Dallas
I finally get why public disguises are so important to Evan. But unfortunately for me, I’m a guy, not super capable of dressing down in order to hide my slutty EPE image. Which makes being at school really. Fucking. Awkward.
The worst was when the freshman girl wanted an autograph as I was on my way to the grad office, pulling the latest issue of EPE out and waving it around like it’s nothing more than an issue of Seventeen. She folded open open the pages to Evan sitting on a desk, her bare legs tangled around my waist.
“Yeah, I can’t do this,” I said out loud, handing the magazine back to her.
But the five seconds of fame aren’t over. The office is worse.
“Nice power-play, Whitley,” Brad drawls. I look up from the research report I’m typing up, at his toothy-fucking-grin. He flashes his EPE copy. “Is that how you win all of your women?”
I slam the lid of my laptop shut and slide it into the sleeve. I need to get out of here now before someone loses an eye.
“Come on, bro. I’m fucking around.”
I can’t even see straight through all of my rage, let alone respond. When I’m out of the office and hurrying to my car, I realize I don’t even know why I’m so pissed off. This is what the shoot was designed to do, wasn’t it? Show off my power-play over Rylan Willow. Derogatory thoughts from bastards like Brad are a natural reaction.
The stares from people I pass are enough my make me go crazy. I really thought I had little shame. I thought that the effects of posing for EPE wouldn’t bother me so much.
When I get into my car and shut the door, I exhale. Maybe it’s because, when people ask for my autograph, when they stare at me, when they make stupid remarks, I imagine Evan having to deal with the same thing. Evan, who’s trying desperately to hide the Rylan side of her every second she’s outside the studio.
I haven’t spoken to her in four days—not since the shower. We’re supposed to shoot again tomorrow. Britain wants variety to choose from for the series, so she wants to shoot as much as possible over the next few weeks. I want to continue to become comfortable with Evan, but that’s kind of impossible with the way she’s avoiding me.
When I handed back her test during bio lecture, she wouldn’t even look at me. I don’t know if she’s making sure that no one who sees us interact puts two and two together, or if this has something to do with what she said back at the showers.
I want you so bad.
Those were the last words she uttered to me, and now she refuses to look at me, even when I pass her in the halls.
Maybe she feels guilty. Maybe it’s my fault, because of what I did to her. I have a girlfriend, but I could help it. Not with her wet and clinging to me. Not with her beautiful, perky tits right in my face.
I needed to lick her. And it made her want me.
But the way she acts toward me now is like she despises me. Along with the reactions from people on campus, I’m starting to hate being an EPE model. Even if Britain is promising me a huge paycheck.
I’m not under contract. Technically I could quit.
No, I can’t. I need this money. And something else inside me really doesn’t want to disappoint Britain.
I get home, and Tricia has her bags packed. Two weeks in Seattle to work with one of her clients—a corporate office that she’s doing some web work for.
“Don’t get too naughty while I’m gone,” she says with a wry smile, kissing me on the mouth. “Got my hands on that EPE issue, and damn, boy. Makes me want to jump you for a quickie right here.”
Well, that’s a first.
“So it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”
She shrugs. “Why would it? She’s just some meaningless model.”
Right. Meaningless model.
Glancing out the window, she says, “My cab’s here,” and kisses me again. “Love you. I’ll call when I get to Seattle.”
And before I can say goodbye, she’s out the door.
Two weeks without Tricia. I wish I could say that this is some kind of victory for me, but being by myself in this apartment gets kind of lonely. Even if she’s always working while she’s here, at least she’s a body—a presence.
I text Evan before heading to the gym, asking if she’s okay. I guess it’s the least I can do considering I haven’t talked her in a week and she’s refusing to make eye contact with me at school. But after two hours of weights and cardio, she still hasn’t responded. At home, I order in Chinese food and study. I call her. No response.
I decide not to heckle her. If, for some reason, I’ve pissed her off, she’s going to have to deal with me tomorrow.
///
Britain wants to shoot outdoors today. Some ultra-sexy picnic shoot, she says. When I arrive at the studio, she is out by the pool with Adam and Delilah. Correction, she is in the pool with Adam and Delilah, who are naked and treading in the deep end. Dressed in a bikini and standing in the shallow end, Britain holds her camera, equipped with water-proof protection.
“Sizzling underwater aerobics,” Britain tells me when I take a seat on one of the pool chairs and watch.
Delilah is giggling, pushing down on Adam’s shoulders to dunk him beneath the surface. Flirting. Of course it would be normal for hot, naked models to flirt with each other.
“Okay, okay, stop fucking around. On my count in three, two, one.”
Britain, Delilah, and Adam sink below the surface at the same time. I can’t really tell what they’re doing underwater, only some rendition of what Britain said—sizzling underwater aerobics. No props other than their skin.
I’m jealous that Adam and Delilah have advanced to this while Evan and I are fucking around with our clothes still on. Why? Because Britain wants to play up the image of Rylan being this slowly-tainted virginal character.
Sort of twisted, if you ask me.
When the three of them emerge again, Britain wipes the water from her eyes and turns to me. “You can get into makeup. Rylan should be in there.”
Great.
Will it be awkward seeing her? She’s acting like she’s pissed at me, and I don’t even know why.
Making my way back to the studio, I stop in my footsteps. I remember in the showers, when I couldn’t contain myself anymore. When, after I knew Britain had stopped shooting, I leaned forward and tasted her.
And she told me how bad she wanted me.
So she has reason to be pissed—why didn’t I think of this before? She said it even more blatantly at the office shoot—You’re so lucky you aren’t single right now. I’d make you get me off.
Like that makes me lucky. Now I don’t get to get a beautiful model off, instead receiving the wrath of her sexual frustration.
Yay for me.
Still, it’s not enough for her to ignore me, especially after texting her and calling her to see if she’s okay.
I walk into the dressing room. She’s dressed in a white bathrobe and hunched over the counter, staring at herself in the mirror. I can’t tell if it’s the lighting, but she looks pale. She glares at me for a split second before her eyes revert to her own face.
“Great to fucking see you too.” I say.
Then she does something I’m totally not expecting. She looks up, and blinks, and blinks. And then her face scrunches up, and she starts to cry.
“I’m sorry.” She covers her mouth with her hands to stifle a sob. “I can’t—I can’t do this today. I’m s-sorry.”
She runs out of the room, the door slamming shut. And I’m left in the dressing room feeling like a dick. I sit on a stool, wondering if I should go after her or if that will make it worse, when Britain walks in, camera in her hand and a towel wrapped around her waist.
I stand. “Did you see Ev—”
She holds her hand out. “Take a seat, hot stuff.”
I listen to her, confused.
She sighs and walks toward the counter, setting her camera down. “Evan’s kind of having a rough time. So we’re gonna cancel the shoot today.”
“Fuck,” I say. “What’d I do?”
She furrows her eyebrows. “You? Well, nothing. I don’t think.”
“Wait… what?”
“Evan. She can’t shoot today.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t get into Berkeley.”
I gape at her. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Evan didn’t get into Berkeley?”
“That’s impossible.”
Britain shrugs. “She got the letter yesterday.”
Yesterday—probably right around the time I texted her asking if she was okay. She was anything but okay.
“Said she could handle the shoot today,” she continues. “She acted fine last night.”
Fine. If I’ve learned one thing about Evan, she can internalize everything if she wants to. Hell, she internalizes an entire side of her every time she walks on campus—every time she’s with her mom.
“So, we’re not shooting today?” I ask.
“I don’t think we can,” Britain says.
“Great,” I say, and head for the door. “I have shit to do.”