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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