by Vivian Wood
9
Sean
“There’s the muse!” Josh said as soon as Sean walked through the doors.
“What’s going on?” Sean asked. He paused and looked around. Everyone stared at him, and Gita had a bemused smile that played at her lips.
“Well, Sean, a local fashion house has decided to buy us out,” Josh said.
“What?”
“Just for the day … and it turns out it’s all because of you.”
“Me? What did I do? I don’t even know anyone in fashion.” He refused to say “fashion house.”
“I don’t know what you did,” Josh said as he clapped Sean on the shoulder. “But I’m not complaining. This leather designer who just goes by ‘P’ called me up. He works at an adult play store, but is apparently an up and comer in the fashion world, too. And he had the most interesting idea about a collaboration.”
“Sean, seriously, it sounds amazing. Deadass,” Gita said.
“P?” Sean asked, confused. “I don’t know anyone with that name.”
“Here’s how it’s going to work,” Josh said as he ignored Sean’s confusion. “All the artists here are going to get paired with a model to showcase P’s designs. The accessories are being sourced by the adult shop.”
“Models?” Sean asked. Suddenly things started to fall into place.
“Don’t worry, we paired you with your girl,” Josh said with an eye roll.
Sean’s jaw dropped. “Harper?”
“She was actually instrumental in getting all the models on board. I don’t know anything about that, but they’re all here to get it ironed out.”
“What do you mean they’re all here?” Sean asked.
As if on cue, Harper walked out of the back room. “Josh, I don’t see the box you were telling me—oh. Hi,” she said when she saw Sean. She bit her lip and looked at him sheepishly. “I, uh … so I guess Josh filled you in?”
“Kind of,” he said. It was the only words he could get out. Harper was harnessed into a faux-bondage dress with criss-crossed straps all over her body. Artfully placed to pass across her nipples and frame her breasts, he felt the shift in his jeans. Obviously, it wasn’t real bondage gear—he could tell that from across the room. But the sheer suggestion of it turned him on. What would she actually look like tied up?
She started towards him, but a towering obsidian man with a short afro bleached and colored violet pulled her away. It gave Sean time to drink her in.
He’d already tasted her. He knew she was sweet, nearly saccharine. But if she were tied up, how much sweeter would she be? He could almost imagine how her breath would shift as the cords tightened. Her eyes as they slid slightly out of focus into another mind frame. The bonds could set her free.
Sean’s eyes went to her wrists, which were covered in pleather cuffs with unnecessary buckles. If she were his, he’d enmesh her in a cat’s paw knot, or maybe a flogging cuff to highlight the milky white stretch of her palm. He imagined her bound, at his mercy, both hands in a wrap and cinch.
Harper’s ankles couldn’t even be seen in the current get-up. Thigh-high vinyl boots featured complex hardware, but he could see the zipper hidden on the inside. He’d rather her in Mary Jane stilettos so he could see the delicate ankle bones and wrap them in a simple prusik shackle. Not everything has to be so intricate.
“Hey,” she said. Harper knocked him out of his fantasy as she stood before him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. Her eyes widened, and he was surprised at himself. He sounded angry, but that wasn’t quite it—but it was effective at covering up his real emotions.
“Sorry,” she stammered. Harper looked around, but nobody paid them any attention. “I just … I thought we were getting along, so—”
“So you what? You pulled some strings in your little fashion world?” Sean shook his head. “Look, Harper. We were ‘getting along,’ as you put it. But there’s a lot you don’t know.”
“I wasn’t trying to make it seem like I knew you, knew you, or anything,” she said. Her face was so transparent, he could see her desperate to placate him. The idea almost made him smile. “I just … you know, with your work, I got an idea. And then P’s a designer, it just seemed like this perfect storm—”
Sean tuned her out. Who cares what she has to say about this? Instead, he focused on his own inner struggle. He was pissed as hell that she pursued him. Not just pursued him, but tried to back him into this corner where he was forced to see her, work with her, on a regular basis. It was childishly manipulative, and the kind of move he wouldn’t have put up with before.
But with her, it was different. His anger was balanced with intrigue. And that ridiculous outfit? It was an insult to real bondage, but he couldn’t that it piqued his interest. She didn’t look out of place in it or seem particularly uncomfortable. Over her shoulder, he could make out a gaggle of tall, lithe models as they joked about their own bondage-inspired outfits.
Most of them looked like they were playing an awkward game of dress-up. But not Harper. It was like she looked more herself.
Stop it, he told himself. Just because she looks good in leather doesn’t mean she’ll be able to handle how dark your brain is. Let alone what he could do to her …
“You must be Sean,” P said as he sashayed over. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Sean watched Harper try to inconspicuously elbow P in the ribs. “All good and dirty of course,” P said with a wink.
Sean glared at him. He couldn’t stand people like P, who tried to dip into his world without having a fucking clue what they were doing. He could tell instantly that P didn’t know the first thing about dirty. Or dark. He was the one who really played dress-up in this world.
P cocked his head and looked at Sean, confused at his silence. “Harper showed me your picture,” P said.
“P,” Harper said under her breath.
“I mean when she was showing me your work, of course,” P corrected himself. “And let me tell you, those photos don’t do you justice, baby.”
“Okay,” Sean said.
“Truth, you’re hot as fuck. And such a freaking rebel,” P said. “I know the new thing is people without tattoos are the new rebel, but that’s just not true. The neck tat, all of it, I’m so feeling your vibe.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t talk much, right? I like that in a man. Gotta save that gorgeous mouth for better things,” P said with a wink.
“Alright.”
“Okay, people!” P said, and turned away from Sean as he clapped his enormous hands. “We’ve gone over this. Everyone knows their order, right? Gemma, don’t worry about those shoes, we’ll get you a bigger size later, but you’re going to have to make it work for now. I want to give this a dry run right now so I can be certain of the order. Harper, you’re last, but please go get those gazelles in line,” he said with an eye roll.
Sean watched Harper instantly transform as she slipped into work mode. She took the youngest girl, who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, and corrected her posture. “But I’ve only done print before!” the girl whined. “This is how I was taught to stand.”
“This is runway,” he heard Harper tell the girl gently. “It’s different.”
She really is good at what she does, he thought. Even as she adjusted some of the girls’ outfits, she didn’t teeter or stumble at all in those platform, seven-inch boots. And when she walked, it was like a storm entered the room. The confidence and ferocity emanated from her.
“Not bad,” P said. “Hold on, I’m going to pull up a sample music compilation and let’s do it again. You two, switch order,” he said, and pointed to two brunettes Sean could barely tell apart.
A girl raven-colored hair pointed to her ankle boots and Harper bent down to adjust them. Crouched down, the leather skirt hitched higher onto her hips. Sean leaned forward, just slightly. He could almost make up what was under that get up—or what wasn’t.
Part of him just wanted to ta
ke her in the supply closet and fuck her hard and fast to get it out of his system.
Or upstairs, he thought. His apartment was just four floors up. There was still some rope from when he’d moved. It wasn’t cotton, polypropylene, or even nylon. It would hurt, and it would burn. It was cheap and would fray against her soft flesh when she resisted it. And that got him even harder.
Maybe a good fuck would be enough to dispel the tension between them. Harper turned and looked over her shoulder at him. Sean looked away. For one ridiculous second, he thought she might be able to read his mind. And if she could, why is she still here?
“Destructive habits themselves can be addictive.” Joon-Ki’s voice fluttered into his head. His sponsor was right. These thoughts, right now? They were the thoughts of an addict. A fucked up, deviant addict, but still.
Sean tried to remember what Joon-Ki said. Take it slow. Just take it slow.
Harper and P commandeered the shop for most of the day. Not that it messed up Sean’s schedule much. He didn’t have anyone on the appointment books, and Josh called in the entire crew in order to satisfy the occasional walk-in. Tuesdays were always slow anyway.
By the end of the day, all the girls either complained about the shoes and outfits or limped around in obvious pain. All except Harper. “Sean?” she asked softly right after P called it a day.
“Yeah?” he’d stayed slumped in the same chair most of the afternoon.
Harper towered over him. “I was wondering? Would you give me another chance? I mean, give me and you another chance? I didn’t mean to, like, take over your whole shop—”
“I was a dick,” he said. He saw P glance over at him, but didn’t care.
“What?” Harper asked.
“Sorry,” he said.
She sat down in the vinyl couch beside him. “For what?”
Sean sighed. “It’s not about you.” He lowered his voice. “There’s something wrong with me—”
“You know,” she interrupted him. “I might be a model, but I’m not stupid. I thought we were clicking on an intellectual level, is what I mean. So don’t give me this whole, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing.”
“No, I agree,” he said. “We were. We are.”
“So … say yes,” she said simply. “It’s the last time I’ll ask you. I’ve still got some pride, you know.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her. “Fine, okay.”
“Say yes,” she repeated.
“Yes. But only if I call you sweetheart.”
She blushed. “I’ll text you,” she said. Harper leaned over to give him a hug and he got a whiff of the leather choker draped around her neck.
He watched Harper and the other girls go into the back to change. Daniel came over and fell into the chair that was probably still warm from Harper’s exposed thighs. “Good luck with that,” Daniel said. “Not everyone can handle dating a model. But those who can …” Daniel let out a whistle.
Sean stood up to leave. Was he doing the right thing? Or was this whole mess doomed to fail?
10
Harper
Harper pounded away on the elliptical with the setting on “Around the World.” I could totally climb Kilimanjaro if it felt like this, she thought. In the mirror, just two feet away, she saw that there wasn’t a lick of sweat on her. Pride rushed her. Only fat people sweat.
“Oh, my God, did you see this? Do you follow her?” P asked. She glanced down at the recumbent bike beside her where P lounged. One foot casually rested on the foot pad, the boat shoe in pristine condition. He held up an Instagram of girl who had to weigh at least ten pounds less than Harper. She was in wheel pose in front of the Taj Mahal.
“Don’t know her,” Harper said.
“Consider yourself lucky. What a vapid bitch, that whole yoga at monuments thing is so played out.” P went back to his iPad.
Harper raked her nails across the thin hair at her temples. You have to stop wearing top knots, she thought. On the gym’s security cameras, it had nearly looked like she had male pattern baldness. It’s messed up that being ‘underweight’ and so-called malnourished means you lose the hair on your head and grow it every freaking where else. Rogaine, I need to order more Rogaine on Amazon. And the good biotin.
“—outstanding.” Shit. Was P still talking?
“Huh?” she asked, and pretended like she’d been enthralled with her workout.
“Hello?” he said. “Aren’t you listening, or are you too busy staring at yourself? I said that was some outstanding work the other day. The other designer is all about it, thrilled to move forward. And my boss at the shop is nuts about it. The runway show is a go.”
“That’s great!” Harper said, though even she heard how underwhelmed she sounded. Sean had seemed to come around towards the end, but he’d been a lot more hostile than she’d thought.
“Did I tell you?” P asked, his voice rich with the gossip. “One of the models might even get a tattoo during the show. That dumb one, Gemma? Freaking stupid, but if she wants to play tribute, who am I to say no?”
“I’m glad it’s working out for you. And everyone,” Harper said. She snuck a look at calories burned, though she knew those numbers lied. There was no way you burned six hundred calories in 40 minutes without even sweating. It still made her feel good, though.
“But, babe? We need to talk about Sean,” P said. Hearing his name made her chest rumble. “He’s a total hunk of a man. Totally bankable.”
“Hunk?” Harper said with a laugh. “Bankable? P, you need to update your verbiage game or people will start suspecting you’re not the twenty-eight-year-old lamb you pretend to be.”
P huffed. “Twenty-five, bitch. Just like you.” He teased, but it still stung. P really didn’t get how important it was for her to stay on the lower end of the twenties for her career. “But, fine, you got me. I’m jealous, okay? But he’s super straight. Like, straight-straight. So if I can’t have him, I’m glad you get him.”
“Oh, please, I’m not even close to having Sean,” Harper said. It felt like the elliptical got easier, and she increased the resistance. “We’ve only kissed once.”
“That’s cute! All junior high innocent,” P said. “So what’s the next step? Oh, sweet Jesus, you need to see this ho’s outfit she wore to Coachella.”
Harper sighed. “I don’t know what the next step is,” she admitted.
“Oh, you really like him!” P said. “Don’t worry, baby, I got you.” She looked down and saw he’d switched to Google. “Okay, these are the top three bars TimeOut lists as places guaranteed to get your date ‘wet, hard or otherwise ready to go.’ Oh, I’ve been to all these! Guaranteed is a bit of a stretch. You should—”
“No, not a bar,” she cut him off. “Oh,” he said and gave her a strange look. She ignored him. There was no way in hell she was going to gossip about Sean’s sobriety.
P kept scrolling through Google. “Hey, what about that nostalgic old amusement park?” he asked. “That’s cutesy, right? Have you been?”
“Which one?” she asked. The effing elliptical machine was going easier again. It was bound and determined to cheat her of a calorie burn.
“The one at the pier,” P said. “Oh, think about it, that would be so adorable! It’s even listed as one of the best places to make your date kiss you. Huh, I guess this list was written by a child or something. But still, it’s true.”
“That might not be such a bad idea,” Harper said. It was reminiscent of the night at the playground. But then again, it’s not like he’d kissed her there, either.
“Oh, seriously, Harp, that’s so cute!” P said. “Think about it. You could go roller skating and hold hands. Couple skating! I remember that from, like, sixth grade. Don’t you tell anybody that,” he warned. “I don’t think kids do that these days. And then the Ferris wheel for your kiss! You have to, promise me—”
“Okay, okay!” she said. “God, you’re more into this than I am.” For that, she was grateful. If she c
ould act like P was the one who pushed her into it, that gave her ego and heart a little extra armor.
“Text him. Right now, I demand it,” P said. “As your pseudo-boss.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know! For the show, the runway show that I managed just for you, you have to do what I say.”
“Yeah, only at the show and rehearsals.”
“Consider this a rehearsal, then.” He said. “Go on, I know you have your phone up there on your international trek.”
“Ugh, okay,” she said. She picked her phone out of the cup holder and scrolled to his name. “What should I ask him?”
“Uh, ask him to go to the amusement park. Do you have dementia or something?”
“Fine,” she said.
“Add like a cotton candy emoji and an eggplant or something,” P said.
“Shut up.” She shot Sean a simple text before she could chicken out or P could offer more “helpful” suggestions.
Harper was surprised that he texted back immediately, but with no mention of her invitation. “How’s my sweetheart?” he asked.
She turned pink. “Oh. My. God,” P said. “What is it? What’d he say?”
“Nothing,” she snapped.
“Jesus, you really do need to get laid. Put the claws away.”
She went back to the phone and saw the ellipses.
“Today’s my only day off, but if you’re free I’m down,” Sean added.
She blushed and handed the phone to P. “Don’t reply,” she warned.
He looked at the phone. “Whatever you say. Sweetheart. Now get your ass off that thing. We need to get you ready. How do you feel about crop tops?”
“Does it really matter how I feel?” Harper asked. She looked at the number displays. If I could just get in ten more minutes …
“No, not really,” P said.
