“You did Aaron Penn! You did Aaron Penn!”

“Oh my god Alice, that’s not a song. Stop trying to make that into a song.”

Alice just keeps dancing around my room, continuing to sing out her words in an opera voice.

“You did Aaron Penn! He put his penis in your vaginaaaaaa.”

“ALICE!” I throw a pillow at her from where I’m sitting on the bed.

“I can’t believe you did him again,” she says, finally giving up with the singing and plopping down next to me. “I mean, I actually kind of believed you after the first time, when you said it was just a heat of the moment kind of thing. I always knew you guys wanted to do each other, but now it’s clear you actually like him. Like, like like.”

“Stop saying like. Also I don’t know if that’s how I feel about him. I haven’t given myself time to think about it.”

“Too busy getting your brains fucked out every other day?”

“Alice Strauss!” I hit her with another pillow. “As you well know, we have only actually had intercourse twice.”

“Intercourse? Ew. What are you, a grandma?” She wrinkles her nose. “Also, that may be the case, but from what you’ve told me he’s still very well acquainted with your hoo-ha, granny.”

“He certainly knows how to work a hoo-ha,” I admit, letting myself fall back onto the bed.

“Oh by the way,” Alice remarks. She starts to bounce up and down with excitement over whatever she’s about to say next. “You know Carl, that dude you guys made me drunk text when we were playing Jenga?”

“Of course I know Sexy Carl. You’ve had a crush on him for forever.”

To the point where we mutually refer to him as ‘Sexy Carl.’

“Well, I didn’t tell you this yet because I didn’t want to jinx it, but he responded to my text. Then I responded to his. We’ve been texting back and forth ever since, and we’re going on a date tomorrow night.”

“Alice!” I shout, sitting back up and once more hitting her with the pillow. “That’s awesome! You’re finally going to bang Sexy Carl!”

She grins and nods vigorously. “You may be dating the most famously hot dude on campus, but Sexy Carl’s got quite a reputation for himself too. We’ll be like college royalty soon.”

A feel a shifting unease in the bottom of my stomach. “I mean, I’m not dating Aaron.”

“Do you want to be?” Alice asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “It’s...complicated.”

It’s too personal of a thing to mention to Alice, but hearing I was the first person he’d slept with in a year shocked me more than I let on to even Aaron himself.

I mean, this is a guy who’s probably had to get a second SIM card just to hold all the phone numbers he’s been offered. With just a flash of that panty-dropping smirk, I’m pretty sure he could have a different girl warming his bed every night of the week.

If he hasn’t been with anyone, it’s because he hasn’t wanted to be. I can see a hesitancy in him sometimes when we’re together, a crack running through whatever mask he wears, revealing a scar so deep it makes me ache. Then there’s his mysterious request to keep his photography a secret. I can tell there’s something dark there, some kind of hurt I can’t help wanting to heal, but that would be a dive into the emotional deep end I don’t know if I want to take.

He’s Aaron Penn, for god’s sake. He may be able to work my body as well as he can work a camera, but he’s still the douchebag who insists on calling me Peaches and wearing a beanie wherever he goes. I’ve spent so long despising him it’s hard not to gag at the thought of him actually being my boyfriend.

Alice draws me out of my reverie by blasting Avril Lavigne’s ‘Complicated’ on her phone and belting out the lyrics over the noise.

“Meu Deus!” I shout. “You have a problem, Alice!”

* * *

I’m taking some summer courses this year, so I only have a few short weeks before classes start up again. I’ve decided to fill the time with working extra hard on my freelance business and following up with all the connections I made at the showcase.

I’ve sent emails to everyone who seemed impressed by our project, thanking them for coming and expressing interest in any openings they might have in the future. So far I’ve only gotten a few of the typical ‘We have no openings at this time but will keep your resume on file’ responses, but I’ve yet to hear anything from both Epsilon and P&T. They seemed to be our most promising leads, not to mention the most impressive ones.

I’m at our neighbourhood coffee shop one day, glued to my laptop as I do a bit of market research for a client who’s launching a new vegan recipe blog, when an alert for an email from a P&T address pops up on my screen.

I try to calm my already thumping heart and brace myself for another let down before opening the message.

Dear Ms. Dominguez,

Thank you for getting in touch. I was hoping I would hear more from you. We were all very impressed with your work.

As you may remember me mentioning, we’re currently working on a campaign for a women’s fashion line. Specifically, the project will be designed to market a new line of swimwear. The ads you featured in for your showcase project were both refreshing and engaging, and that’s just what our client wants.

I would love to speak with you more about your potential involvement in the project.

Sincerely,

Jim Sanders

I read over the email three times before I actually digest what it says. Palmer & Turquot, one of the most prestigious firms around, wants to talk to me about working on a project.

I look around the coffee shop, amazed that everyone can be sitting still when something so life changing has just happened. I keep blinking into the mid-morning light streaming through the windows before dropping my eyes to my laptop again and letting my fingers fly across the screen, pounding out a response saying how thrilled I am at the offer. I read it over and make a few adjustments so I don’t sound too eager before sending it off.

Staying focused on my freelance work after that is next to impossible, so I pack up my stuff and head home. By the time I get there, a new email from Jim Sanders has arrived.

Ms. Dominguez,

That’s excellent news. To answer your question about what the role would consist of, right now we’re considering you as a brand representative. I do remember you saying that modelling isn’t the focus of your career, but this role would consist of much more than that.

As a brand rep, you’d be one of the faces of the campaign. You would feature in all the ad materials, and be asked to maintain social media accounts that use your personal image to promote the brand. This would involve development of creative advertising strategies on your part, and from what I’ve seen of your work, you’d be more than capable of doing the job.

I can schedule you for an interview on Wednesday at two.

Sincerely,

Jim Sanders

An interview. I’m actually being offered an interview by a major advertising firm.

I try not to let the dubious job description dull my excitement. It’s clear that despite me saying I had no interest in modelling, they still want me to pose for ads. If they were only interested in my ability to look good in a swimsuit, though, why would they bother with me? Plenty of girls can put on a bikini and flirt with a camera, probably way better than I can. They had to have seen something of value in my advertising work, and if that’s the case, maybe I can talk them out of the modelling aspect.

With the word ‘interview’ still dancing before my eyes, I whip out my phone and pause when I find myself punching in Aaron’s number.

My first thought when I read through the email was, ‘I have to tell Aaron.’ Not Alice. Not my parents. Aaron. I didn’t stop to think about what that meant, and I decide that I’m not going to now. I hit the call button and wait for him to pick up.

“Well look whose calling. To what do I owe the pleasure, Princess Peach?”

I hesitate, suddenly doubting myself. ‘An exciting thing happened to me and I just wanted to tell you about it,’ isn’t really something you say to your archenemy with whom you just happen to be having casual sex.

“I, uh, just wanted to gloat. I figured you might want the opportunity to bask in my superiority.”

“Bask in your superiority? That sounds like something I would say.”

“Yeah, actually, it does. I’m spending too much time with you. It’s rubbing off. Anyways, just wanted to let you know that I was right and you were wrong. P&T were clearly impressed with more than my boobs. They offered me an interview.”

“Seriously?” he asks. “At P&T?”

“Yep. The day after tomorrow.”

“Okay I’ll admit it, Dominguez. I’m impressed. What position is it for?”

“It’s kind of weird,” I admit. “I’m hoping to just use the interview as an in to talk about doing something else, but they mentioned considering me as a brand representative.”

“Like...what celebrities do?” He sounds skeptical. “Personally represent the brand? Like, being seen using the product and featuring in ads and stuff?”

“Sort of,” I answer, even though that’s exactly how Jim Sanders described it. “They said it involves lot of creative thinking.”

“Sounds sketchy, Peaches.”

My hand tightens around my phone. I know it’s immature, but hearing him voice all my own doubts makes me turn all the frustration I’m feeling onto him.

“Can’t you just be happy for me?” I hate how whiny I sound. “So what if it sounds sketchy? It’s still an interview with an industry giant. That’s something. Have you even bothered to follow up with anyone?”

“No. I’m focusing on school until I’m done my program.”

The calmness in his voice is grating. I know he’s just trying to be sensible, but I can’t help taking it as a challenge.

“Well I’m going to the interview.”

“I never said you shouldn’t.”

My frustration reaches an even higher pitch and I breathe out, trying to clear my head.

“Hey,” he says, his tone soft. “It is exciting, no matter what job it’s actually for. Did you, um, I mean...” He trails off and clears his throat before continuing. “Did you want to maybe come over here? We could celebrate your glorious achievement.”

I’m shocked right out of my irritation. Last time I was at his place he seemed so nervous about me being there I almost felt like I should offer to leave. He barely let me see more than the bedroom.

Not that I minded. He made sure I was well entertained in there.

“Is this a thinly disguised booty call?” I ask.

“Call it what you want. Just come over and bring me dat booty.”

There’s the Aaron Penn I know and loathe.

“Okay, but if you say ‘dat booty’ at any point, I’m walking right back out the door.”

* * *

“There’s dat booty.”

I’ve only got one foot in the door when Aaron slides his hands around me to grip my ass.

“I told you I—”

Before I can offer any kind of protest, he crushes his mouth to mine and pulls me tight against his chest. For a moment I’m startled, and then I let myself fall into the kiss, reaching up to grab hold of his shoulders and slip my tongue into his mouth. I feel him sigh, and the sound travels right down between my legs.

He backs me against a wall—at this point I’m not even sure which wall— and parts my thighs with one of his own. I squeeze around him and he presses into me harder, targeting where I’m most sensitive even through all of our clothes. When the kiss finally ends, we’re both breathless.

“Well somebody’s all riled up today,” I pant.

Aaron presses his forehead to mine. “I wanted to see you.”

My initial impulse is to call him out on what he actually means by ‘see’ but there’s a quiet intensity to his words, a sincerity that’s only amplified when I feel him press his lips to my hairline.

Uh, okay. That took a turn for the emotional.

“Well I for one would like to see you with a lot less clothes on.” Even in my own ears, I sound anxious. The laugh I give at the end of the sentence comes out just a little too high-pitched.

“I give the people what they want,” he answers.

He throws me over his shoulder and I squeal in surprise, beating my fists against his back as he carries me to the bedroom. I land with a thump on the mattress and he lets himself fall down beside me.

“Hey,” I say, rolling on my side to face him. “Get naked, Penn.”

“I want to hear more about the interview first.”

He turns onto his side as well, his blue eyes capturing mine.

“You could have me bent over backwards right now and you want to talk about an interview?” I laugh.

“Yeah,” he replies, grinning. “Weird, isn’t it? I’ve been finding myself...thinking about you. A lot.”

I can feel my pulse hammering in almost every part of my body right now.

“Oh?” I manage, my voice small.

“I don’t think you can truly appreciate how hard it is for me to say this, but I...I like you, Christina. I like you a lot.”

For some reason, hearing those words with his eyes locked on mine, our bodies so close that I can feel the heat of his skin and his breath on my neck, fills me with more of a thrill than any of his kisses ever have.

I inch my body closer, letting just one of my fingers hook into the front pocket of his jeans.

“Why is that hard for you to say?”

“I just, um, for awhile I haven’t been so great at letting people in.”

“Well,” I say, moving my finger to trail the bottom of his t-shirt, “maybe if your ego wasn’t so big, you’d have more room for other people.”

He laughs. “I mean, that’s kind of the point.”

I’m trying to puzzle out what he means by that when he asks me to tell him about the interview again.

“Here.” I sit up to grab my purse where I let it drop at the edge of the bed. “This is what they sent.”

I dig out my phone and pass it to him after opening up the email exchange with Jim Sanders. I watch his eyebrows contract, two furrows appearing between them as he reads.

He passes the phone back to me. “I don’t know. That guy still sounds like a sleaze who just thinks you’ll look good in a bathing suit.”

“Seriously?” I demand. “He said our work was refreshing and engaging, and he said I’d be capable of creative advertising strategies.”

“He said the images of you were refreshing and engaging, and to be honest, the creative part sounds like he just wants you to take nice Instragram bikini shots.”

“Why are you being like this about it?” I snap.

He props himself up on his elbows. “What? Honest? Because I didn’t like how they treated you and I think you deserve more value and respect. I mean, this is P&T. Sure, they’re huge, but they’re not known for being particularly modern, and clearly that holds true for the roles they give women in advertising.” He sighs and tugs at his beanie. “I just don’t know if this is such a good idea, Christina. Career-wise, aren’t they kind of the complete opposite of Epsilon?”

“It’s just an interview,” I grumble. “And is it so hard to believe they might actually want me because they think I’m smart?”

“This isn’t me having a bad opinion of you. It’s me having a bad opinion of them.”

“Guess we’ll just have to see how the interview goes, then.” I flip onto my back and cross my arms over my chest, looking away from him before the argument can get out of hand.

“Hey,” he says, his voice dropping an octave the way it does when he’s turned on. “Who said you could hide your boobs from me?”

He reaches over to uncross my arms and shifts himself on top of me. I let my eyes fall closed as he brushes his lips over mine, and then trails them down along my jaw line and right to the sensitive skin behind my ear.

My hands twist themselves into his hair and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling his hips into mine as he runs his tongue over the shell of my ear. I gasp at the contact.

“Aaron,” I whisper, as he tugs my earlobe between his teeth.

“Mmm?”

His breath is like a thousand tiny lightning bolts connecting with my skin. I guide his head up so that his face is level with mine.

“I, um, I like you too. A lot.”

For a moment he just stares, and then he dips his head down to draw me into a deep, slow kiss.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, after lifting his mouth from mine.

He gets up and heads out of the room, pausing to smile at me over his shoulder before he slips out of view. I hear the bathroom door shut. When he doesn’t return in the next few moments, I get up and wander out of the room. I left in the dark last time and didn’t get to take a look around the apartment.

It’s a decent sized place for one person. Aaron told me he worked as a corporate photographer for a bit between finishing photography school and starting the advertising program, so I guess that’s how he affords to live on his own. I walk into the living area and my attention is immediately drawn to the half dozen photos hanging on the walls.

From the buildings in the background, they all look to have been taken somewhere in Europe. Aaron’s never mentioned travelling before, but I can tell right away that the photos were taken by him. The one closest to me shows a teenage girl leaning against the back railing of a streetcar, wind whipping the bright orange scarf around her neck into the air like a flame. Her eyes stare straight into the camera, pinning me in their gaze.

I feel like I know her. The infectious invincibility of youth, the suffocating confusion of adolescence, the insatiable craving for more of absolutely everything: all of it is present in the way she holds her chin propped in her hand, standing completely still as the people around her form a blurred scramble of shapes clamouring onto the tram. I want to stand beside her and tell her that I felt it too, that I understand, and that one day there will be more.

That’s how I know this is Aaron’s work. When he took my photos, he didn’t just capture what I looked like. He captured what I thought. He got inside my head and saw parts of me I didn’t even see myself.

The other photos are all of people as well: two little boys with a soccer ball, an old woman with weather-beaten skin and glittering eyes, a bride with an enormous wedding dress and heavy makeup stepping into a car, staring at Aaron’s camera with frantic desperation in her face. I peer at each one, feeling all of their emotions as my own.

When Aaron still doesn’t reappear from the bathroom, I keep poking around the apartment. I chuckle to myself when I open his fridge and survey the contents: just a carton of milk and some kind of leftovers. Typical bachelor. There’s a closet in the entryway and I pull the door open, expecting to find a beanie collection I can make fun of him for.

“Christina?” I hear Aaron call.

As I take in what’s lining the walls of the closest, I can’t even find my voice to answer.