Dallas
Evan says nothing about last night on our way back to the studio. What’s worse is that she keeps talking, yammering on about the most mundane shit ever—biology. The thing is, Evan doesn’t yammer, so I can only assume that this is some kind of coping mechanism to avoid awkward conversation.
I should have never “practiced” posing with her last night. I got ahead of myself. Thing is, even if I told Tricia, she would probably just brush it off, telling me that doing things like that with Evan is just part of the job. That’s why I have to be even more careful. Only I can hold myself accountable.
Which is becoming harder to do. The more she blabs on about this article she read on the internet about mutating genes in kittens, the more I want to order her to pull the car over, push her against the window, and shut her up with my mouth.
My fantasies are getting out of control.
Luckily, I don’t have to listen to any more biology crap when we roll up to the studio. The cul-de-sac is packed with cars. Evan opens the front door, and the place is buzzing with people—models, makeup artists, writers, photographers. Britain runs up to us, her eyes bright with excitement.
“The numbers are already rolling in for e-issues. Huffington Post mentioned my blog interview in an article today. Can you believe that? The Huffington-fucking-Post.”
“The Huffington Post covers porn?” I say dumbly.
“Apparently, us renovating the zine to be more universally friendly cross-gender caught their attention. And it did. I mean, it worked.” She’s babbling a million miles a minute, almost as bad as Evan was in the car, but what Britain is saying is much more interesting. “Our agenda worked too. Have you been looking at the website?”
“No I haven’t been looking at the website,” Evan says with a huff. “We literally just got back from my mom’s.”
“Well, fuck you. Wait.” Britain raises and eyebrow. “We, as in both of you, just got back from your mom’s?”
“Long story,” I answer. “You were saying?”
“Right. Well, our feedback on the issue over all realms of social media is positive for both genders. But almost everyone is wanting more.”
“More what?” Evan asks.
“More sexual tension. And more skin.” Britain waggles her eyebrows and Evan rolls her eyes. But her eye rolling is a poor mask. She looks nervous.
“I hope the two of you are ready. We’re gonna promote the shit out of the second in the series. I want to shoot today, if that’s cool with the two of you. Can you be in hair and makeup in five? And it doesn’t matter what you wear.” She winks, and before either of us can respond, saunters away.
Evan sighs loudly and pushes back her chocolate hair with her fingers. I grasp her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “Hey. You okay?”
She performs the adorable gesture of pushing up the middle of her glasses with her finger. She’s not wearing makeup, just like how she was last night. Arching beneath me. A guttural moan escaping her throat. I blink the image away before I have the chance to get hard.
“Peachy,” she says with a weak grin.
“If I ever do anything to make you uncomfortable, in front of the camera or not, you’d tell me, right?”
She blinks slowly before saying, “You’re not the problem, Dallas.”
I have no idea what she means, but I’m quickly distracted by the giggling coming from the corner of the room. A gaggle of models are looking toward us. A gorgeous blonde smiles at me and winks. She holds up the current issue of EPE.
Evan rests her hand on my arm. She’s looking over at the girls with disdain. I bite back a grin—is she being protective of me?
“You want to look at the issue?” I ask her.
“Hell no,” she replies quickly. “Especially not the shoot with you.” And in the same breath, “I need to get my makeup done.”
She stalks away.
I walk up to the blonde model and her friends. All of them are dressed in bikinis or lingerie. “Can I borrow that?” I ask.
She pops her hip. “Sure.” She hands me the magazine and bats her eyelashes. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I would pay money to shoot with you. Maybe we could do a private session later?”
“Err… I can’t tell if you’re being literal, or if, by private session, you’re hitting on me. I’m a science dork. I’m not that great with reading women.”
She and her posse giggle. “You silly boy.” She leans in and whispers, her hot breath tickling my ear. “I meant that, later tonight, I’d like to get your alone and fuck your brains out.” She takes a step back. “Offer’s on the table.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I not feel turned on in the slightest by this beautiful girl offering herself to me? “Sorry,” I tell her. “I have a girlfriend.”
She sneers. “Rylan?”
“Uhh… no, actually. But Rylan is a friend. Look, I gotta…”
“Pretty boy!” Someone hollers across the room. On instinct I turn. A pissed, goth-looking girl is staring right at me. “You done flirting? You need to get your ass into makeup.”
I don’t argue, using this as an excuse to dodge any more advances from blondie.
When the makeup artist and I are alone in the dressing room, she orders me to sit. “Luckily, because you have balls, I don’t have to do a lot to you,” she says to me, getting a pasty makeup ready for me by mixing colors together. “You wouldn’t believe the shit these girls have to put on every day before they shoot.”
I open the magazine right at the end of mine and Evan’s office shoot. I’m standing over her, cupping her ass. At least she looks like she’s having a good time. I quickly close it again. Now I know why Evan never looks at issues. I looked… well, I looked creepy. I have no idea how chicks find this professor-student role play shit attractive.
Granted, it was fun as hell to shoot.
I glance over at the artist’s makeup kit as she starts wiping stuff on my face. It reads NORA. “Nora, why do the models hate Rylan?”
She chuckles. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug.
“Not all of them do. Delilah loves Rylan.”
“So are the temp models just jealous of her?”
Nora shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s that. If you haven’t noticed, Rylan has a fuck-it-all kind of attitude that makes her come off as nonchalant. Like she doesn’t care about modeling, she just does it to make money. And to be honest, that’s the truth. She’s gorgeous and knows how to work the camera and uses it to her advantage. The other girls—they see that she doesn’t really want it. They hate her for it.”
I think about this as Britain drives me over to the abandoned gym, where we’re going to be shooting today.
“Evan said that she wanted to go over with the scouts and get ready at the site,” she explains to me. “I guess she’s hoping to get in character before you arrive.”
I study her. “Why do you look so smug?”
She obviously tries to play it cool as we pull into the parking lot. “It’s just funny to me.”
“Yeah, lots of things are funny to me too.”
“How you guys are both totally into each other and to hide it you’re playing up the whole ‘co-worker’ thing.”
What right does this chick think she has to say what I feel? “Dude, Britain. I have a girlfriend, how many times do I have to…”
“Dude, Dallas.” She opens her door and slides out of the car. “Now is the time to acknowledge your feelings for Evan before you do something stupid. Yeah?” She slams the door.
I get out of the car to follow her, to ask her what the fuck she means by before I do something stupid, but she’s walking way too fast, probably because she doesn’t want my confrontation. By the time I start jogging to her, we’re already inside, rounding the bend to the open women’s locker room, to the showers…
Evan sits on top one of the low shower walls as the scouting team sets up the lighting around her, soaking wet and topless.
Completely topless.
Water drips over her chest. I can tell from here that her pink nipples couldn’t be harder.
Waiting.
She’s waiting for me.
Last night I was the deviant. But today, I’m putty in her hands.
Britain snorts. “Go on. Go join your ‘co-worker.’”