Shut Up and Model for Me (12 page)

“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 tracks. 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 make a beautiful model come, 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 makeup 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.”

Chapter Ten

Evan

“You gotta come out sooner or later,” Delilah hollers from outside my door. “Come on, Evan. I want to show you my shoot from today. I’m really proud of it.”

After my shower, I pulled on sweats and burrowed myself in my covers. I plan on staying like this for the next seventy-two hours or so.

“Try back in three days,” I tell her.

“Evan….”

I don’t respond to her whining, and she doesn’t try again.

My life is over. Four years believing that I was destined to get into UC Berkeley—four years working my ass off—for nothing. Without it, I’m nothing more than an undergraduate degree and a stack of erotic magazines.

If I didn’t get into Berkeley, who’s to say that I won’t get into anywhere else I applied for? Who’s to say that I won’t, at the least, make it into East Park’s program? If I don’t make it into East Park’s program, then I can’t even be an EPE model.

I’m done for. Everything I’m good at—I’m done for. I can’t do shit with a Bachelor’s in Biology.

I might as well get into the porn industry.

Someone knocks on the door. Again.

“Go the fuck away.”

“Evan,” Dallas calls. “Open up.”

What the hell is he doing here? “Especially you. Go away.”

“You could make this easy, or I could climb into your bedroom window.”

“You couldn’t.”

“
Try me
.”

“Fuck off,” I say, shutting my eyes tight. Maybe he’s like a monster under the bed. If I pretend he isn’t here, he’ll just go away.

I fall asleep. I don’t know for how long, but when I wake up, it’s dark. My mouth is dry and I really have to pee. I slide out of bed and trudge across the room, opening the door.

Dallas sits before me with his back against the hallway wall. In his lap, he holds a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. “I had to put the beer in the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer because you were being such a stubborn bitch,” he says.

I burst into tears.

^^^^

The spoon that Dallas brought from the kitchen is, I swear to God, the size of my face. Both us sit cross-legged on top of my bed. I let him use the spoon for the ice cream because I’m dipping Cheetos into the goodness and chasing it with beer.

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he says.

“You say that when you’ve been vegan for five months straight with no cheating,” I counter.

He laughs, a noise I can’t help but love. “Touché.”

“I’m going to need to shit all of my insides out in about fifteen minutes.” I dip another Cheeto into the pint of ice cream.

“Christ, Evan.”

“What, that statement too unlady like for you?”

“No, totally turns me on. I’m getting a
huge
boner just thinking about it.”

“I can tell from that
massive
bulge in your pants.”

“Having a battle of sarcasm with someone as stubborn as me is the most fun I’ve had in
years
.”

I can’t help it—I crack a smile.

Then his face grows serious, and not the sarcastic kind of serious either. “This isn’t the end of the world, you know.”

I shake my head. “You don’t get it.”

“I do get it,” he says. “East Park wasn’t my first choice. I mean, it’s not a bad school. And I still have my PhD. What I’m trying to say is—you have options, Evan. Tons of them.”

“If posing for
Hot Skanks R Us
is what you call options.”

He narrows his eyes. “How many schools have you heard back from?”

“Berkeley. It’s enough.”

“What about Harvard?”

“HA. HA,” I say obnoxiously.

“You applied, right?” he asks. “You’d be an idiot if you didn’t. It has the best biochem program in the nation.”

I take a huge gulp of my IPA. Somehow, Dallas knew my favorite brand. I haven’t had beer in ages, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

I snap back to attention. “Of course I applied to Harvard. As a joke. I’m not even counting that as a real application.”

“Well you should, Evan.” He twirls a Cheeto between his fingers. “I’ve graded enough of your work to know you’re destined for grad school. So what, you didn’t get into Berkeley. You’re brilliant and beautiful and healthy. You can’t have a perfect life, Evan. That wouldn’t be fair for the rest of us.”

I grin. “Well thanks for making me feel like a dick.”

“You’re welcome. And to put you down even more, all of that crying has given you sad raccoon eyes.”

Damn mascara. Won’t come off with a shower, but so-help-me-God, if I cry a little….

“Raccoon eyes are totally in fashion,” I say. “I’m going to sport them for the next shoot.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, reaching forward. His knuckles brush against the side of my face, and my heart flutters in my chest. He opens his hand to rest the palm against my cheek, and I willingly lean into it. The pad of his thumb brushes beneath my eye, and it starts to burn.

“Fuck, Dallas.” I squint. “Cheeto dust.”

“Oh,
shit
.” He hops off the bed. “Fuck. Shit, fuck. Are you okay? Wait here.”

Before I can argue, he’s bolted out of the room. All I have to do is blink a few times and rub at my eye with my clean hand and the burning stops, but by that time, Dallas has already returned carrying a wet hand towel. He hops on the bed again and scoots close, cupping the back of my neck and gently pressing the towel to my eye.

I giggle. “Stop it. I’m fine, I swear.”

“Shut up and let me play Prince Charming, okay?”

He dabs the towel to my eye a few more times and puts it down. When my vision focuses, I notice how close he is. Close enough for me to study every curve of his beautifully-sculpted lips. I bite my own, waiting for him to pull away. But he doesn’t. He just waits stoically, his breath against my skin, icy eyes penetrating mine.

Britain clears her throat.

I jump back from Dallas and turn toward where she stands, in the doorway with her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. “So I take it you’re ready for tomorrow, then?” she asks me. “Not going to hide in your dark cave for the rest of the week?”

I open my mouth, but not before Dallas responds, “She’s ready.” I glance at him and he winks at me.

“Good, because you guys aren’t shooting tomorrow.” She breaks out into a full-blown, toothy smile.

I cock my head. “Not following.”

“I just got off the phone with A.J. Harrison—CEO of Amora Acquisitions. He wants to take us out to dinner tomorrow night.”

My mouth drops. Amora Acquisitions…. “Holy shit.”

“I’m lost,” Dallas says.

“Amora Acquisitions is a small branch of a media conglomerate that has been buying up school-run erotica magazines across the country,” I explain. “If they’re interested in us…”

“It means we’d go national,” Britain continues for me. “It means that your modeling careers would be set in stone, and you’d have more money than you knew what to do with.”

Dallas

A half-hour before the big dinner, I’m on the phone with Tricia. I just broke the news to her.

“Oh, babe, that sounds
amazing
!” she squeals. “This could be huge for us. We could put a down payment on a house!”

I smile. Settling down is what both of us have always wanted. We’d be stable. Happy.

Happy. Tricia and I would be together and happy. And that’s really all I need from life, right?

I straighten my tie in the mirror, hearing a voice of a man in the background.

“Listen, Dallas, I’m about to start a meeting with my client. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Love yah.”

“Love you, Trish.”

She hangs up.

I put down the phone and inhale deeply, staring at myself in the mirror. My stomach clenches. It isn’t the dinner that’s making me nervous—I’ve done good-impression shit like this before. It’s Britain’s text I received an hour ago.

Listen, I know you have a gf, but A.J.’s gonna want to see chemistry between you and Evan. So act like you’re together. That cool?

Not a problem
, I texted back, because at that moment, I thought playing it up for A.J. would be the same as playing it up for the camera. A charade.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize how fluid tonight’s charade will have to be. I’m not worried because I can’t do it.

I can do it too well. I
want
to.

I brush the thought away when there’s a knock on the door. I throw my jacket over my shoulder and head out into the living room, coming face to face with Evan. My eyes start at the ground—her stiletto heels—and slowly rise up her bare legs, to the black lace dress that begins right below her ass and hugs every curve of her. Her hair is twisted up, eyes made up dark and dangerously enticing like the rest of her.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

“You ready?”

I nod, and she turns to walk toward the car, her hips swaying with every step. Her dress is backless, and I wonder what it’d be like to have her beneath me, to lick all the way up her spine….

Calm the
fuck
down, Dallas.

Britain waits for us in her white Escalade. I can tell she just got it washed and waxed, like she is trying to make us look as important as possible. Andrea sits in the passenger seat, so I slide into the back with Evan.

Britain doesn’t even say hi, but instead goes straight into the list of rules she’s made up for us. “Okay, so remember, do your best to act like a couple, or at least, act like you’re not afraid to be intimate with each other wherever you are. Be polite, chew with your mouth closed, and for the love of God, please don’t embarrass me. Capisce?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I glance at Evan. She looks how I feel—nervous. Not very talkative either. Doesn’t say a single word the entire ride, which drives me crazy. I wish she’d crack a stupid joke. I wish she’d say anything.

We pull into the parking lot at Blue Water Bistro, which is by far the best steakhouse in town. Britain and Andrea get out of the car. Evan opens her door, but I slide across the seat, reaching over her lap and pulling her to me.

“What the hell, Dallas…”

I push against her shoulder until her back is flat against the seat.

“We’re supposed to be acting like a couple.”