It wasn’t unusual at all for me to dress in skimpy outfits when I was tending bar, but the getup I wore today had me squirming. And while I really was excited to have been chosen Miss February—once I got over the shock—and I didn’t have a problem posing half naked, especially for a good cause, I didn’t want to get frostbite in the process.

“Can you turn the air conditioner down a little?” I asked, trying hard to keep from shivering. “It’s really cold in here.”

“Not if we’re going to keep your nipples erect,” the photographer’s assistant answered without even looking at me. “We usually use ice, but we can’t get your top wet.”

You’d think a long-sleeved turtleneck would have kept me warmer, but it was cropped to allow the bottom half of my breasts to be visible, which meant my back and stomach were also exposed. The matching red lace V-thong panties weren’t doing much to warm my lower half either.

My nipples were erect, all right, and so was my skin. Tiny goose bumps populated my legs and stomach.

The assistant finished fiddling with the lights and turned her attention to me, a quivering mass of flesh perched on the bar at Blondie’s.

“I guess Antoine or I can pinch your nipples. That usually works.”

She had to be fucking kidding.

Reading my mind or perhaps the horrified look on my face, she continued. “Antoine is gay, so it’s no big deal. It’s no different for him than changing the f-stop on his camera.” She adjusted the bandanna covering her black-and-purple hair. “And I’m a lesbian, so at least I know what I’m doing. But you’re totally not my type.” She pointed her finger at me and waved it up and down. “Bleached hair, fake nails, fake boobs—not my thing.”

If this calendar hadn’t been raising money for sick kids, I’d have taken my real boobs and my fake everything else and walked the hell out of there.

“My boobs are not fake,” I said, trying to sound indignant while my teeth chattered.

That seemed to perk her up. “They’re real? And they stay up like that?” She took a step toward me. “Can I touch them?”

“No, you can’t touch them! I’ll touch my own boobs, thank you very much.”

I folded my arms, crossed my legs, and glared at her. I’d gone from feeling like a still life of a bowl of fruit to the prize sheep in a petting zoo.

“Hey, if autoeroticism is your thing and you can keep those babies erect, go for it,” she said, dangling a pair of long-stemmed cherries in front of my face. “Just have them up and ready to go when Antoine is ready. We can’t be waiting on your nipples.”

She waved the fruit in front of me. “Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

* * *

Preston called late the night of the calendar shoot. I was already asleep and had been for at least two hours.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine,” I whispered. “Just hoping I didn’t catch pneumonia.” I crawled out of bed and down the hall into the living room so I wouldn’t wake Izzy. “They had the AC turned so low I could almost see my breath.”

“You’re kidding! Irena was okay with that?”

“She wasn’t there. I have a key, so she didn’t need to come in until she had to start getting ready for the lunch crowd. We started at seven, and by the time she came in, I’d talked them into letting me pinch my own nipples so they could turn the AC off.” I tried to muffle a yawn.

After a long silence, Preston spoke.

“What?”

“What what?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Pinching your own nipples.”

I giggled. “The AC was to keep my nipples erect during the shoot. But after I offered to pinch my own, and they stayed erect, they stopped trying to flash freeze me.”

“I’ve never noticed a problem with your nipples.”

“Preach. But I guess they were worried I’d ruin the shot or something. They even offered to pinch them for me, but I turned that shit down.” I tugged an afghan from the back of the sofa and pulled it over me. “I don’t let just anybody touch the girls.”

His laughter rumbled soft and low.

“And even though I refused to let him take matters into his own hands, so to speak, the photographer said he might have other work for me.”

“What kind of work?”

“I’m not sure. I’m okay with sexy photos, but I’m not doing porn, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hey, you never know. With your looks and that killer body, you could make a fortune.”

He probably meant that as a compliment, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he would be okay with me doing those kinds of photos. But like I always did when someone mentioned my obvious (and maybe only) positive attribute, I played along.

“Yeah, who knows? Maybe he could get me on the cover of Juggs.”

When he laughed, my heart slipped from my chest into my stomach. When he finally got it out of his system, he cleared his throat.

“Hey, babe, listen. Something’s come up at work, and I’m heading to South Carolina first thing in the morning.”

I fluffed one of the sofa cushions and tucked it under my head so I could lie down. “How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks at least. For now. I’m sorry. I don’t really have a choice. The old man’s been coming down hard on me lately, and this is a big project.”

I didn’t have the guts to ask if he’s father’s recent behavior had anything to do with me. I didn’t have to. Preston rarely spoke about his parents. Remembering how they’d reacted to me when we met, and how insulting his father had been, I didn’t push him either.

“Will you be able to come home on weekends?”

He was silent so long, I assumed he was trying to decide how to answer me. “I’m not sure. Maybe not right away. I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

I pulled the afghan tighter and wrapped my arms around myself.

“Okay. Have a good trip.”

“I love you.”

My throat was thick with emotion, and I had to force the words out.

“Love you too. G’night.”