on the iPad and show Evan the creepy sketch video beneath the table. By the end of it, she’s horrified.

“Wrangle your emotions, dude,” I mutter. “People are starting to look at you funny.”

“We can’t do that shit! I’m not going to actually fuck anybody!” she hisses.

“Take a chill-pill, okay? Hopefully these are concept images and EPE isn’t actually going hardcore.”

“And all that weird bondage stuff?”

“Evan.” I take her face between my hands and force her to look at me. “I promise you, I am going to do my best to make this shoot as classy as I possibly can… given the circumstances. Think of your student-professor shoots with Dallas. I’ll go that route.”

Evan winces.

“For real? You need to get over him. Like now. Aren’t there decent looking guys at Harvard?”

Evan rolls her eyes.

My phone starts buzzing on my lap. I look down.

Dallas.

Speak of the devil. I forgot to call him back. Whoops.

“I gotta take this,” I say, standing up.

“Who is it?” Evan asks, but I don’t respond. Of course I don’t respond, because if I told her, she’d be right over my shoulder, listening to my every word.

I duck into a nearby hallway and put the phone to my ear, “Whattup.”

“Britain. You didn’t call me back.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s been kind of a circus trying to direct everyone. All the guys are dipshits, you know? You were the only one who wasn’t a special snowflake.”

“Whip them into shape. I believe in you,” he says.

I smile. Damn him and Evan for breaking up.

“Listen,” he says. “I called you earlier because I had just gotten off the phone with A.J. Harrison.”

And then he tells me his news.

“Britain? You there?”

I finally gather myself just enough to respond.

“No fucking way.”

Chapter Five

Evan

Britain wants to take a few sample shots of me to see how the lighting is in the manor. Also, it gives us both a chance to explore the place.

She’s been acting strange since she got off her call. She told me it was just an AA assistant letting her know their flight was on time so far, but I have a really hard time believing her.

Whatever it was, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“How’s your underwear?” she asks as we duck out of dinner early and make our way up the stairs.

“Black lace and matching. Come on, Brit. I always wear nice underwear every time I’m doing anything for EPE.”

I’m about to mention that I know she likes to pull stunts on me like when she made Dallas and I shoot in the back of her car, but even thinking about it sparks way too many emotions.

Walking through the second floor hallway, I see my name on one of the doors. Too bad I won’t actually have time to use my room. I’d love to spend time in this weird place simply for the sake of curiosity.

“Whoa, whoa!” Britain says, stopping me and turning toward a portrait on the wall. She starts giggling like a school girl. “Apparently I was too distracted to see this when I came up earlier.”

I feel bile rise in my throat. “Oh my god, is that—bestiality?”

“That is way too weird for my tastes.”

“You think?” I hiss, a shiver running down my spine. A Halloween launch issue and now this—EPE is getting a bit too fetishy under the reigns of Amora Acquisitions.

Thank God I am ducking out now.

We make our way to the third floor, trying our best to not stop at any more creepy photos. The chandeliers above give off just enough light to allow us to see where we’re going but not enough to relieve us of all the creepy, shadowy corners.

I moan and shake out my hands.

“Dude, chill out,” Britain hisses, but even she is whispering, like she’s afraid some ghoul is going to overhear us.

Britain breaks the eerie silence by telling me about EPE’s newest male model, Jaime, and how he’s from her past.

“Wait. Jaime. The Jaime?”

“God,” she says. “You and Delilah have really good memories.”

“Oh my God, Brit.” I place both of my hands on her shoulders to stop her. “Screw with him!”

She looks at me like I’m from Mars. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I sigh, thinking of a way to explain. Britain’s the kind of girl that never toyed with power. She simply demanded it—at least, for as long as I’ve known her. I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes, trying to think of everything Britain told me about Jaime. “This is the guy that embarrassed the shit out of you when he tried to kiss you in front of everyone at that party…”

“Because he wanted to prove to an entire group of people that I had never been kissed before….”

“And if you rejected him, the hottest guy in town, then everyone would know that you were afraid of men, yada yada, okay okay, I remember this now.” I push my finger against her chest. “You need to hit on him.”

She gapes at me. “Excuse me?”

“Once you show that he no longer has control over timid little Britain, he’ll back off.”

“Unless he takes the bait the wrong way!”

I shrug. “Then you have a sexy affair. So what? You’re the one who told me all those fantasies.”

“Shh!”

I laugh because no one is on this level to hear us. It’s funny to see something actually get to brazen, ballsy Britain.

This guy must have had a serious effect on her.

A small wrought-iron staircase leads up to the fourth floor. “How big is this place?” I ask, changing the subject.

Britain only shrugs as our feet clink against the wobbly metal. “Have no idea. Haven’t been up this far.”

“Great.”

“You’re such a pussy.”

“Shut up.”

Above us is a trap door. Have we reached the attic already? Britain pushes up and the door gives in with a loud groan.

“Wow, it’s dark up here.”

“Maybe we should go back,” I suggest.

“Not in your life. There’s a switch on the floor right next to my hand… here we go.”

Two seconds later, she says, “What the fuck?”

I’m pretty sure what the fuck is going to be the phrase of the week.

Britain steps up into the room, and I follow her.

It looks like we’ve stepped into a lounge from the twenties.

A lounge from the twenties with some serious kink attributes.

There’s a sleek bar, some cocktail tables, a stage, and a piano. There are also cages that line the walls, big enough for people.

“What the—″

“Fuck,” I finish.

Hanging from two steel beams at the center of the dance floor are long strands of crimson silk. They remind me of the support used in aerial yoga.

“This is… wow…” Britain removes the lens cap to the camera hanging around her neck and snaps a few photos. She looks through them. “We’ll need better light, but this is definitely where I’ll be shooting tomorrow.”

“What about me?” I ask, feeling nervous for a reason I can’t place my thumb on.

The glint in Britain’s eye is unsettling. “Ever climb silk before?”

* * *

After a good hour of attempting to climb the silk scarves in my underwear (and lots of rope burn), Britain finally lets me go for the night. I take the train back to Cambridge, shivering the entire way. I exhale deeply into my coat.

This cold is going to take some getting used to. And it’s still September.

In the hallway, I catch Miles wiggling his door handle and cursing.

“That’s what happens when you’re out late and you’re supposed to be studying Shakespeare or some shit,” I tell him. “Your room turns on you and makes you sleep out in the hallway for the night.”

“Hardy har,” he says when he sees that it’s me. “Maybe you should speak for yourself.”

“I was at my job,” I say as he struggles a bit more.

“And I was at a reading.”

“Oooh, a reading. Sounds important.”

He finally gives up on the door, his shoulders sagging. “Do you always give your new neighbors shit?”

I smirk, gripping his doorknob, twisting, and shoving the door forward. “Only when they can’t figure out how to work a lock.”

He sighs in relief. “Okay, okay. Tease me all you want. As long as you stick around your dorm often enough to help me when I’m too stupid to figure out how to get into my own room.”

I grin. “Don’t count on it.”

“Can you stick around enough for me to grow the balls to ask you out on a date?”

I laugh in surprise.

“Well?” He leans against the open door frame, his brown eyes caught on my own. “What do you say?”

I bite my lip. It’s not like Miles isn’t my type. Any guy that’s cute, can make me laugh, and is smart enough to get into Harvard definitely has my attention. “I just… I’m really busy.”

“I know this amazing Italian place in Boston. Has the best gnocchi you will ever taste in your life.”

“I’m also vegan. I’m busy and I’m vegan.”

He looks offended. “What is wrong with you?”

I laugh. “I’m sorry! I’m really not trying to blow you off. It’s just that I have a pretty demanding job and school is already overloading me. I have two exams in the next week.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Or you think I’m annoying.”

I keep a straight face. “That too.”

He dramatically grasps onto his door frame and swings into his room. “Goodnight, Evan.”

“Wait!” I shuffle with my keys and open my door, racing to the tin can on the windowsill that holds my pens. I grab a Sharpie and hurry back to Miles, taking his wrist and sloppily writing my number on it. “Call me Friday, and I’ll let you know if my schedule has cleared up.”

* * *

I have to get back into my modeling groove. I haven’t modeled for an issue in months. Normally, I try not to think about school when I’m working, even if I’m super behind on homework or have a test coming up.

Grad school—at Harvard—that’s a bit different.

The team from Amora arrived early this morning, and apparently haven’t taken a break (or a nap) since they got off the plane. They hustle around in their black clothes with their iPads, mapping out the entire house for possible shoot locations and bossing their tech and work team around.

I got to Veda Manor at seven this morning and was the third girl into hair and makeup. Everyone—even the models, act uptight and on crack. Maybe because if anyone steps out of line at all, Britain takes to barking at them. She’s already screamed at Adam and Jaime at least four times this morning.

When I’m done with my hair, Britain approaches me, a tall, dark, and incredibly handsome man following right behind her.

“Rylan, I’d like you to meet…” her eyes grow wide and she points to my lap. “What is that?”

I shift my legs awkwardly beneath the weight of my textbook. “Dude, I’m not an undergrad anymore. If I don’t keep up on my work—″

“I’m teasing you, chill.” She gestures to the man behind her. “This is Miguel, one of our models I hired after the last issue. I’ll have him shoot with you today, and if the images turn out, I’ll continue to pair you up.”

Miguel smiles at me, and I nod. “Hi.”

“He took some amazing photos with Delilah during his audition back in June.” She lowers her voice to a whisper and says, “But I think he has even more potential with you,” and winks at me.

“Cool,” I say. “Well, just so you know, Miguel, I like to improvise.”

“I can work with that,” he replies before Britain ushers him into hair and makeup.

The safest, most controlled space that I can find to work is one of the cages. I spread out my textbooks and binder around me as I take notes on the Danielli-Davson model and how I will be incorporating it into my research project. I’m dressed only in a robe and lingerie and can feel the eyes of others as they pass. I try my damnedest to tune them out and work furiously until the chandelier extinguishes and the set lights are turned on. It’s almost go-time.

Britain ushers me over and introduces me to a woman named Melissa and a man named Dwain. Apparently these two are A.J.’s primary assistants and will be closely keeping tabs on the shoots.

I can tell from Britain’s face that this isn’t what she wants—to be directed. I can also predict that she’ll be giving them lip the second either of them open their mouths to give her instruction.

Luckily, I’m allowed to wear a pair of black leather driving gloves for the shoot. I nearly shredded my hands last night when I practiced climbing. As I put on the gloves, Melissa studies me and says, “She should be naked.”

Britain sneers. “Topless.”

“It won’t be edgy enough.”

Britain’s eyes roll to the ceiling as she tries to keep her patience. I know it isn’t working. I want to laugh so badly. She looks at me and says, “Take your top off and climb the damn scarves.”

I do as she says, feeling everyone’s eyes on my tits. It’s the same every shoot. You’d think that the shock of boobs would get old after a while for erotic magazine workers, but it doesn’t. Not even for Britain, because Britain is totally a voyeur, even if she won’t admit it.

I took an aerial yoga class a few years ago when initially trying to get in shape to start modeling. It was a lot of fun until I no longer had time for the bi-weekly, hour-long session.

“Quiet on set,” Britain yells as I place my hands on the scarfs.

“This is going to look less spooky and more circusy,” I say.

“Wait!” one of the makeup artists yells. He runs forward and hands me a sequined masquerade mask.

“Yes!” Britain says. “Perfect. Put that on.”

I do so. The mask might be a good idea. I know every model is in the room right now, sitting on the edges of the cages. The mask will help me focus.

I begin to climb.

I’m so thankful that Britain fought to make this a topless shoot. My legs are slipping all over the place climbing these scarves, and this moment would be extremely X-rated if I didn’t have panties on. Finally, I find my place, wrap my arms in the scarves, and hold myself up long enough for Britain to take a few shots.

“I need a boy—hurry!”

The first one to come running is Jaime, and Britain rolls her eyes. “Hold her up, please, while we get the scarves wrapped around her legs.”

By the look on Britain’s face, I half-expect Jaime to hold me up by my ass, but he doesn’t. With very gentle hands, he pushes against my lower back and my right thigh, keeping me airborne as Delilah pushes over a ladder and climbs it.

“You know, we have a team to help you with the technical stuff,” Dwain says dryly.

“Yeah, but my models know what I want,” Britain snaps back, and this time, I can’t hold in my laughter. We exchange glances and she grins.

Delilah, who took the aerial yoga class with me, wraps the scarfs at the perfect angle around my thighs. With each leg in a separate scarf, I hold myself up like I’m on a swing, wrapping my wrists in the crimson, silky fabric.

“Perfect. Hold it. Open your mouth a bit. There we go.”

I unravel my wrists and lean backward until I’m upside-down. If it weren’t for the terror in the back of my mind that I could fall any moment, I’d feel like I was underwater. Weightless, without a care in the world.

“Careful,” Britain says. “Miguel, get beneath her. Hold her hands and kiss her.

Miguel walks into the light and stops right below me. I’m about seven feet off the ground, the perfect height for him to reach up and take both of my hands. He doesn’t look nervous at all.

“I might fall,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. Good God, this boy has amazing bedroom eyes. “I won’t let you fall,” he says.

I relax my legs enough to release the tension of the scarves, and Miguel holds me up. He cranes his neck as I drop down, and our lips meet.

A purely physical surge of lust rushes through me as his tongue teases my lips. He’s a good kisser, that’s for sure. After a few seconds of bliss, I lose my balance and become untangled from the scarfs. I cry out, but Miguel is paying attention. He catches me awkwardly, lowering me to the ground.

“Awesome shots,” Britain says. “I think we have enough good ones to wrap this up and move to the next set.”

“Really?” Dwain says. I watch as Britain’s back stiffens. “That was all great and everything—real cute—but this is a Halloween issue.”

“And your point?” Britain asks through gritted teeth.

“My point is this shoot needs to be darker. Maybe he should strangle her with the scarf.”

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. Hell, my eyes nearly pop out of my head. As if on instinct, Miguel gently touches my neck.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Britain cries. “Even if we did go the BDSM route, I would be more subtle about it than having my models strangle each other. I don’t care if they’re naked, I don’t care if it is a Halloween-themed issue. I am still making art.” Britain doesn’t even give Dwain a second to argue. “Okay, people. Onto the next shoot before I lose my cool. Let’s see how many naked models we can fit into a cage. I hope you all love each other very much.”

When Britain has her back turned, Dwain and Melissa shoot each other dark looks. While Dwain types furiously on his iPad, Melissa walks out of the room with her phone to her ear.

I don’t think they like Britain’s attitude—not at all. And I have a feeling they’ll be butting heads for the next two weeks.

Miguel pulls me from my string of thought. “You think we got a good shot?” he says, brushing my arm with his knuckle.

I nod. “I think we got several.”

He smiles at me. Holy shit, the boy has dimples. “We’ll work good together,” he says.

“I think we will too.” If Britain keeps me with Miguel and our shoots get hotter, maybe he’ll help me keep my mind off my ex, but not so much to make me lose focus on school.

And that’s exactly what I need.

* * *

“I don’t know,” Britain says. She’s connected her camera wirelessly to her iPad and is looking through raw shots.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I ask.

“The shots of you alone are gorgeous. Really elegant. I could totally see this as a full spread. But once Miguel is in the picture, it falls a bit static.”

“Well, it’s not like you were making us fake anything passionate,” I argue. “It was a kiss.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “But even something like this with you and Dallas would be way livelier.”

Impatience boils up in my chest. “You’re going to need to get over Dallas, Brit. Okay? I got over him, and now it’s your turn.”

“Alright, alright. Jeez. All I’m saying is that I might have you stick to solo shoots for the rest of this issue.”

“That’s fine.” I cross my arms.

“What? You mad at me?”

“No… do what you have to do.”

“You’re totally mad at me.”

I shoot her a quit-while-you’re-ahead look. She turns away from me and yells, “We ready to go?”

“You need me anymore today?” I ask. “I really have to study.”

“Get out of here,” she says as a bunch of models, giggling and elbowing each other, start piling into one of the weird cages lining the wall. “And thanks, Evan. For doing this one last time.”

“I’d do anything for you,” I tell her. “Even be choked out with a scarf, if you want to go that kinky.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so dedicated.”

Britain

“Let’s get naked.”

This is obviously not the first time I’ve said this on a set, but I don’t think I’ve ever said it to so many models at once. After trying lingerie with the cage, I figured everyone crammed together in their underwear looked trashy, so I decided to go with the more artsy look of nudity.

I’m a classy girl.

Now I have eight models standing in front of me without an inch of clothing on. I’ve never seen so much dick in my life.

Interestingly enough, more guys are trying to hide their private parts than the girls. Delilah stands with her hands on her hips, waiting for my instructions.

I try not to stare at Jaime as I direct. Not because I’ve never seen him naked before. I caught him once on our parent’s couch railing some chick when my mom and dad were on vacation. I’m pretty sure I screamed, oh, gross, and ran upstairs, only to hear my brother doing the same thing in his bedroom.

“Okay, okay, crawl in the cage.”

I don’t have them pair off with each other until they’re all crammed inside, which, I admit, was a mistake. Now they have to pair off with the model of the opposite gender nearest to them. Delilah is bitching because Adam didn’t even try to reach her. Chloe looks uncomfortable—there are only girls around her.

“Don’t be homophobic,” I suggest. “Work with who’s around you. You don’t have to be raunchy. Subtly sexy is good too.”

“We’re naked,” says Adam. “You can’t be subtle when you’re naked.”

“Lose the boner, Adam. Yes, you can.”

The guys bust up laughing. Delilah scowls.

“Don’t assume we’re homophobes just because we’re straight, Britain,” Jaime says.

I cross my arms, my dangling camera resting between my elbows. I narrow my eyes at him. I know for a fact that he was extremely homophobic when he was in high school. Then again, he was in football, and that was almost a decade ago. “Alright, prove me wrong then.”

Jessica’s jaw drops to the floor and she gapes at Jaime. The rest of the boys say, “Ohh!” In unison. Except for Jaime. He keeps his eyes glued on me, as if he’s ready and waiting to except the challenge.

And then Adam slinks up from behind him and wraps his arms around Jaime’s bare waist. Jessica squeals in delight, and Delilah cries, “Damnit, damnit, I can’t see! Why do I have to be stuck all the way on the other side of the cage? Motherfucker!”

I gulp, arousal building between my thighs. “T-touché. Now pose like you mean it. In fact, everyone. Your theme isn’t that hard.”

“A giant classy orgy in a cage,” says Adam. He rests his chin on Jaime’s shoulder, his hands sliding down Jaime’s thighs. And Jaime acts entirely in his element, leaning back into Adam, staring hard at me.

Waiting for my response.

I think of what Evan told me—about not giving into embarrassment. It’s what Jaime always wants from me.

“Yeah,” I say, dropping my tone to boredom. “I can almost believe you two want to fuck each other. Almost.”

Jaime cracks a wry, dangerous smile as Adam leans into him and licks slowly up his neck. I’m quick enough to catch it with the camera, the thrum between my legs building.

“Better,” I say monotonously.

Ella gets shoved in front next to the boys, which is perfect because she has crazy-amazing, frizzy sex hair and flawless breasts. She leans her body so her back is against Adam and Jaime. Delilah presses against her, faux kissing her as she cups one of Ella’s perfect breasts.

Holy fuck. I’ve shot a million times—I thought I would be immune to this by now. Why am I so turned on?

“Okay.” I clear my throat. “Okay, keep the energy up.” I prep for the next shot, deeply distracted by the way Adam’s fingers claw the taught skin of Jaime’s abs.

* * *

After the shoot, I hurry to my room, slam the door behind me, and press my back against it.

I’ve never wanted a partner more in my life than I do now. Because if I had one I would be able to ravage him instead of standing here all torn up from sexual frustration.

UGH.

I hurry to my suitcase and dig through my clothes before I find the small, purple vibrator I packed. I stare at it, wondering if I can relax enough for a couple minutes of sexual abandon before dinner, when a knock sounds at my door.

I growl. “Just leave me alone!” I bury the vibrator and stomp back to the door, swinging it open to no one.

Just a note folded up on the ground on top of a pair of panties.

I look to my left and to my right, but the hallway is empty. I hear voices downstairs—everyone must already be changed and making their way to dinner. I stoop to pick up the note and slink back into my room, unfolding it.

The hand-writing is obviously a boy’s.

Here is the first apology:

There was that one time I snuck into your drawers and found your sexiest pair of panties and hung them on the fence.

I’m pretty sure you burned them that night in the fire pit by the pool.

So here are your replacements.

Don’t worry—they’re new. I bought them in town this morning.

And if I ever get to see you in them, I might just give you a clue as to why I enjoyed tormenting you every chance that I could.

What a narcissistic asshat.

At least he wasn’t lying about the underwear. They still have the Victoria’s Secret tag on them. They’re black lace and cheeky cut—actually pretty cute. And they’re my size.

“Damn him,” I mutter, closing the door.

I have two choices: ignore his cockiness, accept his apologies, and move on.

Or I can take Evan’s advice and play along—exactly what Jaime isn’t expecting out of sweet little Britain.

I gather myself and make my way toward the dining hall, holding my iPad in my hand. A.J. just emailed me, and he has a message that he wants me to convey to the other models. A message that is going to make Evan pissed.

Good thing she won’t be around tonight to hear it.

Surprisingly, after the smoking hot shoot that took up most of the day, the atmosphere in the dining room is very relaxed. The table is full tonight, the models congregating to one side and the staff from AA at the far end. I get the head seat, just like last night. While it’s kind of cool that everyone here expects me to be the boss, I’m also intimidated by the thought of running a show this big.

I won’t ever admit that to anyone, though.

I try to catch Jaime’s eye, but he and Adam are talking football scores dramatically, like they weren’t being sensual with each other earlier today.

Maybe I should shoot bi-curious orgies more often.

Picking my crystal glass off the table, I carefully clink my fork against it until I have everyone’s attention. Finally, the table falls into a hush right as the Veda staff begin serving the food.

“I have a message straight from Mr. Harrison that he wants me to read to all of you.”

Whispers break out across the table.

“To the wonderful crew of East Park Exposed:

I am very thankful to have acquired such an excellent magazine, and an even more excellent team.”

“We are excellenter. The most excellentest,” I hear Patrick mutter. Ella giggles.

I shoot him an evil eye and continue. “I am incredibly impressed with the sample images that Miss McCulley has sent me thus far. I hope all of you will continue to be comfortable as I ask her to increase the heat even further during your remaining time in Boston.”

This part didn’t strike me before when I read it, but it does now. What does he mean by increase the heat? Wasn’t today’s shoot scorching enough for him?

A couple of the models have similar reactions. I hear a few gasps, along with a “damn.”

“I am sending a surprise to Boston for all of you. I didn’t think that this would even be possible to attain, so I am delighted to announce…”

When I tell the models A.J.’s surprise, Delilah’s eyes bug out of her head. The rest of the girls squeal simultaneously, and Adam raises a fist into the air. “This is a testosterone victory for sure.”

Jessica scoffs. “Pulease. The girls are going to be the ones who get to climb all over—″

“But then the girls are going to be outshined by his greatness and be all butthurt.”

“Guys, guys! Settle down!” I cry, trying to get everyone’s attention back.

“Britain!” I turn to Delilah, whose expression is grave. “Does Evan know?”

I convey her the look, the one that tells her Evan doesn’t know, and that’s when Delilah says, “Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck.”

Chapter Six

Evan

My ass is sore from sitting in one of those dreadful library chairs for five hours. My eyes are sticking to my eyelids. All I want to do is fall onto my lumpy twin-sized bed and shut my eyes.

But I don’t.

Instead, I order two hot chocolates from an on-campus coffee shop and make my way back to Perkins Hall. I don’t go to my room, but knock on the one across from my own.

Miles opens the door, looking just as delirious as I feel. He rubs at his eyes and grins. “I definitely was not expecting it to be you.”

“Who were you expecting?” I ask slyly. “Some sexy creative writer you met in your feminist theory class?”

He points a finger at me. “No, but only because I have yet to meet a sexy creative writer.”

“I’m sure biologists are more frumpy.”

“Guess again,” he says, opening the door wide enough for me to enter. I sit on his bed, handing him a hot chocolate. “Your room is as dull and empty as mine. That’s surprising.”

He shrugs. “After a while of dorm rooms, you don’t really care enough. Or have time to go and buy stuff…”

“And decorate,” I finish. “The curse of a grad student.” I take a sip of my soy hot chocolate. It’s perfect.

“So, what’s the occasion?” he asks. “Hot chocolate at ten at night—should I be looking forward to this from now on?”

“I’ve had a long day, and the studying has only begun,” I say. “So this is about as close as I can get to taking you up on that date.”

His eyes brighten. “Well then, if I can consider this a date, then I am one lucky guy.

I grin stupidly and cheers him, taking another gulp of hot chocolate.

“You know, we can always utilize the minimal space there is between us,” he tells me. “I have to finish an entire Faulkner novel by tomorrow, so I’m going to be up all night anyway. You want to study over here? I hear homework dates are the best.”

My stomach twists involuntarily. Yes, I know from experience that homework dates are the best. The wound of homework dates might be too fresh to return to. Been there, done that. Didn’t end too pleasantly.

But Miles looks so hopeful, so excited. Like I’ll break his heart if I say no.

“Okay, okay,” I say, giving in. “Let me go grab my books.”

“Sweet!” he says, grabbing his beat up novel from the windowsill.

As I head back to my room to grab my books, I get a text from Britain:

I don’t care if you have to pull an all-nighter to catch up with homework, but we’re having a party at the manor on Saturday. You’ve got to come, no excuses.

I text her back: Okay, but you owe me.

Britain: It will be worth it, trust me.

* * *

Studying with Miles actually helps me get caught up enough so I can go to Britain’s party on Saturday.

And when I say party, I use the term loosely.

I walk into the manor half-expecting the models to have met a billion Boston locals by now and for the house to be jam-packed, but the truth is, none of them have met a soul. I guess Britain wasn’t exaggerating when she said that all of them have been working to the bone.

The girl looks drained. “You’ve missed out on some of the best shoots.”

Adam hands me a glass of wine as we all sit in the parlor, and I thank him with a smile. There’s nothing between me and Adam anymore, well, nothing except for the raw lust that exists when posing naked with someone. I’m sure if I ever had to shoot with Adam, I’d be wildly turned on again.

But that’s just part of the job.

“Tell me all about them,” I say in earnest.

The models are alone tonight. The Veda staff took the day off, and the AA assistants are at some all-expenses-paid company dinner in town.

Good to know that we’re not part of the company.

But it’s nice here. Mellower than I thought it would be, but nice none-the-less. All of the models are lounging around the parlor, drinking red wine and gin and diet tonic. They fill me in on what I’ve missed.

“Well,” says Jaime, “first thing that happened after you left was that Britain had us shoot in this kinky-as-fuck cage.” Jaime winks at Britain, and she rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me, missy. You loved that shoot.”

Britain shrugs. “What can I say? It turned out great.” Her face falls. “Well, that one turned out great.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Well, first A.J. cuddles up to me by saying that, at the end of the day, I will always have the power in terms of what I photograph and what ends up in the launch issue.”

“And he lied, obviously,” I say, taking a fat gulp of wine. I’m about ready to feel a buzz.

“Obviously,” Britain sneers. “He told me to shoot actual penetration.”

I almost spit cabernet all over Britain’s face. Instead, I hold it back and it goes up my nose. When I’m done choking and wiping the tears from my eyes, I cough out, “You’re joking me.”

“I wish I was,” she says smoothly, downing the rest of her wine in one gulp.

“So, what did you do?”

“What do you think? I tried it. I tried on the two models who I knew would be the most comfortable having sex for the camera.”

“Up top!” Adam says, holding up his hand. He and Delilah high-five.

I shake my head, turning back to Britain. “And?”

“And it turned out… well, raunchy, cheesy, and pornographic. I hated the images. A.J., on the other hand, loved them. He loved them so much that he openly reveled in his own brilliance over the phone to me, and told me that this has to be the direction we take the magazine in.”

My mouth drops open. “What a dickwad!”

“Right?” Britain cries, pouring herself another whopping glass of wine from the bottle on the end table.

“That’s because A.J. appreciated my O-face and you don’t,” Adam says.

“It’s nothing to be proud of,” Britain counters. “A girl’s orgasm is an achievement. A guy’s is an accident.”

“But what if we all say no?” I ask. “I mean, no offense to all you handsome gentlemen sitting in this room, but I’ll give up my advance before I screw my way to stardom for A.J.”

“I can do my best so you guys don’t actually have to fuck, as long as it looks like you’re fucking and the image is taboo enough to get a rise out of him.”

“Well, that’s just great.” I follow Britain’s lead and down my wine too.

“But how are we going to do it?” says a soft voice in the corner. I turn to look, and it’s the new girl, Chloe. She sits on the floor in a pastel cotton dress, her back up against a china cabinet. I don’t think I could ever in my life imagine a sweet-looking girl like Chloe in a raunchy photo shoot. “Get comfortable with each other, I mean. I have to admit, that cage shoot was really hard for me.”

“That’s what he said,” Jessica coughs.

“Oh, snap!” says Jaime.

“So you’re not comfortable faux-fucking is what you’re trying to say,” Britain says, eliciting giggles from most of the models.

Chloe blushes. “I guess not.”

Britain turns to me. “How’d you get comfortable, Evan?”

As I gape at her, Patrick says, “Her name’s Evan? I thought her name was Rylan.”

Adam slaps him upside the head.

“Uhh… I had a huge crush on my partner?” I say. My insecurities are coming out a little, but I know it could be a lot worse. I think I’m getting over him.

I think I’m finally getting over him.

Britain waves her hand in dismissal. “Eh, that’s not going to work. We can’t force attraction like that.”

“Says who?” asks Jessica. She’s lounging on the couch, Patrick’s head in her lap. Suddenly, she sits up straight, like she just thought of something. “Why don’t we just work on getting comfortable with each other in our time off? Like now?”

Britain throws her hands up. “I don’t want to be watching an orgy, okay?”

“Not an orgy, God,” Jessica continues. “Let’s like, make a game out of it. We’ll have all of us start out from a different end of the house and turn off all the lights. Then we’ll make our way to the other end of the house. If we bump into anyone …” she shrugs. “We have to make out with them.”

There are a few gasps and a couple hums of intrigue. Britain’s eyes narrow, as though she is thinking about it.

“There are two catches,” Jessica says. “The first is that, even if you run into someone of the same sex, you have to kiss them.”

The only models that look around uncomfortably are Chloe and Patrick.

“Second catch is that, Britain, you have to play.”

Britain goes white. I crack up, clapping my hands together. As Britain shakes her head back and forth quickly, I say, “Come on Britain, you heard the rules.”

“Yeah, Brit,” says Delilah.

“Yeah, Brit,” says Jaime coolly.

Her eyes flicker toward Jaime, and she gets paler. Come on, Brit. Don’t show him embarrassment.

“Let’s take a few shots to get this party started?” Adam suggests, and everyone’s down.

“Just so I’m clear,” Ella points to Adam and Delilah, “are you two on again or off? I don’t want to feel guilty…”

“If you’re lucky enough to get to me?” Adam grins.

“Not you, dumbass. Delilah.”

“Off again,” Delilah says with a wink.

My heart beats quickly in my chest. I haven’t kissed anybody off-camera since Dallas.

I need this.

* * *

I’ve chosen the corner of the hallway of the third floor as the starting point, and I have to make it all the way into the dining room in the dark.

Maybe this idea was too good, considering it will not only get us comfortable with each other, but also get us in the mood for Halloween. And I really don’t feel like being scared shitless right now.

The doorbell rings.

“Who the fuck’s that?” Ella yells.

“I’ll answer it,” says Britain from somewhere downstairs. After a few moments of waiting, Britain yells, “Crisis averted. We’re back in business.”

And then I get a text from Jessica. All it says is GO.

I start making my way through the hall, wondering if we thought this through. What if one of us trips down the stairs in the dark and breaks their neck?

I guess it’s too late for that.

Before I even make it out of the third floor hallway, I run into Ella. She must have started in a bedroom somewhere on this floor.

“Well, hello there,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I have to admit, Ella is pretty damn hot. Dark, smooth skin, and big eyes. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t slightly aroused when she kissed me—maybe just from the taboo element of it all. When her tongue slips between my lips, I can’t help but giggle. She pulls away, her mouth trailing to my neck, and whispers, “Come on, Rylan. Show me what you got.”

And then she licks up my neck.

She actually licks my neck.

I’m too shocked to respond and too turned on to even breathe. Damn, this girl sure is taking this exercise seriously.

Finally, Ella pulls away and says, “Gotta run, ciao!” And makes her way down the hall.

And I’m left standing like an idiot, dumbfounded. What the fuck? Am I so much of a prude to have a kiss from a girl affect me like I’m a teenage boy who just figured out what a boner is?

I shake myself out of it, wipe my neck, and keep moving.

When I reach the stairs, they are empty. Thank God, because after knowing how my body responds to secret make-out sessions, I’d probably end up losing balance and falling to my death. I reach the second floor. Two people are at it in the corner (like, really at it), so I quietly sneak by and continue on my way. Reaching the next staircase, I slip down it, holding onto the banister for dear life. I’m all the way to the foyer—the dining room is just around the corner. I was able to dodge almost everyone.

When a wave of relief courses through me, I realize that I really need to loosen up before I’m stuck faking an orgy with a bunch of people I still get weirded out over kissing.

A strong hand wraps around my wrist.

The air leaves my lungs as I’m pushed up against the wall. I can barely see the silhouette of the man towering over me—at first I think its Adam, or Miguel. But then he grasps my hips and slides me upward, pushing himself between my legs, and suddenly this is all too familiar.

“What the hell?” I whisper.

“Miss me?” Dallas asks.

My mouth hangs open. There’s nothing I can say or do that will clarify this situation. Millions of questions race through my mind, but I can’t seem to spit any of them out. Why is he here? How did he know I was coming?

Am I dreaming?

Instead—instead—I stupidly wrap my legs around him and say, “I think you’re supposed to kiss me now.”

“I know.”

When his lips press against mine, they’re cold. He was the one who rang the doorbell. But that’s as far as my thought process goes, because his tongue is coaxing my bottom lip, and my chest breaks in half.

Oh God, I missed him.

He keeps me pinned to the wall with his body until I start to slip. He slides his hand from from my thighs to my ass, and pressure builds between my legs. I bite down on his lip, wanting more of him, wanting all of him at once, but he refuses me. He pulls back, pressing a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth, again on my cheek, and behind my ear. Then he buries his face in the crook of my neck and inhales, and I shut my eyes and hold him tight.

Dallas just stands there and holds me as I cling to him with my arms and legs. The moment seems infinite as he breathes in all of me, and suddenly this isn’t just a kiss.

This is a whole lot more than just a kiss.

Britain

This is the story how a little photographer walked blindly through a house with a bunch of models and ended up kissing almost all of them.

First was Delilah. She said, “Making out with you would be kind of weird,” and I said, “Ditto,” so she chastely kissed me on the lips and went about her merry way.

Second was Ella. That girl made me question my sexuality, if I wasn’t already.

And then comes Miguel.

I run my fingers down the front of his thin t-shirt, memorizing the feel of his abs. I get to look at stomachs and asses and flesh all the time, but I never get to touch.

That’s all about to end.

He leans down and presses his lips against mine. They’re soft and warm and taste like peppermint. I open my mouth, and his tongue brushes softly against mine.

And then he pulls away.

He squeezes my wrist once, like the signal letting me know we’re done.

So anticlimactic.

I hurry up the stairs, cheating with my phone light. I want to make it to the opposite end of the house as quickly as possible because I really don’t care to swap spit with anyone else.

Up ahead, I see another glow of a cellphone and hear hushed whispers. Getting closer, I realize that it’s Adam and Jaime.

“Hey!” I hiss, and both of them turn toward me in the blue glow of the cellphone. “What the hell are you guys doing? You’re supposed to be kissing. I thought that’d be easy for the two of you.”

I stop in front of them as both the boys turn to look at each other. Adam raises his eyebrow, and when he looks at me again, he has a wicked glint in his eye.

“What?” I ask.

“The rules never specified what would happen if three people ran into each other.”

When I get what he’s inferring, a jolt of wild energy races through my abdomen. He cocks his head sideways at the nearest bedroom door, as if suggesting it.

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

Jaime links his fingers with mine. He used to do that all of the time when I was a teenager because he knew it would get to me. Now it feels good, alluring, intimate, but instinctively I pull back my hand.

“Hold on,” I breathe. “Don’t try to distract from the situation. You guys still have to kiss.”

They shrug simultaneously. Adam leans in toward Jaime and their lips meet. Both of their eyes are closed when the kiss deepens. Jaime rests his hand on Adam’s hip and I hold my breath, feeling wetness pool between my legs. I realize now that I’ve been holding my phone up with the screen on in order to see everything they’re doing to each other.

I wouldn’t dream of Jaime ever being this comfortable with men in the past. He always came off as ignorant. But maybe I’m the one not giving him a flying chance.

Maybe I’m the ignorant one.

When they pull away, Adam’s teeth drag across Jaime’s bottom lip before they break apart.

“Satisfied?” Adam asks. He holds his phone up to my face. I’m sure I look like a kindergartner at a candy store right now, my eyes wide and glassy, my mouth hanging open.

I swallow. “Well… that was…”

I don’t even have time to protest. Not like I would want to, because this is so happening.

Oh my God, this is so happening.

Adam pushes the nearest door open with his back. I don’t know whose room this is, nor do I care. Jaime steps behind me and places his hands on my waist, guiding me into the room and pushing me gently onto the bed.

I flip over right as Adam crawls on top of me.

There’s just enough light in the room for me to make out Jaime’s expression as he sits back on the bed and watches me. He’s stoic as he studies me, like he’s waiting for me react to Adam. Probably waiting for me to push him off.

Hot, erotic energy ripples through me, and suddenly I want more than ever to play into his game—to show him that I’m not the same person just as much as he isn’t.

Adam starts at my neck. He nibbles and bites softly at my skin, licking gently at my earlobe. “Just let me know if you want to stop.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” I say loud enough for Jaime to hear. Adam’s teeth scrape against my earlobe and my eyes flutter shut. He removes my glasses and presses his lips to mine.

I moan into Adam’s mouth loudly. His lips leave mine and he pushes open my shirt, nibbling at the swell of my breast. The pressure is building so quickly between my legs that it’s almost painful. “What are you going to do to me?” I gasp.

“I’m thanking you for being such an amazing photographer,” Adam says, amusement in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up and keep thanking me,” I respond, and he chuckles. I try to find Jaime again, realizing that he’s much closer, crawling up to the other side of me, a wild lust dancing in his eyes.

Adam pushes his hand past the fabric of my bra, the pad of his thumb brushing against my hard nipple. I gasp, keeping my eyes trained on Jaime. He whispers my name in bewilderment, in awe maybe. When Adam captures my mouth with his again, Jaime pushes up the hem of my shirt and nips at the flesh above my hipbone, sucking lightly. I whimper into Adam’s mouth as Jaime’s tongue traces my hipbone.

This can’t be real.

Adam pulls away and looks down at Jaime. He whispers into my ear. “Jaime told me of your history. Is this weird for you?”

What I can’t tell him is that this was part of a fantasy I built up inside my teenage brain over and over. But in the fantasy, the next thing that Jaime would do is to start unbuttoning my pants.

But he doesn’t. Instead, Adam rolls away and Jaime crawls on top of me. His lips hover inches above mine, like he’s just waiting for me to push him off. Instead, I press both my palms against his firm chest, sliding them down his t-shirt until the fabric ends. I trace the skin right above the waist of his belt, and listen to his intake of breath.

Oh my God, Evan was so right. My element of surprise gives him no power at all.

“Oh, come on, Jaime,” I murmur. “Haven’t you been dying to know all these years what it feels like to kiss me?”

My own words set a fire right in my core.

He smirks.

The bastard has the audacity to smirk.

Leaning in slowly, he opens his mouth, tongue darting out to lick my lip. My body erupts in a shiver that I try to suppress, but I know he felt it, because he slows down his pace even further. When our lips fully meet, his tongue glides gently against mine. He tastes like cinnamon and wine, and he smells…

Oh, God, he smells exactly the same as I remember.

I know I’m melting into a puddle beneath him, so I capture his lower lip, sucking on it, scraping my teeth against him as he pulls away to stare at me.

I bite down on my lip to hide my breathing, but my heaving chest is giving me away.

At some point during mine and Jaime’s kiss, Adam rolled off the bed and slipped out the door. We’re alone.

“Did you get my apology?” he asks throatily.

“Which one?” I ask.

His expression shifts to confusion.

“Oh, I just assumed this kiss was a makeup for the one you botched all those years ago. You know, when you tried to embarrass me.”

His eyes light up. “That’s right. Because you hadn’t been kissed before.”

“Too bad,” I roll my hips into his, rocking right into his erection. He stiffens and I clamp my legs around him. I push myself up on my elbows and whisper into his ear, “You weren’t serious.”

I push him off of me and roll out of the bed, nearly falling on my face from being so weak in the knees. I strut out of the room as gracefully as possible, sliding my glasses on in the process.

“Britain, wait.”

I don’t look back. I open the door and slip out, hurrying to the floor below me. When I’m sure no one is around, I press myself against the wall and slide down it, hugging my knees and exhaling slowly.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

That was the strangest, sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me. And no, I’m far from a virgin. I’ve had amazing, kinky sex before.

But none of that has even come close to what just happened with Adam and Jaime. Jaime. That kiss.

I clench my legs together and shut my eyes, mentally thrown back to a vivid teenage fantasy of mine.

I groan and stand, finding the nearest bathroom and splashing water on my face. When I’ve finally cooled down enough to function, I head downstairs to all of the commotion.

I know it’s because of Dallas.

He arrived right as we were starting the game, and I quickly fed him what we were up to. I wonder if Evan has seen him yet.

As I walk down the stairs, I run my fingers through my hair in attempt to get it to lay flat. Everyone’s crowded around Dallas in the foyer. Adam has his arm around him, completely invested in his arrival. But Jaime’s eyes are trained on me.

And he’s not the only one.

Evan’s staring at me with loathing. I try to silently communicate to her that I’m sorry (even though I’m not really), but she’s not having it. When I reach the foyer, she pulls me into the dining room.

“What the hell is your problem, not telling me that Dallas was flying into fucking Boston?”

I stand up tall. “I have a lot of problems, but not telling you about Dallas isn’t one of them.”

Her eyes widen as she studies me. “Were you just sexed up?”

“I... what? No… no I was not sexed up.”

“You’re lying! Oh my god, Brit. Who was the lucky guy? Girl? Was it Jaime? Oh my God, it was Jaime. That’s so juicy.”

I snap my fingers. “Focus. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Dallas, but we need him and I didn’t want you arguing with me about why he shouldn’t shoot.”

“You know he flew all the way from Costa Rica for this, to shoot porn, right? He shouldn’t be here, Britain. He should be researching and doing what he’s going to school for.”

I grab her by the shoulder. “I love you to death, and I know you’re smart, but right now you’re acting like the dumbest person on the planet.”

She narrows her eyes and cocks her head.

“You really think he flew all the way from Costa Rica to shoot for EPE?”

She rolls her eyes. “Bullshit.”

“Tell me to my face that you guys didn’t kiss when you saw him.”

“Yeah, because it was part of the game.”

“What-the-fuck-ever.”

“And who cares if Dallas and I kissed? That’s century-old news. No one gives a shit anymore, Brit.” She pokes me in the arm. “I want to know,” she pokes me again, “Who sexed you up?”

I lean in close to her face and say, “I don’t kiss and tell,” and then spin on my heel and walk out of the room.

“You suck!” she cries after me.

Luckily for me, Evan is taking this whole Dallas thing a lot lighter than I thought she was going to. Of course, I haven’t told her the biggest factor yet.

I got the message from A.J. this morning.

Rylan’s photos with Miguel bored me to tears.

You put her with Whitley and you make it work.

Chapter Seven

Evan

Britain and I have been in a texting war all night. Slightly drunk from the booze and high from my kiss with Dallas, I’m in a fiery mood. There’s no doubt in my mind that Britain can tell.

Me: I don’t give two flying fucks what that asshat says—I am NOT shooting with Dallas. You hear me? NO. I don’t think I can spell it out clearlier.

Britain: Clearlier? Really? I don’t think I should have let you go home by yourself.

Me: I took a cab CHILL.

Me: Just put me with another guy tomorrow. I can prove myself, I promise.

Britain: I can probably pull off giving you one more chance, but that’s it. He’s on my back.

Someone knocks on my door and I nearly fall off my bed in surprise. When I open it, Miles is standing there with a stack of books and a huge grin on his face.

“Dude, it’s like, midnight.”

“Tell me you weren’t going to do homework tonight and I’ll leave.” He glances over my shoulder and at my bed, which is covered in notes.

I roll my eyes and walk back to my bed. He follows me in and makes himself comfortable.

“And what if I wanted to study alone tonight?” I say, pointing at my yoga pants.

He raises his eyebrows. “Are those supposed to scare me off or something?”

“Perhaps.”

He falls back onto my bed and scoots against the wall. In his hand is a Margaret Atwood novel. “You’re going to have to try a little harder. Maybe not wear anything.” His eyes get wide. “I’m terrified of naked women.”

I cock my head as I sit back on the bed. “I didn’t know that you batted for the other team.”

“I was propositioning you. I didn’t realize that my acting was so good.”

“I know. And don’t kid yourself, your acting is terrible.”

His eyes sparkle. He scoots his foot—his bare foot—over until it brushes against mine. This is nice—this innocuous flirting. This getting-to-know-a-guy without him seeing me naked or dry-humping me first.

About fifteen minutes into our silent studying, there’s another knock on the door.

Miles looks at me and raises his hands into the air. “I didn’t send out party invitations, promise.”

I get up and creep to the door, cracking it open. My eyes look up, meeting fierce blue ones.

My heart stops.

Dallas’s hand is pressed to the doorframe, and he leans against it. I study him. I guess I didn’t realize earlier that he flew to Boston in his professional teaching attire, for some reason. His shirt matches his eyes, the top button popped to reveal just enough skin to make my mouth water. It’s a little wrinkled—I wonder if that was from my doing when he had me up against the wall. He even sports the slacks and dress shoes.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

His eyebrows furrow. I’m assuming that wasn’t the first question he was expecting out of my mouth. “I told my Costa Rica team I was heading to Boston on business. I wanted to dress the part.”

“Why are you here?” Now, that’s the question I know he was expecting.

“Because A.J. called me and asked nicely.”

“I mean, why are you here, at my room, right now? It’s one in the morning. How did you even get my dorm number?”

“Britain.”

“Fucking Britain.”

The corners of his mouth perk up. His eyes haven’t left mine once, not even to glance down at my ratty sweats.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

I bite my lip. Time to get down to the nitty gritty. “I’m kind of busy,” I say, letting the door fall open. Dallas’s eyes immediately dart to Miles. I see the shift in them, even though he’s trying to keep cool.

Miles doesn’t blink. He grins and waves his hand. “Hi, there.”

“We’re studying,” I tell Dallas. “How about we talk in the hallway?”

I don’t wait for Dallas’s response. Instead, I slip out of the room and shut the door behind me, leaving Miles alone.

I cross my arms and lean against the wall. It’s my posture to stay closed-off to him, to let him know that coming to my dorm in the middle of the night doesn’t affect me one bit.

Not one bit.

“So you’re here just because A.J. called you and asked nicely?” I press sternly, my eyes locked on his. I’m trying to keep my concentration away from how beautiful they are, and how much I miss him.

He runs his fingers through his dark hair and leans against the opposite wall, right next to Miles’s dorm. “Not just because he asked nicely. Because he’s paying me—a lot. Just like you.”

My face falls. I wasn’t expecting that. “You’re here because he bribed you?”

“You’re here because he bribed you.”

“Actually, I go to school here, Dallas.” Now I’m mad, and I can’t even place my finger on the reason why. I sigh, rubbing my eyes. “What do you want?”

“I—I just wanted to talk to you. To make things—okay between us.”

Things won’t be okay between us. It’s not even that we had a nasty breakup. But the most polite breakup in the world still stings like a bitch. Everyone knows that.

“They’re okay.”

“Promise?”

I shrug. “That doesn’t mean I want to shoot with you.”

His face grows somber. “I get that. But if it comes down to it—″

“It won’t.”

“But if it does, I’m not going to try and… I don’t know… seduce you or anything.”

“Oh, thanks, I was worried,” I say dryly, even though I can’t lie to myself. I’m a bit disappointed.

What the hell is wrong with you, Evan?

“I mean it. Everything on set is just working.”

I open my mouth to try and come up with some snappy, smart thing to say, but it just hangs open dumbly. I shut it and say, “Okay.”

He nods. “Cool, so I’ll see you tomorrow? And tell your boyfriend I’m sorry I interrupted you guys.”

I narrow my eyes. “Please, I’ve been here for two weeks. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever,” Dallas says. “I know how those studying situations work out with you, remember?”

He tries to play off his comment coolly, like he’s brushing off our whole relationship to try and prove to me he’s over me.

But Dallas is rarely a mystery to me, or so I’d like to think. And I’d also like to think that I can hear the note of dejection in his voice.

* * *

“Who was that?” asks Miles when I sit back down.

There’s no point in hiding it. “My ex,” I say with indifference.

“I see,” he says flatly. “What did he want?”

“He was stopping by to give me a work update.”

“You work with him?”

“I do.”

“And he couldn’t just call you?”

“What is this, twenty questions?”

Without looking up from Atwood, he raises his eyebrow. “It’s a game I’m really good at.”

I grin, stretching my foot forward to brush against his again.

* * *

I’ve never been uncomfortable in a photo shoot before.

Not even when the set is busy. Not even last semester when Dallas and I had our naughty school girl theme we had to stick to.

This feeling is entirely new to me.

Maybe that’s because I know he is standing right outside the bright lighting in the dark, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed, watching me.

Watching us.

That might be another reason for me being uncomfortable. Britain stuck me with two guys—Jaime and Adam, of all people—for this erotic dungeon shoot.

Oh yeah—we’re also in a dungeon. Talk about cold and creepy and so not sexy.

The dungeon is beneath the first floor next to a small theatre used for who-knows-what kind of performances. Neither are open during tourist season. They stay locked up, and for good reason. They’re creepy as fuck. Historians say that the Vedas hosted mass BDSM parties in the dungeon and theatre. There are straps and chains and boards and weird, terrifying-looking devices everywhere.

“I really hope all of this has been sanitized,” I mutter.

Behind me, Jaime chuckles.

The three of us are on a stone bench. I have an iron chain wrapped around me, erotically covering my most erogenous parts. Jaime’s sitting behind me and Adam in front. Jaime’s torso is pressed against my spine and my legs are wrapped around Adam, like we’re about to take part in a three-way.

In any other situation, I’d probably be able to have a good time with this—especially with guys like Adam and Jaime. We’d whisper some jokes back and forth to each other, snort and chuckle and piss Britain off a bit, and then have a great shoot.

But all models who don’t have other important obligations (which is pretty much just me) are required to sit and watch all of the other photo shoots, like they’ll learn from them or something. Dallas is already made up with fake cuts and bruises for his sexy bondage shoot with Ella, sitting against the wall of the dungeon with the other models.

Watching us.

“You look in pain, Rylan,” Britain says as she takes a few test shots.

“I thought that was the whole point of the shoot.”

“You don’t look like you’re in sexy pain. You look like you’re in constipated pain.”

Adam busts up laughing right in my face and I smack him on the cheek.

“This is so stupid,” I mutter, trying to blow off my embarrassment. “Where the hell did Britain even get the idea for a shoot like this?”

I watch as Adam shoots Jaime a wicked look. Something happened—something they’re not telling me.

“Ugh, this fucking lens. Something is wrong with this lens.” Britain steps off of the box and hurries to her camera bag in the corner of the dungeon.

“Tell me,” I say to Adam with as much threat as I can muster.

“Let’s just say…” I can tell he’s thinking of his words carefully. “We inspired Britain. During the little game we played last night.”

Jaime’s lips brush against my ear. “Both of us.”

My mouth drops. “You’re shitting me.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Adam says, even though his amused smile continues to toy with his lips. “We only made out with her a little bit.”

“Simultaneously,” Jaime adds.

“Holy fuck!” I hiss.

“Calm down, calm down, she’ll know we told you,” Adam says when Britain returns.

“Okay.” Britain stands on her box and adjusts the new lens. “Can we get through this quickly without me incessantly barking at the three of you?”

If Britain can handle two guys at once, then I can too.

Even if Dallas is watching me.

I don’t know what goes through me. Jaime tugs on the chain wrapped around me, forcing my back to arch, and suddenly I feel vibrant and hypersexual.

I lean my head back against Jaime’s chest, squeezing my thighs against Adam’s hips. “You aren’t half-bad looking, you know?”

“Are you coming onto me, Evan Cosette?” Adam asks in wicked amusement.

“Bite me,” I tell him.

He scoots backward enough to lie on his stomach in front of me, spreads my legs, and bites me hard right above my hip bone.

The cry that escapes my mouth surprises even myself. I arch back into Jaime and shut my eyes, hearing Britain exclaim, “Perfect!”

Warmth swells in the apex of my thighs, and I know I’m getting most turned on by Dallas watching, praying he’s growing jealous.

Just like I had to be jealous with Kayden hanging all over him in the rain.

After our shoot, Britain uses the dungeon for Ella’s and Dallas’s set. As they get into position, Dallas’s eyes continue to dart in my direction. Britain hums and haws over how she wants the two of them to pose, but Dallas isn’t paying attention.

I guess it doesn’t help that I’m standing just outside the light without wearing my robe, dressed only in my favorite pair of light blue panties that I often wear around set. I have my arms crossed over my bare chest.

Watching him.

Britain wants Ella to go all dominatrix on his ass. Dallas lies stomach down on the ground, wearing nothing other than the leather straps fastened around his body. Ella wears a pair of daring stilettos and black silk panties.

When the shoot starts, I drop my arms and place them on my hips.

Dallas’s eyes flit across my body. Ella steps onto Dallas’s back in a stiletto-clad shoe and his eyes shut in pain.

“Hurt him just a little, Ella. Sorry, Dallas. I hope you don’t mind.”

An AA prop person runs forward and hands Ella a whip. As Ella giggles, all the models who are watching groan or laugh or release a mixture of the two.

“S’fine,” Dallas grunts.

Ella has fun with the shoot. She leans over Dallas and smacks him hard in the ass. I watch as his perfect thigh muscles clench every time, suddenly wishing I was Ella for my sense of pride, and also because whipping Dallas sounds like the best high I’d get all week.

Ella rubs her hand over his ass and down his thigh. Envy grows in me until Dallas opens his eyes and finds mine again, and I clench my legs together.

And then, I swear that he mouths my name, right before Ella’s whip lands with a crack on him again.

Britain

“They aren’t your best shots,” I tell Evan. “But they’re decent, and sexy.”

We sit on my bed in my lavish suite as I look through the photos. She’s still only dressed in her silk robe. She’s silent as I pick a few of my favorites to send to A.J.

Finally, she says, “So Jaime and Adam told me how you were inspired for today’s shoot.”

I stop breathing, looking up at her. They did not. “What did they say?”

She cocks a deviant eyebrow. “How someone enjoyed having two mouths on her a little too much.”

I feel my face flush. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Evan rolls her eyes. “Please. You should be proud of yourself—having two gorgeous male models who want to please you without a camera on them.”

“It wasn’t even… having both of them.” I shudder at the thought of that amazing kiss.

Evan raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms. “It’s Jaime, isn’t it?”

I groan and drop the iPad, falling back onto the bed. “What is wrong with me?”

She giggles. “Well, whatever he did to you, it got you into a super-kinky think mode, which is what A.J. is looking for, correct?”

“Yeah. So?”

“My suggestion?” she says as I sit up. “Keep it up with him.”

The thought of living out my teenage fantasies once again sparks a crazy electric feeling right at my core, and I nearly moan from the thought. “It’s not that simple.”

“I’m not saying that you need to fall in love with the guy,” Evan says, examining her cuticles nonchalantly. “All I’m saying is that you should use him. It’s the least he can do to pay you back after all of those years of teasing and torment.”

I raise my eyebrows. “An apology,” I muse.

The best apology of all.

* * *

I’m not expecting A.J. to call me.

“Not good enough,” he tells me. “Not at all.”

“What?”

“Honestly, Britain, if you refuse to listen to me, then I’m going to have to pull the whole project from you.”

What the fuck? What happened to the artistic license that he promised me? “It was a last minute idea. I thought it would be sexy.”

“Sexy? It was practically cute!” A.J. cries. “Listen, Britain. I like you. I gave you freedom to do what you want because I thought that you’d like to push yourself.”

“I am—″

“You aren’t being edgy enough. My team wants to take EPE to the next level of sexy, but we can’t if you aren’t willing to listen to me. Give me edgy. Give me sex.”

“I—alright.”

“And for the love of God, put Willow and Whitley back together, would you?”

He hangs up on me.

I hold my phone in front of my face and annunciate as slowly as possible, “Fuck. You.”

* * *

I haven’t told Evan yet that she and Dallas have to pose together. I can’t. I need some time to think about what I’m going to tell my models what A.J. expects from the magazine now. I don’t even know how to execute it without everyone fucking each other.

The Veda staff has prepared several platters that they change throughout the day for picking at. Breads, deli meat, nuts, fruit, cheeses. I make myself a sandwich and head back to my room to think more, and when I do, there’s a box of tampons with a note attached to it.

“What the hell,” I murmur, scooping up the note.

I remembered this one last night. Real jackass move on my part.

I laugh into the back of my hand.

I have no sexy innuendo to tack onto the end of this one. Even though vaginas are still awesome.

If you corner me alone tonight, I’ll give you a clue as to why I did it.

Stepping into my room, I eye the pair of black lace panties scrunched up on the end table.

Oh. I’ll find him tonight, alright.

* * *

It’s not too hard to follow Jaime back to his room when he heads in after dinner and drinks.

I’m not wearing anything too special for him. Just my best jeans and a black, low-cut tank top. I switched my glasses out for contacts for the first time on this trip, my hair swept to the side in a braid.

Hopefully, it’s enough to do the trick.

He opens the door a few seconds after I knock, already dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. I can see the ripples of his abs through the fabric.

He looks surprised. “Wow. I really wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I say, sliding between him and the door and strutting into the room.

He scratches his head. “So I guess I owe you a clue now as to why I strung tampons outside your bedroom window.”

I cross my arms and lean back against the bedroom desk. “I believe you do,” I say, keeping a straight face.

He bites down on his full bottom lip, the lip I was biting on yesterday.

“And please, don’t tell me it’s because you had a crush on me.”

He grins. “It’s not that simple. You see, most teenage boys are total dicks.”

“I’m aware.”

“And don’t understand the female body at all.”

“I’m aware of that too.”

“You were thirteen, Britain. You were… pretty, and growing up. All of those boys you brought over to your house to go swimming you flirted like hell with.”

I scoff. “Of course. I liked them, hello.”

“And I was jealous I hadn’t once seen that side of you.”

I open my mouth, but his confession catches me off guard. “You what?”

“So, I took the most feminine thing I could find in your bathroom and I embarrassed you with it.”

My head is reeling. “That is… wow. So misogynistic.”

“Tell me about it.” He rubs his hand over his head as he stares at me. “This isn’t an excuse, but no one ever told me how to treat girls when I was a teenager. I thought I was doing alright.”

I laugh in disbelief, shaking my head.

“And then I had a couple of hard slaps with reality and I learned the truth really damn quick.” He sighs. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Wow, Jaime.” I inhale deeply, tuggineg on the end of my braid. “That took some guts to tell me the truth.”

He sits on the bed, clasping his hands in between his legs. “You really shouldn’t forgive me.”

“Probably not.” I quickly change the subject. “So why did you steal my underwear and hang them on the fence?”

He slowly raises a dark eyebrow. “I’m pretty wrung for confessions at the moment.”

I push myself away from the desk, brushing my fingers along the waistband of my jeans. Slowly, I pop the button and unzip my fly.

His jaw drops.

“I think you made a promise.”

He watches as I slide my jeans past my hips and step out of them, leaving them in a pool on the floor. My heart’s hammering in my chest, but I can’t stop now.

I have to go through with this.

When I reach him, I slide onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. He looks like he’s trying to formulate words, but nothing is leaving that gorgeous mouth of his.

The light of the chandelier catches his eyes, and for the first time, I see how many earthy colors are inside of them.

“Brit, I… I can’t do this.”

I cock my head. That was the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“Cameron would murder me.”

Oh, please.

I don’t say that, exactly, but I know he can read my face. I trace my finger along his soft bottom lip, and he shudders. “Here’s a little lesson in feminism.” He rolls his eyes as if he knows where this is going, but I continue. “I’m twenty-two and completely capable of making my own decisions. I’m also not Cameron’s property. Got it?”

“Brit…”

I trace my finger down the center of his chest, and his eyes flutter shut. “I’m not asking you to fall in love with me, Jaime.” I lean forward, my nose brushing his. “You’ve been at this game for far too long, and I’m finally showing you that two can play.” When his eyes open, I whisper, “So play with me.”

It’s enough. He cups the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to his. It isn’t like the kiss we shared last night. He’s rough and needy, biting my lip, sliding his tongue into my mouth and tasting me over and over.

His hand slides up my shirt and he softly palms my breast. I release a sharp gasp when his thumb rubs against the fabric covering my nipple.

“Oh, God,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Oh, God, this can’t be happening.” He cups both of my breasts and looks down at them. “You know, I’ve fantasized about touching you this way.”

I lean into his ear. “I have some clues for you now.” I press a kiss to his neck. “Clues about my fantasies.”

Just like that, I slide off of him, turning to retrieve my pants. When I’ve slipped them on and buttoned them, he says breathlessly, “I give up, Brit. What do I have to do?”

I study him. He looks so helpless, leaning back on his hands, begging me with his eyes, his erection straining against his jeans. I nearly melt into a puddle at the site of him. I’ve never seen him look so desperate. Not in twenty years.

“You’ll get them with your next apology,” I say, turning on my heel and walking out of his room.

When I’m halfway down the stairs to the second floor, I press my hand to my chest, feeling the thrum of my heart. And then I laugh to myself.

This might be the best idea Evan has ever had.

Chapter Eight

Evan

Every time I return to the house, Britain finds somewhere even more disturbing to shoot.

This time, it’s the gardens.

You wouldn’t normally think gardens to be creepy, now would you? But the Veda gardens are different. First of all, they’re monstrous. The staff here is only hired seasonally, and because the gardens aren’t open to the public, only the outer, visible edges of them are really taken care of.

Once you get in closer to the center of the gardens, they are wild and untamed. The hedges have grown high enough to block out any direct sun in the part of the garden that Britain chose.

Appropriately, the section of the garden we are going to be shooting in has a huge, aged gargoyle statue watching over it. In the center is an old three-tiered fountain, stagnant water covered in algae and moss. The unruly plants are mostly bare, but still make my insides twist when I look at them. The gnarled, spiky vines have dominated the space because they’ve been left unattended for so long.

Dallas and I will be partaking in a gothic-Victorian style shoot. The dress I am wearing mimics the style of the old Victorian dresses, but mine is thinner and entirely made of chiffon, meaning that it’s completely see-through.

And, of course, I am wearing nothing underneath. The only thing that’s keeping me from not being exposed to everyone right now is the jacket I have wrapped around me.

Dallas has it much easier. He is wearing an older rendition of what he wears practically every day—beige pants and a white button-down shirt.

“Is it weird being naked in front of your ex?” I turn. It’s Ella. We’re both watching as Britain and some of the AA crew set up the portion of the garden—throwing cold buckets of water all over the ground to make everything really muddy.

Oh, joy.

“No,” I say honestly. “I’m naked in front of everyone always.”

She shrugs. “I know that. It would still bother me, though.”

Being naked in front of Dallas isn’t the issue. It’s being on top of him while I’m naked that is. While the set is undergoing maintenance, Dallas stands next to the gargoyle with the other male models. He keeps his eyes off me as they talk, casually sipping the coffee in his hand.

“What a douche.”

“What?” says Ella.

“What? Nothing.”

“Is he really a douche or are you just saying that to make yourself feel better?”

“Shut up, Ella.”

She grins and slyly runs her finger over my arm. “We could always make out again and make him jealous.”

I scoff. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, no. They don’t deserve to see that.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, and struts away.

I turn back to the boys, who stand around the gargoyle like they’re the cool kids in town. Dallas’s eyes catch mine. He stoops to pick up something from behind the gargoyle, then, to my surprise, walks toward me.

He hands me a cup of coffee. “Soy latte. I know you like it warm instead of hot so I waited a bit to give it to you.”

I hesitate before taking the coffee. “Umm… thank you.”

He grins. His eyes are focused on me to the point where I have to look away.

“Your makeup looks amazing,” he says. He reaches forward like he’s about to tilt my chin to get a better look, and then retracts his hand. “I’ve never seen it like this before.”

The artist told me today that Britain wanted an all-natural look, which is much unlike all of my other shoots from last semester, being that I was still trying to hide who I really was. My makeup was always super dark and gaudy.

“Your hair, too.”

I roll my eyes.

“What?”

“They didn’t do my hair today. Britain said they didn’t need to for some reason.”

He smiles, and I wish he wouldn’t. Oh, I wish he wouldn’t. “Maybe that’s why I like it so much.”

I don’t say anything back to him. I can’t, really. Instead I just drink my coffee—which is made perfectly—until Britain tells me to take off my jacket and walk over to her.

Dallas grabs my coffee for me and I strip off my jacket, walking to the fountain where Britain and a couple of other crew members stand. They all have buckets.

“Oh, no.”

Britain winces. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, no.”

“Close your eyes and hold your breath. I promise it won’t be too bad.”

“You suck,” I say before holding my breath and shutting my eyes, but the shock of the cold water surprises me, and I end up gasping and choking.

I can hear the rest of the models cheering and whistling as I’m blinking water out of my eyes. Britain pounds me on the back a bit and says, “You got this, champ.”

The dress was see-through before, but now it looks like I’m wearing nothing but Saran-wrap. Britain has me lie down in the mud for a couple of solo shots, wallowing in the grime like I’m some strange dirt-loving Victorian chick.

“This shoot is the strangest thing you’ve made me do,” I say amidst her instructions.

“Shut up and do as I say,” she barks. “Tilt your head to the right. More neck. There.”

Britain’s acting high off of something. Determined and manic. “Okay, you’re naked, but I still want you gothic and sweet all at once. Can you do that?” she says as though her life depends on me nailing this image—an image I know for a fact A.J. won’t even want.

“I get it. Just shoot the damn pictures,” I tell her.

She doesn’t have me posing solo for long. Thank God, because I’m starting to freeze my ass off and could use a little body heat, even if it is Dallas’s.

The second I think this, I want to take it back, because he starts to walk over and I can’t handle this.

I start to shiver.

He looks almost as determined as Britain, which is terrifying. It’s like he’s asking something from me and I have no idea what.

In order not to lose my mind, I keep my eyes off Dallas and turn to Britain. “What do you want us to do?”

For the first time today, she lets her camera fall. “I want the two of you to do what you do best, as insensitive as that sounds. I want you to make chemistry.”

I wince. The other models have stopped talking, all of them staring at us. I know it’s because they’re aware we’ve broken up, which makes this shoot the juiciest thing they’ll see the entire time they’re in Boston.

All Dallas has to do is brush my jaw with his knuckle and his skin is shooting wild electric currents through my body. As we kneel in the cold mud, his eyes keep me scorching hot. He leans into my neck and says, “This is just work. I promise I’m not seducing you.”

His slick tongue rolls up my neck, and my eyes flutter shut in ecstasy.

“Don’t do this to me,” I plead in a whisper so no one else can hear us.

“I have to.” His teeth graze my earlobe.

Our lips meet in a wild frenzy. I open my mouth. He moans into me, and I know he has to be lying. This isn’t just work for him. This isn’t just about the camera.

He pushes me back into the mud and straddles me. I lift my arms over my head and arch my back, his name on my lips.

“We’re just working,” he mutters again, unbuttoning my dress and peeling it off my breasts. He slides off of me and pushes my legs open, situating himself in between them. Then he lowers his head, his mouth catching my nipple. The ache between my legs triples. I’m soaked. My body is desperate for him. His teeth graze my sensitive flesh and I bite back my moan.

Suddenly his lips are trailing lower and lower, over the fabric of my dress, my navel. He places a soft kiss on top of my covered clit.

Oh, fuck him. Fuck him and his fucking fuck work ethic.

He lifts my dress and spreads my legs further, thumbs massaging circles on the inside of my thighs. It’s like he’s getting ready to eat me out, except he lets the cold fabric of my dress pool where my legs meet. Leaning forward, he kisses the inside of my knee, and then moves upward, licking and sucking my flesh. I can’t breathe anymore. I know he smells me—know he’s aware of how much I need him. He bites down hard—maybe to punish me—and my fingers sink down into the dirt as a whimper escapes my throat.

“Again.” I mutter the word so softly that I don’t think he hears me until I feel the pinch of his teeth—closer this time—so close that I know he must be tasting my arousal. I thread my fingers through his hair to pull him closer. I don’t care who is watching—maybe it turns me on even more. This coyness is killing me.

But he doesn’t, because Dallas, at his core, is a tease. Not because it’s in his job description. Because he gets off on it.

Pushing away the fabric of my dress, his tongue swipes right along the edge of my center, just hidden enough so no one can see. And then he pulls away.

“We’re good,” I hear Britain say, and I open my eyes.

Dallas kneels above me, staring at me. Slowly, he licks his bottom lick, then reaches forward and pulls my dress back over my chest, buttoning it.

I do nothing to help him, just watch as he works with each button, his face deadpan.

Doing my best to not act like a spaz, I try and control my breathing. I glance around at the other models. To my surprise, they’re all standing or sitting on stone benches, completely silent and enthralled by us.

“So, folks,” Britain says, turning to the models. “Learn anything today?”

Ella is the first to tear her eyes away from us and speak up. “You really can’t force the chemistry, can you?”

“What do you mean?” Britain asks.

“What she means,” Jaime begins, “Is that it isn’t about acting, or even about modeling. It’s about sex. And romance.”

For the first time ever at a shoot, I flush. I can feel the burn in my cheeks and know my face is turning bright red.

Britain shakes her head. “No, it’s not about sex. It’s about foreplay. Teasing out the foreplay. Elongating it, expanding it, enjoying it.”

A straight-faced Dallas stands and helps me up. I would think he wasn’t affected by the shoot at all if it weren’t for his impossible-to-hide erection. He grabs my coat for me and drapes it around my shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“I have to clean up,” he says, and makes his way toward the house, alone.

* * *

The one good thing about the shoot is that we’ve inspired the other models. So has Britain.

“Think of a story,” she says. “Imagine a romance between you and your partner, and play it out. Like role play.”

The weirdest, albeit still-sexy shoot that takes place today is the vampire shoot with Miguel and Delilah. Not because vampires aren’t seen as sexy, but because of all the fake blood that would instantly be a total turn off for me. Luckily, Delilah isn’t distracted by the gore, and she and Miguel make it work.

I’m only able to catch glimpses of the other shoots as I study in the corner for the rest of the day. Dallas’s presence is not existent—I wonder if he’s hiding out in whatever room he was given. I don’t even know which room he was given.

I decide that attempting to study here, especially as Britain starts the next shoot with Patrick and Jessica powdered up as ethereal ghosts, is next to impossible. So instead, I make my way back to the dorms, hoping that Miles will be in his room. What I really need now is a blissful, chaste distraction of studying, coffee, and maybe a little flirting.

I knock on Miles’s door. He opens it, and I study the book in his hand.

“Thoreau… really? Bleck,” I say before stepping into his room.

“Care for an evening of fine studying?” he asks, sitting on his bed. “Thoreau is the worst to read without a pretty girl right by my side. All of those heavy, illicit sex scenes… so hard to pick through alone.”

“Hardy har,” I say, sitting at his computer chair. But his joke gets me thinking—and not because Thoreau is like, the least sexy read in the history of literature.

“Where are your books?” he asks.

“I… I didn’t bring them. Actually, Miles….” I comb my fingers through my hair nervously. “I’m here to clarify something with you.”

He drops his book. “Sounds intense.”

“You were really joking when you asked if I was a porn star from the East Park magazine, right?”

His eyebrows furrow like he has no idea where I’m going with this. And then he laughs uncomfortably. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Have you been thinking about that all this time? I totally didn’t mean to offend you. I don’t think you’re a slut or anything.”

The word stings like a slap to the face. “Slut. Right.”

“Are you okay, Evan?” The boy does look really concerned. I guess I’m probably not making a whole lot of sense to him.

“Do you think all girls who pose naked are sluts?”

He pauses before answering. He must know it’s a trick question. “Well, maybe not sluts. Maybe they had a rough childhood that lead them to that life. Maybe they have daddy issues.”

I swallow. “You don’t think they’d do it just because they like to?”

“You thinking about posing naked or something, Evan?” He laughs as he tries to pull it off as a joke. “I’d pay money for that magazine.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You’d pay money for a magazine to look at a bunch of girls you deem as sluts in your head?”

He grows defensive, dropping his book and raising his hands. “Hey, now. They’re the ones who are taking their clothes off. Not me. What’s all this about, anyway?”

“Research,” I answer quickly.

“Biology research?”

“I have to go check out some books from the library, but I’ll be back, okay?”

“Umm… sure, Evan.”

But I don’t come back. I won’t ever come back. I never want to speak to Miles again.

I close his door and lean against the hallway wall, clenching my fists and trying not to cry. Slut. Miles thinks I’m a slut.

This is what I will have to deal with for the rest of my life. Any man who finds out that I used to pose for an erotic magazine, I’ll have to deal with wondering if they label me as a little slut in their head.

I take a couple of deep breaths. This isn’t a problem you need to worry about, Evan.

Calming down, I see that something has been placed outside of my door. I walk toward it and bend down, picking up the harvest-themed bouquet, sniffing the bright yellow blossoms and burnt-orange lilies. Attached is a note:

Down in the quad. –D

My heart skips a beat, followed by a flush of anger, and then confusion. Of course my curiosity won’t allow me to ignore it. I’m secretly desperate to know what he wants. I find a cup of water and leave the flowers in my room, and then hurry downstairs.

Dallas sits on a stone park bench outside of the dorm hall. He’s dressed in jeans and a black pea coat, an ash-colored scarf wrapped around his neck.

I’ve never seen him dressed like this. California doesn’t really allow the opportunity for cold-weather clothing. He looks sexy, and intelligent, and everything I know that he is. Everything that makes me want to slowly unravel that scarf and kiss the hollow of his throat.

Instead, I cross my arms and say, “Don’t you have better things to do than wait out in the cold by a Harvard dorm?”

He smiles. The tip of his nose is red. I wonder how long he’s been waiting.

“We’re going,” he says.

“Where?”

“Back to Boston,” he says. “I figure you haven’t actually given yourself the time to see the sites, and I know the city well enough to give you a tour.”

What the hell does he think he’s doing? I can’t go see the sites of Boston with him, my ex. I need to get over him. And I need to try extra hard, especially after today’s shoot. Spending any amount of time with him will just make things more confusing. He knows that.

“I really have to study,” I tell him.

“Do you have a test tomorrow?” he asks.

“Well, no.”

“Then you don’t have to study.”

Heat bubbles in my chest. “Don’t act like you don’t know how this field is. Because you do. You know how hard I am working here. You know what this means to me.”

His expression stays perfectly cool. “I know exactly what this means to you, but considering that in less than a week I am heading back to Costa Rica for the rest of the year, I figured you’d be willing to give me just a little bit of time.”

“Time for what, exactly?”

His eyes grow soft, and I feel as though he’s looking right into me, seeing all of these fiery, confusing feelings that I still have for him.

And then he says, “Time to prove to you how much I still love you.”

Britain

I would give anything to have Evan at dinner with me when A.J. and four more of his cronies walk into the dining room.

At least Evan would mutter, “What the fuck?” But the models’ conversations fall to silence so quickly, it’s like someone dead just walked into the room.

“Good evening!” he says brightly. Too brightly. “I hope all of you are looking forward to me overseeing your performances for the rest of your time in this excellent manor.”

I catch Jaime’s gaze. His eyes are wide as he stares at me intensely. No, I didn’t know about this, I try and communicate. And yes, I’m scared shitless.

A.J. being here can’t mean anything remotely good.

While A.J.’s new assistants—all young men dressed in black—sit on the other end of the table and begin serving themselves, A.J.’s eyes find mine, and he hooks his finger, motioning for me to follow him. I take a deep breath and stand, feeling everyone’s gaze as they stare at me.

I follow him out of the dining room and into the foyer, and he shuts the huge double doors behind him so that we’re alone.

“Do you know why I’m here?” he asks. I know he’s attempting to keep the tone of his voice moderately vague, like he’s trying to hide his emotions from me.

Probably because he’s really, really pissed.

“You’re unhappy,” I say straightly.

He nods slowly. “So unhappy, in fact, that I’m pulling you off the issue.”

I should have expected that, but the punch to the gut is so hard that it takes me a couple of seconds to remember how to breathe. “Pulling me off the issue,” I repeat.

“The men with me are photographers from other magazines that my company owns. I deemed it necessary to pull them off of their projects in order to fix the one you’ve so royally fucked up.”

There’s no way that this man is going to intimidate me. My hands clench into fists at my sides and I say through gritted teeth. “I beg to differ.”

He releases a stark, harsh laugh. “Is that so? I’m not for your sad attempts to make cheap, soft-core art with my magazine,” he nearly growls. “As of now, you will be watching and taking note of my instructions, since apparently it’s impossible for you to take directions over email. And then maybe, maybe when I’ve thought about it more, I’ll let you photograph a part of the next issue under supervision.”

My blood boils, and I do everything I can to harness the scream of rage lodged in my throat. I don’t even give him the satisfaction of a nod. I just glare at him until he says, “I’m glad we’re at an understanding.” He spins on his heel and returns to the dining room.

Taking deep gulps of air, I pull out my phone to call Evan. But before I press send, I realize that there is nothing she’s going to be able to do for me. Instead, I’ll just cause her unnecessary worry while she is trying to study, because this most definitely means that A.J. is going to demand that she and Dallas have actual sex during a shoot.

I shove my phone back into my pocket and hurry up the stairs.

Once in my room, I take a bath, hoping that my anger fizzles to the point where I won’t try to punch through a wall or burst into tears. The latter would be worse. When signing the contract, it never occurred to me that something like this would happen when I gave up control.

I was so blindsided.

I should have hired a lawyer.

What’s worse than my work being taken from me is my work being mutilated.

I can’t keep thinking about this. Not right now.

I dry off and change into a flimsy cami and yoga pants. I towel off my hair and comb through it. When I open the door to leave, Jaime is standing right there, leaning against my door frame.

I nearly cry out in surprise, clutching my heart. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here for your next apology,” he says casually.

I frown.

“Give me your glasses,” he asks, “And turn around.”

I hesitate. Nothing inside me is satisfied with the notion that I trust him already. I slide off my glasses. “I’m not really in the mood,” I say as I turn around.

His hands cup my shoulders, and a shiver runs down my back. “I promise it will be worth your while.”

“I’m out of work,” I say coolly.

“I heard. What a cocksucker.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it,” I tell him.

Suddenly a piece of silky fabric is thrown over my eyes. I curse. “What are you doing?”

“Calm down, it’s just one of my ties.”

“I mean, what are you doing?”

“Remember when I was supposed to lead you to your surprise birthday party?”

“And you pushed me in the fucking pool?” I finish. I’m beginning to panic now.

His hands rest against my waist. “I’m apologizing for that,” he says into my ear.

I swallow. “I don’t… I don’t know. This house is huge and has lots of places where I could fall to my death.”

He chuckles. “I need you to trust me. Let me show you that you’re safe with me now.”

I nod uneasily, still unsure if I’m making the right decision. Before I let him move me, I ask, “Tell me why you did it first.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Because Cameron told me to.”

“God, you guys are such dicks.”

He laughs and pulls me against his chest. We begin to walk. “Have you talked to him recently?”

“Me? No. The bulk of our communicating is on Facebook. It usually consists of me calling out his dumb political posts as fallacy.”

He laughs at this too. The boy does laugh a lot. I could get used to it.

“Stairs,” he says.

I take a step up, but Jaime does most of the work, his large, strong hands shifting all over my body to project me toward a specific destination. I blindly reach out in front of me to stable myself, but my hands never run into any walls or banisters. Midway up the stairs, he wraps one arm around my waist and cups the back of my thigh with his hand. A surge of pleasure races through my abdomen.

Finally, we reach level ground. A few more steps and I listen as Jaime unlocks a door. He pushes me into a room.

His bedroom.

He leaves me to shut the door behind us and lock it.

My entire body shakes in waiting. “Can I…” I reach up to take my blindfold off and he captures my wrists.

“Not yet,” he whispers into my ear. His tongue swipes against my neck and I gasp. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he says huskily. “About your proposal.”

“What proposal?”

“Playing with you.”

I shudder at his breath on my neck.

“You have no idea how much I’d enjoy a night of abandon with you. How… taboo it would feel.”

“What, getting to fuck a girl you considered a sister for most of your life isn’t normal?”

He presses a finger against my lips to hush me. “I need you to promise me something. Promise me that this will stay between us. That your family will never find out.”

I open my mouth to say yes, because the way his hands are toying with my waistband is killing me, but the question is too strong in my mind. “Why do you care so much? I’m twenty-two… they don’t have control over me anymore.”

“Have you told your parents about the magazine?”

“Of course I haven’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I’m not insane. If I told my dad I was using the camera he bought for me to shoot porn, he’d disown me.”

“And your parents have the best idea out of anyone of all the shit I’ve gotten into in my life. If they find out that… that…”

“You’re one of my many lays…”

He pauses. I caught him off guard.

“Oh please,” I continue, “Did you really think you’d be the lucky guy to take my virginity?”

“Of course not.”

“I lost it at sixteen by the way. A month after my first kiss. Your little Miss Innocent wasn’t so innocent after all.”

“You what? Who? Who was it?”

I spin to face him, leaning in close to where I think his mouth is. “Like I’d tell you.” I run my finger down the front of his chest. “I won’t promise to keep it our secret if you decide that you want to make things interesting. But you should trust that it’s not in my best interest.” I’m totally fucking with him. I’d never tell my parents. They have no reason to know anything about my personal life.

We’re at a standstill, my finger hooked in the waistband of his jeans. Suddenly he pushes me backward. My shoulder blades connect with a wall, leaving me breathless.

“Let me see you,” I gasp.

“Not yet,” he responds. “Trust me. Lift your arms up.”

I do as I’m told. He lifts my cami up and over my head until I’m only in my yoga pants and a white lace bra. He groans, cupping my breasts and kissing the hollow of my throat. I arch my back, and he reaches behind me and unsnaps my bra. When I let it fall to the floor, he kisses down my chest and nips at the top of my breast. Suddenly, his hot tongue is on my nipple, swirling and sucking, and I release a whimper.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he says slyly against my skin.

I bite down on my bottom lip as I smile, resting my head against the wall and allowing him complete control to explore my body. He tugs my yoga pants down and I kick them away, and then he pulls me from the wall. I feel his presence as he circles me, dropping to his knees behind me.

His fingers start at the back of my knee and trail up my thigh. He cups my ass and squeezes lightly. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about your ass.”

I giggle. “Really? I don’t think it’s that great.”

“Brit,” he palms it gently. “It’s pretty remarkable.” Suddenly his lips are pressed to the back of my leg, right where my butt meets my thigh. I release a shiver as he nips lightly at the skin, my knees almost buckling. He holds me up. “I hope you’re patient,” he mutters.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I plan on slowly enjoying every inch of you.”

I groan involuntarily as he nips at my ass again. His hand presses against the inside of my thigh, and I separate my legs just enough to allow his hand to travel up, the tips of his fingers brushing against my covered slit.

“I can tell how wet you are already.”

Oh, God. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.

He crawls around to the front of me. I hold onto his shoulders as he tugs down my panties at an achingly slow pace. He plants a kiss on my bare mound before slipping them all of the way down my legs, inhaling audibly.

He pushes my legs until they’re shoulder-width apart, gently grazing my slit with the tips of his fingers before pushing them past my folds. I dig into his shoulders as two of his fingers slip into my pussy.

He places a kiss against my thigh. “How about you indulge me in some of those fantasies?”

“Now?” I whimper.

His thumb grazes my clit, and my knees almost buckle again. Jaime holds me up. “This is my apology, after all.”

I guess his timing couldn’t be more perfect.

I cup the back of his neck for support. “The day you stole my panties and hung them on the fence, as pissed as I was, it left me wondering—if you did it because… because….”

He chuckles against my leg. “I wanted bury my face in them or something?”

“Something.”

“And?” he asks.

“And…” I inhale a deep breath and stare into the darkness of my blindfold, wondering if telling him this secret is such a good idea. But I press forward. “That night, I fantasized about you coming into my room.” I’m glad I can’t see him for this next part. “I touched myself to the thought of you eating me out.”

He groans.

“I had my first orgasm that night.”

“Fuck, Brit. I thought I couldn’t be more turned on by you.” With his fingers still inside of me, his lifts my right leg over his shoulder with his free hand. “I think fulfilling that fantasy is way overdue.”

“Please,” I moan.

His tongue darts out and finds my clit. I cry out, my fingernails raking over his head. His tongue flicks across my nub, and then he sucks, long and hard, his fingers pumping in and out of me.

“Jaime!” I gasp, arching my back, waves of pleasure building. When he slips his fingers out, his tongue replaces them, probing me gently.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Fuck, fuck,” over and over again as he relentlessly tongue-fucks me. I’m not sure how much time passes before he pulls away and kisses the inside of my thigh. Seconds or hours—everything feels upside-down right now. I’m surprised I’m still standing. In fact, I almost fall on my face when he slides my leg from his shoulder and stands, pushing the blindfold from my eyes. I blink into focus.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He kisses me gently. “Why the fuck would you be sorry?”

The words tumble out of my mouth before I can think them through. “This is the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life—ever—it’s just, really hard for me to get off, so I don’t want you to think—″

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? Are you seriously apologizing for not orgasming fast enough?”

“Well…” Now I feel stupid. “Yes.”

“Britain.” He directs me toward the bed. “I would spend all day between your legs to get you off and enjoy every fucking second of it.” He pushes me down and climbs on top of me. “So don’t you dare apologize.”

“O-okay.”

He lowers his head and whispers against my throat, “And you taste amazing.”

I buck my hips against him, and he grins.

“I need you,” I plead. “I need you to fuck me, Jaime.”

“Did you have a fantasy about that, too?” he asks in a deep, seductive voice, crawling up to kiss me.

“Many,” I breathe. “So many.”

His eyes flash. “Tell me about them.”

I groan. “Can’t we just do it? I’m dying.”

“I think you’ll live,” he says flatly. I growl at his patience and I know I’m not getting out of this one. He leans forward and whispers into my ear. “Tell me, Britain, how did I fuck you in your fantasies?”

I shiver and try to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “I always… I always imagined you’d be rough.”

His gaze shifts to playful, but there is still something delectably dark in it. “How would I take you?”

“Give me some credit, Jaime. It wouldn’t be the same way every time.”

He thinks for a moment. “So, you drew me up in your head as being surprising.”

I try reaching for the zipper on his pants when I realize that he’s only shirtless, but he captures my wrist and holds me down.

“Did you only have these fantasies while I was being a douche to you, Brit? Because you should probably see a shrink about that.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. You’re always being a douche to me.”

Suddenly, he lifts me and flips me over. I gasp in surprise, listening to the release of his zipper, the shuffling of his jeans sliding down, and the crinkling of the condom package.

“Was this one of them?” he asks. “Me sneaking into your room in the middle of the night…” his hands run up my thighs and grip my ass. “Touching you for the first time, being mesmerized by how fucking gorgeous you are.”

I grin against the duvet, squeezing my eyes shut when he parts my legs and slips between them.

He grabs my hips and pulls me to him. The head of his cock rubs slowly against my opening, and I cry out, “The Jaime of my fantasies would finally decide to stop being such a damn tease!”

He pushes into me with one thrust.

I can’t believe this is happening. I claw at the duvet as he slides out of me and slams back in repeatedly, hoping he’ll never stop until… well, until he does.

“I can’t do this,” he says, holding my hips still.

“What?” I cry, out of breath. “What do you mean?”

He releases me, falling onto the bed next to me. “I thought the whole rough thing would go over well if I took you from behind.” He props himself up on his elbows and leans in, his lips grazing mine before he says, “But then I won’t be able to watch you when you come.”

I shiver at the impact of his words. He falls back again and grabs my wrist, urging me to climb on top of him. I press my palms flat against his chest and lower myself down as slow as I can force myself to, feeling him fill and stretch me, inch by precious inch. He groans at my pace, bucking his hips until he’s completely inside me.

I squeeze my knees together to keep him from moving too much and flip my hair to the side, grinning down at him mischievously. “But you can’t be rough with me this way.”

He squirms beneath me as if to try and prove a point, but I keep my legs pinned against either side of him, trying not to melt when his hard length shifts inside of me.

“Oh, so this is a game to you?” he asks darkly. He grips my hips again, pushing me up until he slides out and yanking me back down. I scream in pleasure. He does it again and again, and I throw my head back, the pressure at my center building.

“I’m so close,” I breathe.

When his thumb finds my clit, I’m pushed over the edge. It takes every fiber of my being not to shriek my release. I bite down hard on my lip as my orgasm escapes me in small whimpers and gasps. He allows me to ride out the wave of intense pleasure, guiding my hips to keep me bucking on top of him. Finally, his eyes flutter shut, and he comes.

I wait until he’s done gasping for breath before I lean forward, kissing his lips gently. This was the one thing that I never got to play out in my fantasies—the aftermath. But now he’s staring at me, our sweaty bodies still joined, our breathing still ragged.

Finally, he says, “We should have done that a long time ago.”

I hum in agreement, sliding off of him and resting my head against his pillow.

“If I knew you were getting yourself off to me, I would have snuck into your room in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, at fifteen, it was only a fantasy. If you came into my room and offered to fuck me senseless when I was fifteen, I would have probably screamed in embarrassment and terror.”

He chuckles and rolls onto his side, facing me. “Just like you did when I tried to kiss you?”

“That’s what terribly self-conscious fifteen-year-olds-do. Plus, I can imagine you probably sucked at sex back then.”

He furrows his eyebrows like he’s insulted. “And what about now? Placing me in the midst of your vast experience—″

I elbow him.

“How do I compare?”

I kiss him again, tugging lightly at his bottom lip with my teeth. “You make me feel… naughty.”

“That’s it?”

“And you keep me from worrying about my job.”

“So essentially I’m a distraction with a penis. Is that what you’re saying?”

I stare at him in attempt to see if he’s being serious. His eyes lack the playful glint they had in them earlier.

“It makes me wonder…” I pause, choosing my words carefully, “what it would be like to be with you.”

He cups my jaw, running his thumb along my bottom lip. “Why do you think I auditioned for your stupid magazine?”

My eyes widen with realization. I wait with my breath held for a long time, but his gaze doesn’t falter. “I thought you said it was because of your agent.”

“Well, it was a good paying gig. That did a lot to persuade me. But it was also the fact that ever since I left for Stan State, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I loathed you.”

He grins. “Maybe I had a younger sister fetish. Or maybe I’ve always secretly had a crush on you.”

“Always?”

“Okay, since I was twelve.”

I giggle, but I’m not detracted from the real situation at hand. “Are you serious?”

He presses his forehead to mine, fingers tracing down my neck. “Is it so hard to believe that I auditioned to see who you were all grown up?”

“Maybe,” I mutter against his mouth. “It’s a little…” I kiss him, “unbelievable. Mind-blowingly unbelievable.”

His tongue darts out and grazes my lip. “What if we tried this?”

I can’t believe he’s suggesting it. Jaime never had girlfriends, as far as I could tell. He had fuck buddies. “I thought you didn’t want my parents to find out.”

He thinks for a moment, like he’s weighing the situation. “On the one hand, yeah, dealing with your parents would probably be miserable. On the other hand, I think I could definitely get used to waking up to you in the morning.”

This is way too much to process.

And I won’t right now. I refuse to, because my mouth is consumed by his, his hand pushing its way higher and higher up the inside of my thigh.

Chapter Nine

Evan

I’m on a date with Dallas.

Not a homework date. Not some I’ll-cook-you-dinner-and-we’ll-watch-some-television-in-our-sweatpants make-out-fest.

A real date.

We don’t drive anywhere. Neither of us have cars, and even if we did, driving in Boston is a bit useless. We get in a cab and Dallas tells the driver to take us to a bistro in Somerville.

The east coast is so different from California. In California, everything is much bigger. Here, the restaurant he wants to take me to is tucked around the corner and down a stairwell, at the bottom of this old, brick building. Even the door is much narrower than I’m used to.

The restaurant itself is bright and clean and very west coast—not at all what I’m expecting. The waiter takes us to our seats and hands us our menus. I look down at the entrees.

Everything’s vegan.

I glance back up at Dallas, who is busy studying the menu as though it’s a critical exam. “How long did it take you to find this place?”

“Not long,” he says without looking up. “The internet is a marvelous place. What the fuck is a sorrel?”

I bite back my grin. “It’s a vegetable, obviously.”

“Obviously. Everything here has to be a vegetable.” He glances at me above his menu.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

He says nothing and returns to studying the menu items.

I want to say something to him about today’s shoot, but everything coming to my head sounds so insensitive. So… Britain couldn’t catch half of what you were doing to me in the mud today. Are you sure you were just working? Or, I’m really horny from what you started but didn’t finish earlier today… you wanna meet me in the bathroom for a quickie?

I’m actually thinking about saying the last one as a joke. I almost do, except then I realize it’s not very funny considering how true it is.

Before I can say anything, the waiter comes back. Dallas orders a stupid-expensive pinot noir. He knows it’s my favorite wine. I order the curry and he orders fettuccine, and with our menus gone, we have to stop ignoring each other. So it’s either talk about today’s shoot or talk about the fact that he wants to prove he’s still in love with me.

Since my mind can’t wrap around the latter, I say, “I thought you said you weren’t going to try and seduce me.”

He sighs and keeps his eyes trained on me. The waitress comes back with our wine and opens the bottle in front of us. She takes a while, and I’m not sure if Dallas will remember to respond when she leaves. But when she finally does, he takes a sip of wine and says, “I was trying to stay in character. And that’s good, by the way.” He gestures to his glass.

I take a drink. He’s right. Hell, it might be the best pinot noir that I’ve had. Then again, my idea of classy is going to the liquor store in my yoga pants and grabbing a dusty four dollar bottle on the bottom shelf. “You practically ate me out.”

He glances around, but it seems like none of the tables around us care that I’m talking about oral sex like it’s baseball. “You know the passion that Brit was going on about—the chemistry she was trying to get everyone to acknowledge after we were done shooting?” He leans in close and lowers his voice. “I would never, ever be able to feel that with someone else. When you respond—when you really respond to what I’m doing to you in a shoot—that’s what makes a picture.”

“So that’s why you did it?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “To make a good picture?”

“Be real, Evan.” His bright eyes are so intense that breaking away from them should be some sort of crime. “I don’t give a damn about Amora Acquisitions and whatever they’re trying to make of this magazine. And to be honest, the money is nice, but when it comes down to it, it’s worth nothing near the few seconds I get to see the look on your face that lets me know I’m making you feel something.” He relaxes and leans back. “And making Britain happy is an added bonus. I like staying on her good side.”

I down the rest of my glass with a single swallow. It’s a shame that I’m drinking an eighty dollar bottle of wine in the midst of such a stressful conversation. Dallas doesn’t ask, he just pours me another glass.

“Then why was leaving you so easy?” I say. It’s the question that’s been on my mind for too long. If he really cared about me, then he wouldn’t have let me walk out of that airport without a fight.

“Because I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you for months. I didn’t think there was a way to prove myself to you.”

“Prove yourself to me?”

He nods. “I didn’t want to just plead with you to make you stay with me, especially if you were so unhappy, then have there be months of not being able to see you, and possibly not being able to call you. You’d be at Harvard wondering if it was really worth it to give me another chance and there would be no way to show you that I desperately needed one, Evan.”

Everything in his expression begs me. And I can’t tell if I want to give him another chance because he’s so goddamn gorgeous, or because I love him back.

“Okay,” I say.

His face softens. Relief. Suddenly I wonder what it would have been like to kiss him if the kiss had been before the foreplay—if it would have been crushing or sweet. Who would have initiated it? How long would it have lasted? A part of me wants to crawl across the table right now just to feel his warm lips on mine.

When our food comes, we don’t talk much. Part of me is grateful, and the other part of me wants to ask more questions. Like what made him decide if he was going to come to Boston for me. Was it before, or after A.J. offered him all of that money?

My stomach twists into a tight knot at the mere thought of it.

“What?”

I glance at Dallas. His eyes are narrowed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“What were you thinking about?” he asks. “You looked horrified for a second.”

I scrape my food around with my fork until I realize there is no use lying to him. If this is the time to discover if we’re supposed to be together, I can’t go dancing around real problems.

“Did you decide before or after A.J. offered you the advance that you wanted to come and prove how much you loved me?”

His eyes sparkle with something… amusement, curiosity… I can’t tell for sure. He wipes his mouth and smiles down at his plate.

“What’s so damn funny?”

His blue eyes flicker to mine again and the breath is sucked right out of me. “You sure make it difficult to be a romantic, you know that, right?”

I cock my head, relaying my confusion.

He sighs. “I had the entire evening planned. We were going to break into the Bunker Hill Monument, and at the top I was going to tell you—while pressing you to my rock-hard body like the maiden you are—that A.J. never called me.”

I don’t know whether to giggle or gasp. So instead, I stare at him blankly. “He what?”

“He never called me, Evan. He never offered me any money to come out here. In fact, I called him and begged him to pay for my plane ticket.”

I snap my mouth shut when I realize my jaw is hanging open. My heart is swelling with so much heat and joy and giddiness that it’s a battle just to keep my cool in front of him.

“The evening is ruined,” I say flatly, taking another sip of wine.

He raises his eyebrow at my reaction, and asks slowly, “What do you propose we do?”

I swirl the rest of the wine in my glass. “Well, since I ruined your surprise.” I hold up my glass. “Why don’t we get another one of these and head back to the Manor?”

^^^^

The rain came pouring down.

Somehow we end up back in Boston because Dallas found these amazing cellars on his phone that are open until eleven. Drenched and shivering, we discover the cellar hosts an antipasto bar and there’s live music tonight.

So we get a little drunk. And I end up on his lap.

The music is nothing like I’m used to listening to. It’s a couple of old men playing folk, but they’re really good at it. The crowd is mostly forty-to-sixty somethings looking to have a good time. Dallas and I might even be the youngest ones here.

He holds me tightly around my waist. I crane my neck and lean in, open mouth pressing against his strong, bold jaw, and exhale. Immediately, goose bumps emerge on his neck. He groans at the warmth. Or my mouth. One or the other.

“I think we should head back,” he says.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

The night is freezing, the rain pummeling us, and yet we waste time searching for the train station to take us back instead of paying cab fare. When we arrive at Veda Manor, it’s just past midnight, and the foyer and dining room are empty.

We giggle and trip our way up to Dallas’s room. There’s no way I’m making my lecture tomorrow—thank God I’ve studied well ahead and already know the material.

I peel my jacket off and lay it on the back of one of the leather armchairs. “I’ll have to borrow clothes from Britain tomorrow. That’s going to be one hell of a walk of shame.”

As Dallas grins at me, water drips from the tip of his nose. “Who says that staying the night with me is shameful?”

“I’m just saying she’s going to want dirt is all.” I shiver involuntarily.

Dallas steps toward me, reaching out and toying with the collar of my soaked shirt. Water drips across his full lips and I want nothing more than to push myself on my tiptoes and lick it off.

He traces his thumb along my collarbone and pops my first button. Then my second, and my third. Our eyes stay locked as he undresses me. When my wet shirt falls to the floor, he turns and grabs the throw off the loveseat, shaking it out and tossing it over my shoulders.

I look at him questionably.

“I told you,” he begins, lifting the tip of my chin with his knuckle. “I didn’t come all the way to Boston to seduce you.”

“Even though you want to?” I ask.

He smirks. “Even though I would kill to.”

I slowly work the button of my jeans and slide them past my hips. “Are you going to make me sleep on the couch too?”

He rolls his eyes and walks toward the bed. I’d like to think that it’s because he can’t stand the sight of me undressing when he isn’t going to do anything about it. He even turns off the light before either of us are in bed. I slip beneath the covers as he peels off his clothes, the mattress shifting as he crawls in on the other side. He turns to face me. I reach forward and press my hand squarely against his broad, firm chest, skin still cold from the rain.

We talk about Costa Rica and his research partner, whispering back and forth even though no one else is in the room. Laina doesn’t go a day without hitting on him, which doesn’t surprise me at all. In fact, it was a reason I couldn’t bear to be with Dallas when he was away.

“You knew that was going to happen,” he says.

“I didn’t…” I pause. I know what’s about to leave my mouth is insensitive, but I can’t hold it back. “I didn’t want to end up like Trish.”

“Whoa, hey.” His hands find my waist. “Is this what all of this is about? Fuck, Evan. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Anything I say will make it sound like… like…

“You don’t trust me.”

Yes, exactly.

“And I totally deserve that.”

Wait, what?

“What?”

“I should have broken up with Trish years ago, not just when I met you. Both of us were unsatisfied and bored. But we were busy and pursuing our careers and our relationship was safe.”

“But you and I are both busy and pursuing our careers.”

“The way I feel when I’m with you is never how it was with Tricia. Evan, you are the most gorgeous, sought-after woman I’ve ever known. Any guy who lays eyes on you would kill to be with you, and yet when you’re with me, you act like I’m the only person in the room.”

I giggle. “Jesus, way to sound like Bella Swan.”

“Are you telling me you’re a vampire?”

I make a weird hissing noise, clawing at his shoulder and leaning in to play-bite him on the neck. He chuckles deeply, and I feel the vibration in his throat against my lips. Without thinking, I allow my tongue to dart out and taste him. He moans my name softly.

“Well, just so you know,” I kiss him gently on the throat, “It isn’t because you’re a hot piece of ass. It’s because you’re a hot piece of ass and you’re smart as hell.” I kiss him again, my lips lingering longer. “And you’re the only person other than Britain and my mother who matches my sarcasm.” And again. “And you make me laugh.” Again. “And you don’t look at me like I’m meat.”

“Hot piece of ass, eh?” He pushes back my shoulders and looks me square in the eye. Even though it’s dark, I can tell he’s waiting for another snarky remark from me. Instead, I kiss him.

He rolls me over until I’m on my back, deepening the kiss. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip before he pulls away. “You know, you don’t have to stop listing off great things about me.”

“Hmmm…” I think before uttering in a breathy voice. “Every time you said the phrase ‘homologous chromosome’ when you lectured at East Park, it made me so horny.”

His lips brush against my ear. “Homologous chromosome.”

“Yes, yes, just like that.”

His voice gets deeper, huskier. “Homologous chromosome.”

“Oh, God.”

“Homologous chromosome.”

“Yes.”

“Homologous chromosome.”

“Yes!”

Suddenly, he groans and pushes away from me, and I bust up laughing. “Please don’t tell me…”

“I can’t help it! You were making orgasm noises and it gave me a hard-on.”

I crack up into the pillow, laughing until my sides hurt, until tears are pouring from my eyes. He grabs my face and kisses me hard on the mouth to shut me up, or maybe my laughing gives him a raging hard-on too.

Lying on top of me, his lips move to my jaw, and then to my neck. This time, I let out a very real, very primal moan.

And it’s nice. To not perform with him. To not expect sex by the end of the night. Like we’re going backwards in time, slipping in a moment that should have been there all along.

Britain

Today is like a bad hangover. Minus the dry mouth and the throwing up.

Everyone is rushing all over the manor, hard at work constructing sets while I’m still in the shower. Even my morning moments with Jaime are rushed as he has to be down in makeup by seven. Today, all models are getting a lesson in what’s to be expected of them over the next two days… and the rest of their time as an EPE model.

I’m supposed to be up and following the new photographers around like a kiss-ass, but truthfully, I no longer give a flying fuck.

Which is nice. And liberating. And I’d probably feel liberated if it weren’t for this dreadful sexual hangover.

My pain is momentarily lifted when I step out of Jaime’s room and see Evan leaving Dallas’s. I point a finger in her direction and cry, “YOU!”

Evan’s eyes dart around before she presses a finger to her lips and hushes me. Dallas follows her out of the room and shuts the door behind him.

“After all of that drama,” I hiss, “You two end up boning anyway?”

“We totally didn’t bone,” Evan says flatly before smirking and raising her eyebrow. “But you sure did.”

I flush.

“How do you know she had sex?” Dallas asks.

“Every time a penis touches Britain, I receive a telepathic notification.”

“Oh,” Dallas says with a straight face. “Well, that explains a lot.”

I desperately attempt to change the conversation. “What are you guys still doing up here? You should have been in hair and makeup, like, three hours ago.”

Evan shrugs. “You’re not downstairs. And I’m not even scheduled for today. I have class, or was supposed to have class.”

She doesn’t know. “Do you not check your email? A.J. sent everyone messages last night with a revamped schedule and an explanation of the situation.”

I tell her everything.

She pales. “Wait, so A.J. Harrison is conducting mine and Dallas’s shoot today? You know what he’s going to want us to do, right?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Both of you will have to slut it up. I mean, seriously. If Adam and Delilah screwing in missionary position got him sky-high, I don’t even want to imagine what he has in store for the two of you.”

“And if I say no?” she asks meekly.

I shrug. “If you say no, then technically you’re breaking contract and he won’t give you your money.”

Dallas rubs her shoulders, a sympathetic expression on his face. Somehow I find the fact that they look terrified to have sex with each other incredibly amusing.

“Okay,” she sniffs. “Okay.”

“So you’re going to go through with whatever he asks of you?”

“Hell no!” she cries. “I’m not going to give that douchebag what he wants. I’m… I’m going to get you your job back.”

Dallas and I simultaneously raise our eyebrows.

“If Dallas is okay with it, I mean.”

“Okay with what?” he asks slowly. Apparently he’s as confused as I am.

Evan sighs impatiently. “Do I have to spell it out?”

“Yes,” Dallas and I say together.

“Having sex for Britain before our scheduled shoot.”

Dallas looks like he’s been slapped in the face with a frying pan. “Uhh… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asks Evan before shooting me an apologetic look.

They walk a ways down the hall and begin to whisper heatedly to each other. I listen close, hoping to catch some of their conversation, but fail to. To my surprise, Dallas looks pissed, like the last thing that he wants to do is have sex with Evan.

Five minutes go by before they finally return to me. Dallas looks uncomfortable, and Evan unsure of herself, so I say, “Don’t do this for me.”

Dallas shakes his head. “No, Evan is right. This is your magazine, and it’s our job to help you take control again.”

“Even if it means giving up your dignity?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Dignity is so over-rated,” Evan says dryly, and I know she’s trying desperately to lighten up the tone of our discussion. “Plus, I’d rather you watch me have sex than A.J.-fucking-Harrison.”

“Well, okay,” I say, not exactly sure how comfortable I am watching Evan have sex. Sure, I watched Delilah and Adam not that long ago, but with Evan, it’s different. I have a good feeling that sex between Evan and Dallas is a pretty damn intimate thing.

A hand falls on my shoulder and I start, only to realize it’s just Jaime.

“A.J. wants you downstairs. I guess he’s pissed you’re not on the heels of all the photographers and taking notes on their every movement.”

I throw on a fake grin. “You can tell him to kindly go fuck himself for me.”

“Do you actually want me to say that? Because I will.”

Evan’s eyes brighten. “It was totally Jaime, wasn’t it? Oh my God, after all that time you’ve known each other. That must have been some mind-blowing sex.”

I roll my eyes.

“You told her we banged?” asks Jaime.

“I didn’t tell her that we banged.”

Dallas points to his head. “Sixth Sense.”

“Oh,” says Jaime.

Evan gives an evil smirk. “You totally lived out your childhood fantasies, didn’t you?”

My face flushes hot as Jaime says, “You told her about that?”

“Just another damn good guess,” I hiss between my teeth. And then, to get back at Evan, I turn to Jaime and ask, “Do you want to watch Evan and Dallas have sex?”

Chapter Ten

Evan

I guess it’s better with Jaime the room. Not like I’m loving the fact of this being on display, but I think that Britain feels less cornered.

“I’m going to try to be as graceful as possible with this,” Britain says as she fiddles with her camera. “And hopefully I won’t catch any penetration.”

“Just do what you have to,” I respond, sitting on the edge of the bed in a robe. We chose the unused suite at the end of the third floor for this. The room is creepy enough to speak for itself, and I can tell why it wasn’t used to house any of us in.

There’s bondage shit everywhere.

Chains and ties hang low enough from the canopy frame to hold partners hostage, and the bed itself is covered in black satin sheets. Just the sight of it doesn’t help my nerves at all. I feel like I’m going to puke.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. In fact, I know this isn’t a good idea. Part of me wants to force myself to believe that I’m doing this for Britain, but I know that my motives are much more selfish than that.

Aren’t the gender roles reversed, here? Isn’t it the guy who is supposed to be throwing around trickery to get into the girl’s pants while the girl wants to wait for the right, meaningful moment? Especially considering that I broke up with Dallas because our relationship was too sexual. I should be harnessing the urge to fuck his brains out.

Dallas is still in makeup, so while Britain is fiddling with the lighting, I pace the floor in the hopes that the mild distraction will ease my twisting stomach. Jaime, who’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, catches me on my third time around. He stands and rubs the back of his head. “Hey, can I talk to you?”

I shrug and follow him out of the room and into the hallway. He’s incredibly attractive, I realize, but totally not Britain’s type at all. She usually goes for slender, intellectual-looking men. Jaime is two-hundred pounds of muscle.

“You’re okay with me sitting in, right?”

“It’s not a problem,” I respond. “As long as you don’t go blabbing your big mouth about how you got to watch me and Dallas do it.”

His raises an eyebrow. “My big mouth?”

“You look the type to have a big mouth. Speaking of which, that also goes for talking to anyone about how you got to fuck the photographer.”

“I would never…”

“I mean it, dude.” I clench my fists. “I will end you.”

To my surprise, he chuckles. “You’re pretty protective of her, aren’t you?”

“It’s a best friend’s duty to be protective.”

“Well, since you’re her best friend, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He looks around and steps closer. “The reason I want to stand in today isn’t because I want to watch you two.”

“You want to watch Britain,” I finish. “You get off on watching her get off while she photographs, essentially.”

“She only gets really excited when she’s photographing you. I’m surprised you two haven’t…”

I raise my eyebrows incredulously. “What? Fucked?”

“Well, yeah.”

I snort. “We have a mutual sexual relationship that doesn’t involve touching. It’s nice.”

“A voyeur and an exhibitionist,” he muses.

“We’re both still pretty closet about it, I suppose. And by the way, it isn’t only me.” I give his body an intense glance up and down. “I got it out of her that she couldn’t walk straight after the shoot with you and Adam.”

He grins. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Our conversation is cut off when Dallas walks down the hall in nothing but lounge pants. The tips of my fingers and toes grow numb. His body has become even more beautiful in the months that we’ve been separated, every muscle immaculately defined. He catches me staring and I flush and look away. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve straight-up licked his chest on multiple foreplay occasions, and now I can’t even look at him.

Maybe it’s because that, even after our little make out session last night, we’re technically still separated. Maybe it’s because he’s about to take me in front of an audience.

Or maybe, it’s because he doesn’t really want to do this.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to have sex with me. It’s that he wants to wait to have meaningful sex with me. He wants to prove himself.

What he doesn’t know is that he already proved himself when he told me that he begged A.J. to fly him out. And when we kissed on the bed last night, it was like nothing could be better than kissing.

But I’m not going to tell him that. The fact that he looks every bit nervous as I do helps me relax. In fact, for some reason, it’s kind of arousing.

“Err… I’ll let you two… talk,” mumbles Jaime before ducking back into the bedroom.

“Hi,” I say to Dallas as he approaches, trying desperately to keep my eyes off of his body.

“You ready?” he asks.

I swallow, untying my robe to let it fall apart just enough to expose the bra that Britain picked out for this shoot. Black, strapless, and push-up, it fits me like a glove, giving me a sultry amount of cleavage.

I watch as Dallas’s eyes flicker to my breasts, and a jolt of pulsing energy explodes at my core. Oh my God, I’m totally an exhibitionist.

“Don’t get too tied up in wanting to make meaningful love,” I say, stepping toward him and raising myself on my tiptoes. I whisper against his neck. “Have fun with me.”

Suddenly his hand presses against the small of my back, pulling me close to him roughly. He grips my jaw between his index finger and thumb, forcing me to look straight into his piercing, icy eyes.

He leans in until his mouth is barely brushing mine. “I’ve come to terms with it,” he murmurs. “I’m ready to fuck you senseless in front of an audience.” I feel the corners of his lips turn up in a grin. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t also make meaningful love to you too.”

I suck in a breath of air as my body crumbles and attempts to recuperate. Suddenly, it clicks. This is what our relationship is based off of. Sexual careers. It might not be normal—hell, the eyes of the world may not even see it as healthy, but that doesn’t mean we loved each other less than an average couple.

They were never just photo shoots. It was never just sexual energy.

I break away from him, and without saying anything, turn around and walk back into the room, letting my robe drop to the floor.

“We’re ready,” I tell Britain, who stands on a box by the foot of the bed, still fussing with her camera.

She glances at me and then at Dallas. “Well then, let’s get this show on the road.” She points to the bed and we both climb on top of it. “This shoot is going to be a little bit different than others. I’m not going to direct you at all. I’m not even going to speak. Just try to forget about me and stay involved with each other. Keep in mind the position of your bodies and try to stay as open as possible, and I’ll do my best to stay classy and not… well, you know.” She snaps a few sample shots of me as I look up at her. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be kinky.”

I glance at Dallas. His expression is dark and near-unreadable. It reminds me of our very last shoot together, when he pulled me over his knees and spanked me. And how much I enjoyed it—my ass searing as his fingers slipped between my legs, all in front of the camera.

“Evan, you okay?” Britain asks.

I shake myself out of my stupor, clenching my thighs together and nodding. Dallas’s expression twitches with curiosity.

“You guys can start whenever you want,” Britain says.

Dallas and I are at a standoff. How are we going to start? Who is going to make the first move? The anticipation is about to kill me, so, as he sits on the bed, I slowly crawl on top of him.

His eyes are blazingly serious, like he’s desperate to figure out what I’m planning to do. But if I gave that away, where’s the fun?

I trail my fingers down his torso, his skin erupting in goose bumps when I press my lips lightly to his. As I nibble on his bottom lip, my hand slips into the fly of his pants. He gasps when my fist closes around his length. He’s already rock-hard for me. At least I’m not the only one painfully turned on.

I shoot him a playful, wicked glance before leaning in and kissing him on the neck, then moving to his collarbone. My mouth is open just enough to nip at his skin—to taste him—but it isn’t enough. I need more. I slide off his lap as I continue to kiss and lick downward, kneeling in front of him, my hair falling down either side of my face.

Before he has time to react, I swiftly pull his cock out through the fly of his pants. His hips arch as I lick the tip, and then open my mouth to take all of him in.

I’m only halfway down his length before his fingers lace through the hair at the base of my skull and he tugs upward. He presses his forehead to mine. “You keep that up and this shoot will be very short.”

He looks flustered. Pissed, almost. And it only makes me want to be more deviant. “Why don’t you try and stop me?”

I let my head drop again, licking his tip before he growls and pushes me off of him. I fall back onto the bed, and before I know what’s happening, he’s on top of me, holding my hands above my head and breathing heavily.

I struggle, but just enough to make him work for me. He glances at the bindings on the headboard. When I buck my hips against his, he wraps the leather around my wrists and ties it snuggly. I give a moan of faux irritation even though my body is on fire.

Dallas is receiving tell-all signs as well. After unhooking my bra, he pries my legs apart and studies my soaked panties before groaning and biting his lower lip. His eyes catch mine as he slowly licks his thumb. Pushing my panties to the side, his wet thumb rubs across my clit the same moment that I catch the camera out of the corner of my eye.

I lose it.

I buck beneath him as the pressure explodes and I shut my eyes, a cry escaping me. Dallas doesn’t give me half-a-moment’s break, thrusting two fingers inside of me. He leans forward and whispers into my ear. “A bit responsive today, aren’t we?”

I whimper in response, knowing what he loves to hear when I’m wet and vulnerable and desperately need him to fuck me.

“Is it me or the camera?”

“Both,” I murmur. He pulls his fingers out of me and thrusts them in again, curling them upward. I gasp, my eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Kinky girl.” He bites down hard enough on my earlobe for me to cry out, and then licks down my neck to the hollow of my throat. He slides my lace panties down my hips at the same time his teeth graze my nipple and I convulse again, not knowing how much more sensory-play my body will be able to take. I need him inside of me, now.

I drag his pants down his ass with my toes. His hands find my ankles, stopping me. “I think you’re the submissive in this scenario,” Dallas says, raising an eyebrow.

I hear Jaime chuckle somewhere off in the darkness.

“Don’t make me tie your feet. I’ll lose the angle I need to fuck you senseless.”

I whimper at the pleasure his words give me, high off the way he’s dominating me for the camera and himself.

“I think you should,” I whisper, my toes hooking beneath his waistband again.

His catches my ankles a second time, glaring at me between deep, ragged breaths. Then he looks up, studying the chains and bindings hanging above us. He reaches up and pulls on a chain with a leather cuff at the end, realizing it’s a pulley and retractable. I whimper as he tugs downward and binds my ankle, yanking on the back end to keep my leg hoisted.

“If you keep making those noises, I’m going to lose my mind,” he growls.

“You’re the one making me wait,” I return.

When both my legs are bound and pulled apart in a Y, my hips are lifted off the bed, making me the most vulnerable I’ve ever been in front of Britain or Dallas or anyone. Dallas slides his pants down, and I wish more than ever that I could run my hands along his perfect ass. Other than bucking my hips, I can’t even move.

Dallas rolls on a condom, and I groan in frustration. He reaches around me, fingernails sinking into the flesh of my ass.

“I told you, those noise make me lose it,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I thought you had figured it out by now,” I gasp, “that I like it when you lose it.”

He thrusts into me, and I nearly scream.

He pauses, waiting for me to calm down after he’s buried himself deep inside of me. Suddenly, the game is gone, and the softer, truer side of Dallas emerges. I can feel his entire body trembling against me.

“Evan, you’re mine,” he says, rocking his hips and thrusting into me again.

We’ve never made love like this before. The leg restraints give him the perfect angle to fuck me relentlessly, my open, restrained palms pushing against the headboard to keep me from hitting my head. It’s as though all of the frustration he’s had with me sexually and emotionally has come to a peak, and now I have to pay for it in the most intense pleasure imaginable. But he won’t let me get off, no. Not until he’s had his total and complete way with me.

But I might get off anyway, with the sound of his skin slapping against mine and the way my breasts jiggle with every one of his thrusts. But there isn’t time to find out. He releases a deep growl and pinches my clit roughly, sending me over the edge the moment that he does.

“FUCK!” I scream as my entire body tenses. He leans over, resting his forehead between my breasts as he comes. His fingers that have been gripping my ass relax as the last wave of intensity courses through my body, and I murmur his name.

He pulls out of me, sliding his body downward until his face is level with the apex of my thighs. He licks up my slit, tongue swirling around my clit. I convulse, the pleasure too raw post-orgasm.

When he unties both my feet and my hands, he can finally collapse on top of me. His panting subsides, and he captures my mouth with his. I whimper into him. He tugs gently at my hair again, pulling me back enough to look into my eyes. “I love those noises,” he tells me breathlessly. “But they really do drive me insane.”

“And I mean it when I say that I love driving you insane.”

He kisses my lips gently as the door clicks. I crane my neck to see that we’re now alone—Britain and Jaime have left the room.

“How much do you want to bet—”

“That they’re about to have crazy, animalistic sex?” he finishes for me, and I giggle.

He pushes the hair out of my eyes. “Evan, that was fucking incredible. But only because I am so helplessly in love with you. Whenever I’m with you in front of the camera, it’s not just another job. I completely lose myself. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and know I’ll never feel this way again.” His lips flutter against my jaw, and I shut my eyes tight. “I need you, and I’ll do anything not to lose you. I won’t go back to Costa Rica. I’ll never shoot a single photo with a person other than you again. As long as you’ll have me.”

I open my mouth to speak, but there’s nothing I can say to top his words. Instead, I cup his jaw and kiss him deeply. Even in the midst of these tacky black sheets and fetish leather and chains—even after exploiting our most intimate moment ever, I still feel completely at home with him.

I have a good feeling that this will never change.

Britain

I never thought I’d ever be this sexually adventurous.

Jaime and I don’t find some bedroom and immediately have sex after shooting Dallas and Evan. Instead, we go down to the miniature theatre on the same floor as the dungeons and watch as Ella and Miguel partake in their shoot. Under A.J.’s instructions, they’re onstage in raunchy Shakespearian garb and going all the way. It’s taking voyeurism to a whole other literal meaning, but not anywhere near as sexy as Dallas and Evan. Maybe because their attraction is so intensely real—it blows all of these phonies out of the water.

And I’m still riding on the waves of witnessing them.

I sit between Jaime’s legs on the balcony stairs. My short knit dress and knee-length boots are entirely immodest to be sitting on the ground, albeit perfect for him. When I’ve given up at believing he’ll eventually keep his hands to himself, I let my legs fall open, hoping that no one on set or in the house will decide to join us up here.

His hand dips beneath the fabric of my panties. “I knew I’d find you soaked,” he murmurs in my ear, slipping a finger into my pussy. “You little voyeur, you.”

“So what?” I gasp as he adds another finger.

He changes the subject. “So you briefly indulged me in some of your teenage fantasies, but never gave me the chance.” He slides his fingers out and back in again. I allow my head to fall back against his shoulder, spreading my legs wider to give him better access.

“You were sixteen, making me—what—twenty? We were at the Alfred’s for Jenny’s pool party, remember?”

“Mmmhmm,” I hum, bucking into his fingers.

“You were in this small red bikini and I thought I was going to hell because you were underage and I couldn’t keep my dick down long enough to get out of the pool.”

My giggle turns into a soft moan as he pulls his fingers out again to circle my clit.

“I must have gotten off five times that night.” His hand cups my breast over my sweater. “Thinking about peeling off that wet bikini, warming your perfect breasts with my mouth.” The pressure on my clit increases. “You writhing beneath me as I tasted your sweet pussy for the first time.”

I release a strangled whimper as I come, bucking against his hand. He claps his free hand over my mouth and holds me roughly against him until my shuddering ceases, and then chuckles against my ear. “Did you like that story?”

“Why did you always act like all you wanted to do was pester and torture me, then?” I gasp.

“Because, Brit, I couldn’t let myself openly toy with the idea of being with you.”

“Because I was young?”

“You were my best friend’s sister and always off limits.” He plants a soft kiss against my throat and pulls his hand from beneath my dress. “Plus, you were too good for me. You’ve always been too good for me.”

I’m about to argue—to tell him how wrong he is—when I see Dallas and Evan walk into the theatre. I snap my legs together and pull down my dress. “I have to tell them.”

“About the pictures?” Jaime sighs and releases his grip on me. “Go on.”

I stumble when I stand, legs still wobbly from just getting off. When I make my way downstairs, I notice that they’ve both been through hair and makeup again and are wearing robes. Evan looks so sexed up that she practically glows. When she sees me, she wrinkles her nose. “Was that weird for you?”

“What?” Then I realize what she means. “Oh.” I wave my hand in front of my face dismissively. “It’s not like I didn’t hear you every day in May… in the shower, in your room, on the couch, in the pool.”

Evan bites her lip, and I swear Dallas blushes. Some AA goon tells us to be quiet in the audience, and I flip him the bird, even though it’s dark and I’m sure he didn’t see me.

“Did the photos turn out good?” she asks me.

I scratch my head. “About that.”

“Oh, no.”

“It’s nothing like that. They turned out great. Fucking amazing. So amazing, in fact, that I’m not ready to give them up to AA when I know how crazy and invasive they are.” I shrug. “Who’s to say they won’t just take the pictures, use the smuttiest ones, and not even give me credit? Or hire me back?”

Evan furrows her eyebrows and whispers, “So what are you going to do? Leave the magazine for good?”

I’m about to respond when A.J. barks, “Rylan! About damn time.” He looks to one of his cronies and points to Evan and Dallas. “Get her and the boy upstairs and prep them on the set. I’ll be up in a few.”

The AA crew member ushers Dallas and Evan upstairs. I follow them reluctantly, watching their clasped hands swing back and forth in front of me.

Jaime joins us when we’re upstairs, along with several other models, including Delilah and Adam. It seems like everyone is antsy to discover what A.J. has planned for the dream couple, or maybe hoping to get a glimpse of the two of them having sex. Evan and I never got to finish our conversation. The photos I took were supposed to relieve her and Dallas from having sex in front of A.J.

I never thought that through. Maybe if I would have realized this earlier, I wouldn’t have made the hasty decision to not give up the pictures.

I hurry to Evan and Dallas and whisper my concerns.

“Don’t worry about it,” Evan tells me confidently. “I have this handled.”

She looks relaxed. Hell, they both look relaxed. Maybe after getting over the initial stage fright of performing in front of an audience, they both realized it wasn’t so bad.

Still, that doesn’t seem like Evan.

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my dress. I pull it out and read the screen.

Cameron?

“Be right back,” I tell Jaime, slipping into the dining room and hitting accept.

“Hey, you,” I say.

“Sweet, I wasn’t sure if you were going to pick up. How are you doing? You’re in Boston right now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw the update online. What did you tell Mom and Dad?”

“Photography convention,” I say coolly.

“And they bought that? Wow.”

“You know they’re going to find out eventually.”

“And you know that when they do, they’ll freeze all of your assets.”

“I don’t use them anyway.” I think about my inheritance that became available to me when I turned eighteen. I haven’t touched a penny of it. Then again, I’ve always had the magazine. If my parents find out after I’ve been fired, I’ll have nothing.

“Anyway, I was calling to let you know that our new photo touch-up software just became available for beta testers. I wanted to send you a copy.”

“Awesome!” Hopefully, after all of this EPE stuff blows over, I’ll have something to photograph. I give him the address of the house, and then I say, “So what was your reaction when Jaime told you he was hired for the magazine?”

There’s silence on the other end for a brief moment before Cameron says, “Excuse me?”

“Jaime,” I repeat. “He told you that he had gotten the gig with my magazine, right?”

“Britain,” Cameron says slowly. “I haven’t spoken to Jaime in years—since you started college.”

“What? Why?”

“No one told you?”

My stomach twists painfully. “Told me what?”

“Dad fired him, Brit. He was embezzling money.”

I lean against the wall to keep myself standing. “What?”

“It’s a huge story—I don’t have the time to explain it now. I really thought you knew. Just do me a favor—fire that fucker’s ass. And stay away from him, Brit. I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. Hey, I gotta go. But thanks for the software… and you, know, getting me up to date on everything.”

“Love yah, kid.”

The second I hang up the phone, my eyes burn with tears of anger. I breathe deeply through my nose in attempt to calm myself.

Jaime fucked my family over years ago, and I never knew about it. How did I not know about it?

I feel so betrayed. Even though I shouldn’t. There wasn’t romance between us, not really. He initiated his usual game. It was me who decided to finally play along.

I wipe my eyes and straighten my dress, heading out into the foyer.

Dallas’s and Evan’s set is the foyer staircase. The other models find seats on the stone floor. I stand next to Jaime in the corner, trying to remain calm, like nothing’s wrong. The last thing I can handle right now is confronting him during this shoot. It’s like the atmosphere around me is seconds away from exploding.

“Who was that?” Jaime asks.

“Cameron,” I respond blatantly, waiting for his reaction. He says nothing, but his expression turns stiff.

Evan and Dallas stand on the staircase. They whisper feverishly back and forth to each other as the crew builds up the lighting around them, and the photographer adjusts his camera. Finally A.J. enters the room holding his iPad in front of him and carrying a loud conversation on his Bluetooth.

What a douche.

When he finishes, he waves his hand at Dallas and Evan. “Strip,” he says bluntly.

They both pull off their robes, dressed similarly to how they were earlier before our secret shoot.

“What are we doing?” Evan asks.

“All the way. Strip all the way, all clothes off.” A crew member opens a folding director’s chair for A.J., and he takes a seat.

Evan crosses her arms over her push-up bra. “What. Are. We. Doing?” she enunciates.

A.J. sighs impatiently. “Who’s in charge, here?”

“I don’t really care who’s in charge, Mr. Harrison,” Evan says dryly. “I have always known the agenda of my director and photographer. That’s how I prepare to model.”

“Fine!” A.J. barks. “You’re going to get on all fours on those stairs and spread your slutty little cheeks for Mr. Whitley. Is that enough of an agenda for you?”

Everyone in the entire hall falls silent, except for Jaime, who whispers, “Oh, fuck.”

My mouth falls open. Dallas’s expression instantly shifts from complacence to rage. In fact, the only unsurprised expression in the whole room belongs to Evan, who keeps her calm demeanor and her hand pressed to Dallas’s chest, like she’s urging him to do nothing drastic.

Like punch A.J. Harrison square in the jaw.

Evan sighs, “Well then, Mr. Harrison.” Slowly she bends over and picks her robe off the steps, tossing it over her shoulder. “I have an agenda for you as well.”

She struts her way right up to the director’s chair and leans in close to his face.

“Blow me.”

Chapter Eleven

Evan

I’ve never fallen asleep in a library before. Then again, given all of last week’s distraction, I practically live here in order to get caught up in all my classes.

Well, here and the lab.

I wake to someone gently pushing on my shoulder. Before I open my eyes, I know where I am. I know I’ve fallen asleep on top of my cellular regulations textbook and drooled all over the open page.

My eyes flutter open. Dallas kneels next to me, biting his lip and looking like he’s about to bust up laughing.

“Eff off,” I mumble, pushing him away and sitting up. I look down at the wet page of my textbook and blink, my eyes finally focusing. “Eww.”

“You look kind of adorable when you’re drooling everywhere.”

I rub my eyes, glancing at my phone next to my book. Seven text messages. “How’d you find me?” I slur.

“Took me a few hours, but I finally managed. Luckily I got an early enough start.” His eyes sadden, and it dawns on me what he’s saying.

“You’re leaving,” I say.

He nods solemnly.

Our last conversation was an argument. There was no yelling involved, but a storm brewed between us as I refused to let him give up his research for me.

You’re going to Costa Rica. This isn’t a discussion.

I need to be with you, Evan. I can’t get over the fact that I almost lost you.

Fine, then. If it makes it easier, you don’t have me yet. You don’t have me until you go back and finish your work—what you love. You’re almost done. Don’t give up on your dream because of a girl.

You’re not just a girl.

You know what I mean.

And you’ll wait? You’ll swear on your life.

You know I will, Dallas.

He traces my hands as they rest in my lap. “I’m sorry that I came here and got you fired.”

I snort. “You can’t be serious. I would have gotten fired anyway. He would have tried to make me have sex with someone else. You know that. Plus, Britain said that nearly the entire team has dropped from the magazine. Everyone was thinking the same thing. It was destined to crumble.”

This doesn’t seem to comfort him. His eyes grow deeper—more intense. “That money, Evan. You needed it.”

“I’m going to be fine.” I reach out, my knuckles gently brushing his cheek. “Trust me. Don’t worry.”

When he leans in, I inhale. He smells like spice and rain. Before he can kiss me, I press a finger against his lips.

“Kiss me when you come home,” I tell him, even though it kills me. “Kiss me when there is nothing else keeping us apart.”

He defies me, gently kissing the side of my finger. He pulls back and tells me, “I’m not saying goodbye.”

“Don’t,” I say.

He stands, and as he leaves, he reaches down, hand brushing the back of my neck. A shiver trickles down my spine.

I don’t watch him leave the library.

Instead, with newly found determination, I turn the page of my textbook. I glance over at my planner. Thumbing through it, I find May 27th of next year and write across the entire rectangle one word.

DALLAS.

And then I uncap my highlighter.

Evan

Seven Months Later

Waiting for Dallas at the airport is the most self-conscious I’ve ever been.

I realize now, standing right before security in jeans, my glasses, a zip-up Harvard sweatshirt, and the keys to our new Cambridge apartment tucked in my pocket, that over the past year and a half we’ve been separated more than we’ve been together.

This terrifies me.

It terrifies me because I might be more in love with him now than when he left back in October. I don’t know why. Maybe I’ve just built up a fantasy of the perfect man in my head because I’m delusional and can’t remember what it’s like to really be with him.

And maybe it’s not the same for him.

We’ve had a handful of Skype calls. Even fewer phone calls. His means of communicating with me in the field were next to nothing, and when I was able to talk with him when he was back in California, he sounded anxious, stressed, and overloaded with work. Maybe our time apart made him realize how trivial our romance is compared to a career. Maybe this is the last summer I’ll ever spend with him.

You’re thinking too much, Evan.

His flight is delayed. I go pee and get a coffee, realizing coffee is a terrible idea with my jitters, but I can’t help it because coffee reminds me too much of him, and I’m about to lose my mind before finally—finally—I see him at the end of the hall.

Reunions in busy airports are a strange thing. I can’t run to him because I’m not allowed to. He can’t run to me because he certainly can’t just abandon his luggage in the middle of the airport unless he wants to get arrested. His walk is relaxed, even when he sees me, the faintest grin on his lips.

I try to mirror his calm state by crossing my arms nonchalantly, even though my entire body is shaking.

I can see the electric-blue of his eyes from here. Against the new tan of his skin, he’s even more beautiful than when he left me. If that’s even possible.

As he approaches, his face grows solemn—serious. When he reaches me, he drops his duffel and cups my jaw in both his hands.

“I came here all this way to tell you,” he begins monotonously, “that I’ve fallen in love with a Costa Rican woman. Tomorrow, I will fly back, and we will ride off into the sunset together, get married on top of a mountain, and perform missionary-position intercourse on our wedding night with the lights off.”

I frown. “And your eyes closed?”

“Of course,” he says blatantly. “I can’t handle seeing a woman naked all at once.”

“And you’d rather tell me this than kiss me,” I say, hurt lingering in my voice.

The corners of his lips perk up. “I have the rest of my life to kiss you.”

“You have the rest of your life to tell me bad jokes, too.”

His hands glide from my jaw to the back of my neck, and his lips crush mine. My knees give out, but he holds me steady against him, refusing to let me fall. He pulls away and whispers, “Baby, are you crying?”

A tear drips from my chin. Forehead pressed to his, I work to memorize every fleck of his irises, hoping that one day I will have stared into them long enough to know them by heart.

It seems that every time I look into them, they astonish me just a little more.

Fingers tangled in my hair, he presses his lips to my forehead.

I whisper to him, “Let’s go home.”

Britain

Me: Don’t be mad at me.

What did you do now? Evan types back to me over IM.

Me: Can I call you?

Evan: In class. Supposed to be paying attention. Final tomorrow. Whatevs.

Me: Well, I decided that it was a shame to let all of those photos go to waste, especially after the models quit on AA and there was never a Halloween issue.

Evan: Are you saying that you’re putting out one last EPE?

Me: Can’t. Those fuckers still own the rights to the mag. But I let Andrea see the pics and she came up with a story. Like, a fucking great story, Evan. Way better than that raunchy professor one with you and Dallas.

Evan: What are you saying?

Me: Well, she wrote it and it ended up being really long. So I just went for it and pitched it to a couple publishers as a horrormance novella with photographs. Figured we’d self-publish if there were no bites.

Evan: OMG… did you FUCKING SELL IT?

Me: For money, bitch. Lots. An editor read my credentials and was a fan of EPE… can you believe it?

Evan: Shit. Class just ended and I have lab. I’LL CALL YOU IN LIKE FOUR HOURS OKAY?

Evan C. has logged off.

I wanted to tell her that she and Dallas were going to end up with fat commission checks, but I figure that surprise can wait. Quickly, I scan through the emails with my new editor, reading through the contract and the messages containing her high hopes for the book and its series potential.

My photography days might not be over yet.

When Delilah comes home from class, I close out the email. I haven’t told anyone yet, except for Andrea and Evan. The news is still fresh, and after the AA fiasco, I don’t really feel like spreading it just yet.

Although there is one more person I’d like to tell.

I walk out onto the concrete pool deck barefoot, the warm breeze grazing my skin. I call his cell. Of course, he doesn’t pick up.

He never picks up.

The last time I saw him was when EPE dismantled itself. Evan stormed out, and as the chaos and gossip arose from the other models, A.J. screamed at me to get her back. I threw my hands in the air and told him I couldn’t do anything—I no longer worked for him.

We had the manor booked for the rest of the week, but after most of my models quit, including Delilah and Adam, we all decided to rent a suite together. When I was packing my things and leaving Veda Manor, I couldn’t find him.

I called him once when we were at the hotel. He didn’t pick up.

I can only assume that Cameron contacted him and threatened him to leave. I never confronted my brother though. The entire situation was too surreal for me to even know where to begin.

“Hey, it’s Brit. Listen… I have news. I know… I know you probably don’t care. Fuck, Jaime. I know Cameron contacted you, so you know that I know what happened between the two of you. Well, between you and my entire family. But it can’t be over like this. I need to hear what happened from your mouth. I know we… we weren’t together long or anything. Maybe your feelings for me were never more than—you know—wanting to hook up. I just… I wish I knew for sure….

“I miss you.”

“Brit. It’s Jaime. Sorry I missed you… again. It is one in the morning so that would explain it. I’m also… uhh… I’m kind of drunk… Fuck. Fuck, Brit. Boston was amazing and you are amazing and you did nothing. You did nothing to deserve being ignored. I’m just… goddamnit, Brit. I’m a fuck-up, but you have to trust me that what happened at your dad’s company isn’t what it seems. I just… I wish I could explain to you. Goodbye, Brit.”

----Original Message-----

From: Britain McCulley (britmccull@epuniversity.net)

Sent: June 14th, 2014

To: Jaime Rivera (jrivera@mail.net)

Subject: Fuck You.

Jaime,

Although you’re an ass, I’m willing to look past everything to give you a chance.

We all have demons. I want to hear what you have to say.

Despite everything that happened in Boston, I guarantee that you still think I’m some delicate porcelain princess.

Leaving for home in a week, and I plan to be lounging around the pool every day. You know, if you’re in the area.

I still have that red bikini.

Love,

Britain

From: Jaime Rivera (jrivera@epuniversity.net

Sent: June 15th, 2014

To: Britain McCulley (britmccull@epuniversity.net))

Subject: Re: Fuck You.

Britain,

Keep your bedroom window unlocked.

See you in a week.

Jaime

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to my husband, a mighty fine source of inspiration.

To Sara and Eva, who aren’t afraid to talk smut with me. Well, most of the time.

And to my amazing fans. You know, for putting up with my corny jokes.

Content

Dark Frame
East Park - 2
by
Iris Blaire

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Acknowledgements