Chapter Seven
Evan
I arch my back off my bed, fingers working furiously at my clit until I feel my third orgasm of the night wash over me. Coming down from my high, I take deep gulps of air and wait to feel satisfied, but satisfaction never comes.
I groan and flip over to my stomach, burying my head beneath my pillow as I wait for my heart to stop hammering in my chest.
It’s normal for any girl to be this turned on by a gorgeous model. Especially a girl who has sworn off guys for a year.
For a whole year, it’s been me and my fingers. Sometimes a vibrator when I feel like using one. I keep telling myself that it’s less emotionally straining than a real live man in my bed, but now I’m starting to question that statement.
I haven’t wanted anyone this bad in a damn long time.
But that’s because you dry hump him for work, dipshit.
It’s true. It isn’t Dallas Whitley that is turning me on. It is the generic male presence after being so chaste for so long.
It has to be. I can’t be feeling things for Dallas. He’s in grad school in my department and is my coworker. He’s too close to everything important in my life. Everything keeping me afloat.
And he has a girlfriend. I can’t be feeing anything for Dallas because he has a girlfriend.
^^^^
The next morning, things are in serious production mode in the studio. I make my banana protein shake and head over there in my pjs, sitting in the corner as Britain organizes teams of writers, graphic designers, the guy who does our page layout—hell, even the web designer is here. It’s so loud in the studio living room that everyone’s yelling just to be heard, but even in the chaos, Britain still has a huge smile on her face.
She’s gotten pre-production down to a science, that girl. The formatting and layout of the magazine are usually done in one work day, tops. Our rapid momentum is why we’re capable of being bimonthly—well, that and our readers are willing to buy two issues a month. It seems like they can’t quite ever get their skin fix, which works in our favor.
Britain walks over and sits next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.
“You’ve been working really hard on this issue,” I say.
She sighs. “Thanks for noticing, Evan. I need people like you in my life.”
I smile. My favorite thing about Britain and me is that we can be snarky to each other during shoots to let off steam, but that doesn’t ever put a dent in our friendship. Unconventional, yes, but it’s been working out for us.
“Evan—your shoot with Dallas. Jesus, it’s like the two of you are made to pose together. I mean, even though Adam’s and Delilah’s shoots are more risqué, the two of you are making me really hot and bothered.”
I snort. “That’s kind of disturbing.”
“I’m sorry, it’s the truth. Once you forget I’m there, you guys have crazy chemistry.”
“Well, that’s good. At least Dallas is doing what you hired him for.”
“You like him?” she asks.
“Dallas? Well yeah, sure. He knows what he’s doing.”
She giggles. “That’s not what I meant, Evan.”
Oh. She’s asking if I like him, like him, as if we’re in high school and we’re talking about the cute band kid with braces. Good grief.
Before I can say anything, one of the writers calls her over to ask her a question, and I’m left alone. I get the hell out of the studio.
Having the pool shoot and the desk shoot under our belts, Dallas and I are set for a while in terms of modeling. Britain wants to debut us with the desk shoot and use the pool shoot for the next issue, when Rylan has some fun time with her professor in the gym shower.
Seriously—these shoots are so corny, I won’t be surprised if they flop. If they did flop, I guess Britain would have to fire the boys.
An odd pang of disappointment settles in the pit of my stomach, but it’s quickly replaced by anxiety as I head out toward the mailbox. I haven’t received any letters regarding acceptance from any of the schools that I applied to for grad programs. Something tells me that news is right around the corner.
I open the mailbox only to have disappointment return to me. Nothing but advertisements and junk mail.
I chuck the papers in the trashcan and return to my room, where I spend the rest of the day studying for my biology test tonight. Dallas pointed me in the right direction, and with his guidance, hopefully I will only study what’s needed for the test. Hopefully, he won’t be screwing me over.
An hour before class, Mom texts me. So, this weekend… u busy?
I sigh. I can’t avoid her any longer. I hit the reply button. Sure. I’ll come see your new place.