Exposure Page 10

  “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, you know. 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 your 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 DJ’s gonna want to see chemistry btwn 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.

  Because I can do it too well. Because 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, that 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.”

  Her smoky eyes widen. “Okay. So let’s act like a couple.”

  “Don’t be evasive, then.”

  “Don’t lecture me.”

  “Jesus, have you been single for so long that you forgot how to act on a date?”

  She pulls her lip up in a sneer. “I know how to date, asshole.”

  Someone’s a bit sensitive. “Good, because we’re going to have to speed this process up a bit.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  I lean in and press my lips against hers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Evan

  Dallas is kissing me.

  Really kissing me.

  Not some sloppy, exhibitionist kiss we might have to do for EPE one day. A real kiss. A chaste, Disney kiss. His lips are soft and warm and I let out a whimper because I can’t help it. I part my lips, hoping he’ll take the hint. But instead he pulls away, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. “You ready?” he asks huskily.

  “Y-yes,” I stutter, realizing my entire body is shaking.

  He pushes the door open and steps out, his eyes locked on me the entire time. I grab my clutch and take his hand. He helps me out, his fingers running along my bare back. He has to notice the goose bumps flaring up over my skin. I lean into him as we quicken our pace to catch up with Britain and Andrea. Adam and Delilah join us from Adam’s parked BMW, Delilah looking stunning in a slinky red dress.

  “I love this,” I tell her, reaching out and touching the fabric. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “That’s because I went shopping without you,” she says a bit bitterly.

  I clap my hand over my mouth. She’s texted me earlier today when she was at school and asked if I wanted to come shopping with her. I got caught up in work and never responded. “I totally forgot.”`

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says as we walk inside.

  The restaurant is pretty modern, large parties seated in oval booths at the back. Three people are already sitting at our table. I can safely assume the older man with lighter hair is A.J. He slides from the booth and stands, smiling.

  “Welcome, welcome,” he says, extending his hand toward Britain, who leads us. “You must be Britain.”

  Britain introduces each of us to Mr. Harrison, and he shakes everyone’s hand.

  “I recognize many of you from the magazine,” he says as he takes mine, eyes lingering on me for a second too long before he moves to Dallas. “Ah, yes. The two power couples. I’m glad you brought them with you, Britain. Please, all of you take a seat.”

  Dallas and I scoot along in the booth until we’re in the very center of everyone. A.J. introduces the man and woman with him as his CFO and producer. They smile, but say nothing, tablets in front of them as they type away. They must be A.J.’s note-takers for the evening.

  Conversation doesn’t really begin until our water glasses are full and we’ve all ordered. I try the most vegetable-heavy item on the menu, and Dallas whispers, “You would.”

  I grin. His fingers find the base of my neck, gently pushing into my skin as he massages my spine. I try my damndest to not let my eyes flutter shut as he continues his ministrations, attempting to focus on the conversation at hand. I wonder if he intimately touches Tricia like this when they’re having a night out.

  Adam and Delilah are pretty good at playing couple too. He has her curtain of auburn hair pulled back, whispering in her ear. Her eyes widen, and she blushes.

  Britain and A.J. are conversing on the other side of the table. It’s hard to concentrate on what they’re saying with Dallas touching me the way that he is. Britain slides over a manila folder, and I have to look closely when A.J. opens it to realize what’s inside—prints from the shower shoot, and then beneath them, Delilah’s and Adam’s underwater shoot. My attention is really caught when Andrea begins to explain the story line that she has created for both of the couples, beginning with Adam’s and Delilah’s—two young friends-with-benefits on a sex-in-strange-places mission. And then mine and Dallas’s—Rylan Willow’s deflowering by her young, sexy professor.

  Of all people at this table, A.J. points his finger at me. “I’m quite intrigued by you, Miss Willow.”

  Dallas lowers the hand massaging my neck and rest it on my thigh.

  I smile politely. “Is that so?”

  He raises his wine glass, and says before taking a sip, “The last issue had me wondering if Britain here was hanging death threats over your head to get yo
u to shoot, you played victim so well.”

  In the middle of drinking from his water glass, Dallas chokes. Adam busts up laughing.

  “Ah,” A.J. says. “I see what’s going on here. Maybe I should be directing this question towards your gentleman. You and Mr. Whitley seem to be quite friendly even outside the studio. Am I correct that assumption?” His eyes flicker to Dallas.

  By the grace of God, the waiter walks by. I motion for her to lean close. “Double vodka tonic, stat,” I whisper, returning my attention to A.J.

  “You don’t have to direct your queries toward Dallas.” I manage a stiff grin. “I’m perfectly capable of answering.”

  Britain’s eyes widen. It’s like she has a perfectly accurate Evan Snark Meter inside her brain.

  A.J. raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Rylan?”

  “I’ve perfected a naïve virgin expression simply because I can be whoever you want me to be. I’m a model, Mr. Harrison, not a captive virgin. I’m sure you understand. Dallas here does.”

  I feel Dallas stiffen next to me. I keep my eyes hooded and locked on A.J.

  A.J. chuckles. “Very well then, Miss Willow.”

  My drink arrives. I down half of it in one gulp. “And as for Dallas,” I begin, my own hand resting on the inside of his thigh. “A lady never reveals her battle strategy for bedding a gentleman.”

  Delilah gasps, and Britain shoots me a thumbs-up beneath the table.

  “Your wit is seducing me,” says A.J. with a wink. “Very well. I’ll just have to add that factor in when I’m considering acquiring the magazine.”

  ^^^^

  Two double vodka tonics later, I really can’t follow the conversation at all. Dallas’s hand has, over the course of the evening, crawled higher and higher up my thigh, and that along with the alcohol has left me in no mood for concentrating on the serious business talk. The only fact I bring away from the table, other than the food here being fucking amazing, is that this storyline series between me and Dallas and Delilah and Adam will last five issues, and by that time, Mr. Harrison will have an answer for us one way or another.