Ever feel like your life has been turned upside down? That's how I've felt ever since Chelsea walked onto my set. It's all because of her tits. I should not have noticed the size of her breasts, or that they were real, and I might as well come completely clean here—they were the best set I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot. But not even that, they were the best set I’ve ever touched—squeezed—touched.

For a week now, I've tried to block out the way they felt when I grabbed them. But, it's hard when you have to stare at the pictures with a million-different people, and they point and place their finger right on the rosy nipple I know is behind the bikini top. It’s even harder cause she’s living with me. She’s everywhere. I step out of my bedroom door, and she’s traipsing down the hall in nothing but a towel with her wet hair dripping down her tanned body. Or, when I wake up, the smell of breakfast brings me to the kitchen where she’s wearing cute boy shorts and a tiny tank.

Her tight little body is always on display for me, taunting me. Even her last name…

“Is Sincock here yet?” Stan, the set coordinator for today's lingerie shoot, asks.

There's a glint in his eye when he says it. I don't like it. He's always staring at her. They act as if they've never seen a beautiful woman before. I'll admit, she has a certain girl next door quality to her that's much more appealing than the glossiness of the other models. So, I'll give them that. But I don’t like the way they say her name. Goddammit. I turn from checking the lighting setup for today's shoot and stalk over to the hair and makeup room and stick my head in the door. “Chelsea, let's go.”

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror stretched across the wall. Scrawled in red lipstick across the glass is: ‘In moments of doubt, eat a donut.’

“Nice affirmation today,” I tell Garcia, the resident makeup artist. “If you’d hurry, maybe we could actually eat.”

“You need to not demand things,” he chastises me. “Art takes time.” He dips his fingers into Chelsea's loose curls and gives it a tousle. “Go make love to that camera, Siiiincock,” he drawls out. “Make those men want to lick the pages.”

And that right there is about all I can take of this. Men licking pages and my best friend’s sister should not be happening. What else shouldn't be happening? Me looking at her long legs when she stands. She wraps the too short white robe tighter around her. I grit my teeth. She looks like a fucking sex goddess. Why the hell would Garcia do this? The other models on today’s shoot don't look like they just rolled out of bed after a hard fuck. But, then again, the other models don't have curves like Chelsea, so a hard fuck would probably break them.

She glides over to me on six inch stilettos, and I grab her elbow and pull her aside in the hallway. “Listen, you're going to have to change your last name.”

“What?” She pushes my glasses up a bit on my nose and rolls her eyes. “You're being ridiculous. Do you know that?”

“This is just wrong,” I tell her, stepping away to put some space between us.

She shakes her sex hair head. Her lashes are so thick and full, I'm not sure how she's lifting them. “I realize this is uncomfortable for you. But it's not wrong. You need to stop being so negative.” She smiles. “Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it,” I tell her. “Maybe you should be a comedian.”

“Jonah, we need you on set,” Stan calls out. He spots Chelsea and grins. “Ready, Sincock?”

I'm going to have no molars left if this continues.

“Yep,” she says, turning to walk down the hallway to the set area.

I follow behind her swaying ass, dreading this assignment for Deluxxx Lingerie. Maria, Lyla, and Zanna wave when we enter the large room transformed into a kitchen. Well, a partial kitchen. The magic of Photoshop will fill in the appliances.

“Okay, girls,” Stan announces while I get my camera ready, “the concept here is that men fantasize about their woman in the kitchen wearing lingerie. They want to come home to a hot meal and a hot woman.” He hands Chelsea a frying pan. “You want to make your man happy, so you’ll be cooking. Just reach out like you're putting this on an imaginary stove.”

I take a few test shots and force back the urge to ban Chelsea from the set while he finishes. Unfortunately, I can't. These clients pay big bucks to advertise their products in Bunny Hunnies, so I have to be professional. Maybe I'm overreacting. She's twenty four, an adult, and if she wants to flaunt her sweet ass body in a men’s magazine…

She drops her robe.

I drop my camera.