Read Long Shot for Free Online

someone else.
    The doorbell rings, and my stomach drops to my shoes. I don’t feel ready for this at all. I want to dive back into bed and sleep until they go away and my life disappears and I’m back in my old apartment with my old job. Whatever it is that I’m doing right now, I hate it. I hate it with all my heart, and I just want my old everything back.
    My pride and my dignity, chiefly.
    But, as evidenced by yesterday, the universe is currently not looking out for poor little Meredith Watson. So, it’s time to put on my big girl panties and shoot some dick. I caress my camera for a moment, wishing for better times. Then I realize what I’m doing looks suspiciously like fluffing and stop.
    I’ve got my most professional garb on—flowy white shirt over a blank tank, tight black yoga pants, and a scarf. Today, I’m channeling Annie. If I have to take dick pics, I’m going to at least make them good . And look good doing it. I check my hair for the fiftieth time and take a deep breath before answering the door.
    And of course, there’s another one that throws my theory of “no strippers in daylight” out the window because Peter is hot. I’m completely irritated, and at the same time wondering if I have any single friends with low career standards I can hook him up with.
    Peter, is almost as tall as Rob, making me feel sufficiently like a dwarf, with sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He lacks the dimples Rob has, but instead of a gorgeous and very symmetrical smile, he has that crooked thing going for him that I’m sure has broken a hundred hearts. An evening. For forty bucks a dance.
    Just behind him is Rob. Is it hot in here, or is it just him? He’s all muscly in a tight black tee and ripped jeans. His eyes are ablaze against his dark hair and tan skin and rough stubble on his chin. This is completely unfair.
    Why couldn’t he just be a barista, or an accountant, or even a pool boy , for fuck’s sake?
    “Hi again.” I stick my hand out awkwardly, no clue how one should behave in such a situation. Peter shakes my hand, and I step back to let them in. “We’ll be up this way. Do you need anything before we start?”
    “I sort of think we could all use a beer.” Peter’s voice is a little deeper than Rob’s and oh my god I am offering drinks to a wannabe pornstar. My mother would sic a priest on me so fast my head would Exorcist-spin if she knew. Which reminds me that I need to call her later and talk about anything but this.
    “Good call.” Rob flashes me a smile, and I remember how I got in all this trouble to begin with. Everything about that smile says trouble. Unfortunately, I’ve always liked trouble.
    I mentally slap myself, repetitively, hoping for a reboot, while grabbing beers for the boys and leading them upstairs. Leading strippers/pornstars into my sister’s spare room. All that money spent on college, and here I am. Huzzah, higher education!
    We take a minute to discuss possible angles and lighting. I’m doing my very best to sound professional and not like a terrified, giddy little girl, but I’m pretty sure they can tell I’m faking it. Still, I drop a few big words in there to make it sound like I know what I’m talking about, like backlighting and broad lighting and dimensional lighting.
    Anyways, according to a Laurelin McGee book I read not that long ago, everyone is faking it.
    “I know this may sound ridiculous, but this is my life’s work, so... do your thing, sweetcheeks.” Gross. Peter finishes off his beer and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I immediately delete the list of single friends I was mentally compiling.
    Rob shoots me a look that I can’t even begin to decipher because Peter is, like, dancing his clothes off. This is bizarre. A stripper. In my room. Preparing his dick for photography.
    “You’re off the clock, buddy. Simmer it down,” I tell him, and glimpse Rob’s smirk from my side-eye.
    I turn to glare at him, he who practically got me into