Exposure (6 page)

^^^^

I stare at my ceiling, my bedmate the
stack of trashy romance novels Britain gave me and my binder full
of bio homework.

When I close my eyes, I think of my
shoot with Dallas this afternoon. I’ve been making guys jizz
themselves for almost two years now without so much as holding
hands with a guy. Maybe that’s why his hands all over me felt
better than any sex I’ve ever had. Especially the way he moved his
hand up my thigh, inches away from my panties.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve
inched my fingers past the hem of my shorts, hand sliding
lower.

…
his mouth on my
neck…

My phone buzzes, and I
groan.

I pull my hand out of my shorts and
roll over, checking my phone on the nightstand.

New Message From
Mom: Finally moved in. You should come see the
place.

I sigh and rub my eyes. As much as I
want to see Mom, I don’t want to see her apartment. It will only
break my heart.

I was the outcome of an affair my mom
had with one of her professors twenty-three years ago. Ever since
then, it’s just been me and her and the occasional boyfriend of
hers that I’d have to put up with. I always had food and
second-hand clothing and a roof over my head; Mom did clerical work
at a law office.

Luckily for her, when the office went
out of business, I was already out of the house. Now, she only has
to worry about herself. She’s downgraded to a crappy apartment, so
unemployment will cover her for now.

I wish I had enough money
saved up to help her out, but Mom claims I’ve helped out
enough.
You’re getting good grades and
staying out of debt
, she told me last week
when she informed me that she was moving.
That is your payment to me, and giving me any money that
would prevent you from doing so would be disgracing both of
us
.

She doesn’t know that the money I get
comes from erotic modeling. She thinks that I work a desk
job.

Just like she did.

///

I wake up at nine and trudge to the
bathroom to brush my teeth. When I re-enter my bedroom, brushing my
hair, I freeze as I gaze out of the window.

“
Un-fucking-believable,” I
mutter.

My window looks over the cul-de-sac.
Dallas stands on the sidewalk, hunched over with his hands on his
knees. He’s shirtless, his rock-hard body glistening with
sweat.

He straightens and feels his pulse
with his fingers, looking at his watch.

The boy is running
shirtless—around
my
neighborhood?

I slip into flip-flops and race
downstairs. This side of the house is empty—everyone’s in the
studio this morning. Wednesday is our mass photography day, where
we get most of our shooting for the issue done. The part time
models start arriving by eight.

I pull a mason jar full of
oatmeal-apple smoothie from the fridge and open the door to the
studio. The air buzzes with activity.

Usually I’m halfway made up by the
time anyone gets here, but today, I’m the late one to the party.
The living room is a makeshift dressing and makeup room for the
part-time models. Several hair and makeup artists have lined up
girls and are working on getting them ready to shoot.

Britain walks up to me. “You’re late.
Get into makeup.”

“
Alright, alright, hard
ass.”

She grins. This is how mine and
Britain’s relationship has been since we started in the magazine.
Brazen and slightly sarcastic. I think it’s our coping mechanism
for being able to work together and not ruin our friendship. It’s
worked so far.

“
Question before I go: why
is Dallas going on a jog by our house?”

She holds up two fingers in
succession. “One, because he got here early and doesn’t need to go
into a lot of makeup because he’s a dude, and two…” She glances
around and says quietly, “He was getting shit tons of attention
from the girls and, honestly, I think he’s an introvert. He’s
trying to find something to busy himself with until his
shoot.”

Warm butterflies burst to life in my
stomach. Why I’m getting gushy at the thought of Dallas being an
introvert beats me.

Because If he really is an
introvert, then he’s just like you
.

I take a large gulp of smoothie,
shuffling through all of the models. Many of them give me a double
take, and I’m wondering if it’s because they don’t recognize me, or
do recognize me and don’t know how I’ve managed to look so
homely.

Jessica, the tall blond freshman who
posed last issue as a sexy cheerleader, stops me before I can make
it to the dressing room. “Christ, Rylan. What happened to your
face?” Her nose is crinkled like she just got a whiff of cow
shit.

“
Fuck off, Jessica,” I
say, shoving past her.

Dallas

An hour-long run later and Britain is
nowhere near ready for me. I shouldn’t have even gone in and
checked to see if she was, because now I can’t get to the front
door again.

“
So I heard you were a
grad student,” a red-head says, twirling her hair around her
finger.

She and her friends have me cornered.
Literally. My back is pressed against the wall. Not only that, but
I’m moping the sweat off me with my balled up t-shirt. I’m sure I
reek.

“
I… uhh… yeah.”

She flashes her perfectly
white teeth while her friends
ooh
and
ahh
. “That’s so hot. What’s your
major? I’m business administration.”

“
I’m… bio. Biology. I do
research.”

Her eyes light up. “So you’re going to
be a doctor?”

Fuck me. I hate having this
conversation with ugly people, let alone ten gorgeous
women.

“
No, no. Not a
doctor.”

“
Dallas!” Britain barks.
“Get your ass over here.”

Thank
God
.

“
Excuse me,” I say. The
girls’ faces fall as I push past them, and I hurry over to my
photographer.

“
Jesus, it’s like you’re a
puppy at a kindergarten birthday party.”

I relax my shoulders. “Can you hide
me?”

“
Yeah, but bro, you smell
terrible.” She looks toward the bathroom. The door is open and
girls are literally pouring out of it as they attempt to do their
makeup. “I never do this, but I like you, and, like all these
bitches here, think you’re kind of cute.” From the pocket of her
jeans she pulls out a key and dangles it in front of her. I take
it. “This is to the actual house portion of this place. Use the
bathroom upstairs—there are towels above the toilet. Lock it up
when you’re done, and don’t fuck around with anything else. Got
it?”

I grin. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“
And don’t ever call me
that again.”

“
So by fucking around, you
mean I can’t stay over there, right?”

“
Am I not speaking
English?”

“
I just have a lot of
homework to get done.” I glance at the herd of models in the
corner. The red-head winks at me while the two behind her whisper
back and forth to each other. “It’s kind of impossible to work in
here.”

“
Oh, God. Kid, just ignore
them. You’re not
that
cute.” Then she laughs and says, “Okay, you
do
look terrified.
There’s a private makeup and dressing room for Delilah and Rylan. I
think Rylan’s the only one using it right now. You can probably
camp out behind the clothing racks and do some algebra.”

“
Biology. You can’t get a
master’s in Algebra.”

“
Whatever.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

“
I’m only nice to you
because you take good photos, you know,” she says. But then she
smiles back.

Britain is kid of a badass to work
under.

I unlock the door to the living
quarters part of the house and slip inside.

The lock clicks behind me and I’m
wondering if I stepped through the right door.

The living room isn’t like
one belonging to four college girls. The shit in here is
nice
. The
kitchen countertops are marble and the appliances are brand new.
The couches in the living room are leather, and the desktop
computer is easily worth a couple grand. Instead of half-naked
posters of the EPE girls covering the walls, the space is decorated
with framed photographs—urban pictures of L.A. and Boston and
Chicago, from whole cityscapes to exchanges on the streets. New
York’s skyline and Detroit’s downtown coffee shop.

If I were to walk in here without
knowing, I’d think that a rich middle-aged man lived here
alone.

Don’t fuck around, said Britain.
Right.

I follow her instructions, heading up
the stairs. She said the second door on the left was the bathroom.
I walk past the first door on the right, and stop.

The room is decorated in purple and
black. A few framed photos scatter the walls, along with a poster
of a band I’ve never heard of. The bed is unmade. Biology textbooks
and nonfiction are stacked on the computer desk and plywood
bookshelf.

This is Rylan’s… this is Evan’s
room.

Something comes over me… an urge to
crawl into her bed and wait for her to find me there.

Snap out of it, Dallas.

I told Tricia last night
when I got home—when she finally had the time to listen to me—about
the shoot, and the amount of time I was going to have spend
touching, licking, kissing these models. She seemed totally
unfazed.
If it helps you concentrate
better, just pretend that you’re single when you walk into the
studio. Pretend you have no obligation to stay loyal to
me.

I’m sure that, if any guy heard my
girlfriend tell me this, they’d think I was the luckiest man in the
world. So why don’t I feel lucky? The fact that she’s cool with me
acting single in the midst of all these gorgeous, naked women makes
me sick to my stomach.

But it’s not real. It’s just for show…
just for money. I have to remember that.

I leave Evan’s room and shower in a
bathroom decorated like the ocean. I pull on my shorts and head
back to the studio. Some models have created a makeup station by
the door and look at me funny when I pull out Britain’s key and
lock it.

“
Is he fucking one of the
full-timers?” I hear one of them whisper as I walk past. Great.
This is how rumors start.

Not wanting to be subject to model
stares any longer than I have to, I find my bag that’s been buried
under a pile of clothes next to the front door and head to the VIP
changing room. The door’s closed. I knock.

“
Come in,” Evan
says.

I push open the door and pause. She
probably wasn’t expecting me. I should leave. But before I can, she
glances at me in the mirror and says, “Hurry up, you’re letting all
of the heat out.”

Like she has no shame at all that
she’s almost naked.

I close the door, letting my bag fall
to the floor.

Her curls rolls down her back, wild
and perfect to drag my fingers through. Her cleavage spills from
the top of her baby blue, frilly bra. And her panties expose just
enough of her firm ass that I have a hard-on in seconds.

Goddamnit. Not
now
.

The worst thing in the world is having
a boner while trying to finish biology homework.

And she acts like there’s nothing
weird about this. Just another day at the office.

“
Does Britain need me or
something?”

I hold up my book. “I just need a
quiet place to keep my sanity.”

She continues to powder her face.
“This place’ll be yours in a bit. Britain wants to start my shoot
soon.”

Fuck. Homework is hard enough to do in
the studio in the first place, but she’s going to leave me hot and
bothered? I might as well not even try.

I take a deep breath. It’s okay. Just
play single in the studio.

Just play single.

“
You need an
audience?”

She pauses in applying her mascara,
looks at me in the mirror, and laughs. “Oh, Dallas. I won’t be
cruel because you’ve never been here on a mass photography day. But
trust me, I’ll have an audience.”

My eyes lock onto hers. “What, a bunch
of girls who’re insanely jealous of you?”

She scoffs. “Jealous of my position in
EPE, maybe. But that’s all. They see my success and study my shoots
so they can copy them. Trust me, most of these girls think they’re
way hotter than I am and could do a better job.”

I can’t remember when I started
walking toward her, but I can’t stop. My eyes don’t leave hers.
“And you think they have a chance at performing better than
you?”