Shut Up and Model for Me (54 page)

Finally, after minutes of useless fretting, I text beneath my desk,
Are you dead?

The reply is immediate.
Not dead. See you at the studio.

What the hell?

You’ll understand when you get to the studio.

I drum my fingers on the desk for the rest of class like a respectable grad student would, and sprint-hobble from the lecture hall when the professor lets us out. The studio’s about a fifteen minute drive from campus. Today, I don’t even bother syncing my iPod. Something seems off. Something is wrong. I can’t let music distract me.

You’ll understand when you get to the studio.

The studio? What would be at the studio?

Then it hits me like a vat of ice cold water. The results from the reader polls are supposed to be in today. The readers are pairing us off for the website launch.

Hunter knows who I’m paired with already. If he’s acting weird through texts, does that mean he doesn’t like the guy I’m paired with? Am I paired with an asshole? That’s the one horrible thing about working with your best friend, especially at a job like this—the overprotective bullshit I constantly have to put up with.

I park in front of the studio and walk up to the house. I can hear the buzz inside before I even open the door.
Gossip
. The common room is packed with models today. There must be a shoot this afternoon too. My eyes find Hunter, who sits on a couch between two half-dressed female models. He doesn’t see me, and the room is roaring with voices so I can’t yell his name. But Hunter doesn’t look happy. At all.

I turn my eyes to the bulletin board. A new sheet of paper is pinned to it. The pairings list. I scan down the page for my name, and when I find it, I read the name of my partner. Then I laugh.

Good joke
.

I spin back to Hunter, who finally realizes I’m in the room. I give him a cheery thumbs up.

He doesn’t smile. He looks sick—livid even. I feel the warmth drain from me. It isn’t a joke. I’m paired with him.

I’m paired with Hunter.

Unable to mask the terror I’m sure is very prominent on my face, I glance away at the same time Britain marches from her office with one of her writers trailing behind her. As she passes me, I reach out and touch her arm.

“Busy!” she barks, spinning to me. “I have thirty seconds.”

I suddenly freeze up. “I… it can wait.”

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Britain likes me, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t hard on me. She’s brazen with all the models.

“The pairings list…”

“To be honest, I haven’t even looked at it. I haven’t had a second to think, let alone read a goddamn list.”

“I’m with Hunter.”

Her mouth falls slack. “Oh. Well, fuck.” She waves her hand in front of her face dismissively. “
We’ll fix it. I made you two a promise that you wouldn’t have to shoot together, so if you can’t model this semester, there’s always next.”

My heart sinks. “Is that the only option?”

She shrugs. “I had one of my techies post the list on the site, so the readers already know the pairings. I can’t switch them around now. But I can probably get away with dropping the two of you.”

“But—”

“Sorry. Busy. We’ll talk tonight, yeah?” She spins on her heel and shouts,
“Where’s my camera?”

Numb, I walk through the crowded room. Ella shouts my name and waves me over, but I mouth
busy
to her and continue making my way outside.

Luckily, I find the back patio empty. It’s too cold for half-dressed models. I walk down to the pool and sit in one of the lounge chairs.

I can’t wait until next semester to start modelling. I need the money now. And if I drop out, that means Hunter will have to drop out too. Six months of no pay for either of us. That is
not
what I’d call a happy household.

I don’t even realize he’s here until I feel the weight of him on the chair. “What did Britain say?”

“That we’d talk about it tonight, but it doesn’t sound promising. We’ll have to drop out.”

He sucks in a breath. “That’s fifteen grand, Tess.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I mutter, finally gaining the courage to glance at him.

Girls melt into puddles at Hunter’s feet. I’m not an idiot. I can see very clearly why Hunter has a different girl in his bed every other week. But I’m not looking through the same lens as those girls. I see lean muscle and an arm covered in pretentious tattoos and dimples and I see the boy I’ve known since I was fourteen. Not one I want to dry hump.

“Oh, God.” I bury my face in my hands, mind racing through all the gorgeous, smoking hot photos from the newest storybook. If I go through with this, I’ll be the girl with her breasts pressed to Hunter’s chest. His hands will be on my ass, our lips about to meet.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says confidently. “I’ll pick up more bartending shifts until next semester. It’s not the end of the world. I can cover your half of the rent for a few months.”

I scoff, lifting my head. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you do that.”

“Then what?” he says. I hear the frustration in his voice.

“We go through with it.”

He turns to me. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’ve already seen me naked and have heard my fake orgasms through the walls. I think we can handle it.”

He frowns.

“Unless you can’t.”

“I can handle it.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Just perfect. We can handle this. Make our fifteen grand, and then make sure this never happens again. “

I can model with Hunter for a semester and switch off the part of me that wants to recognize him as
that guy that’s pretty much your brother
.

Right?

Right?

RIGHT?

“We’ll talk to Britain tonight. Maybe we can still work something out,” he says. I don’t have a chance to respond to him before he stands, leaving me alone on the lounge chair.

He didn’t text you all day
.

Hunter didn’t text me all day because he found out we’d been paired up.

Maybe we can't handle this.