by Iris Blaire
He burst into laughter. “Ouch? Is that supposed to be sexy?”
“To some people.”
“How about something a little gentler?”
Suddenly I’m imagining myself straddling him as we both sit, pinning his hands above his head and grinding my hips into his groin.
Stop it, Evan. Stop it.
“You convince Britain, and I’m down,” I reply.
“You got it,” he pulls out his phone.
“Seriously? Well, alright.” I keep glancing at him from the corner of my eye as he texts Britain. When he slides his phone back into his pocket, I ask, “What did you say to her?”
“I asked if you could pin me down and spank me with a riding crop next shoot.”
“Shut up.”
A grin creeps up onto his face, but he says nothing.
^^^^
An hour and a half later, I pull into my mom’s complex. I told her I was bringing a friend from work and we were going to be studying at the coffee shop later. Only thing is, she doesn’t know he’s a gorgeous grad student that’s two years older than me.
The apartment complex is a dump. Peeling paint and foggy windows. There’s even a shopping cart full of trash bags parked on the curb. I sigh and park my car in front of her number—105. Dallas and I get out of the car and he follows me up to her apartment.
My mother—God bless her soul—looks like a crazy cat lady. Today she wears a long gauze skirt, frizzy hair pulled into a bun on top of her head. Her eyes are magnified into huge orbs by her thick wire-rimmed glasses. Standing in the doorway, she spots me, blinks, and then her bug eyes expand even more when they rest on Dallas.
“Oh my,” she says, entirely unabashed.
“Mom,” I mumble, pointing to Dallas. “This is…”
Dallas steps forward, stretching out his hand. “I’m Dallas Whitley, Evan’s boss.”
I do my hardest to not roll my eyes. Oh, dear God.
“Well, Mr. Whitley,” Mom says, brushing her hands over her skirt. “I hope you don’t mind a vegan dinner.”
“Not at all. I’m fully aware of Evan’s eating habits.”
I shoot him an icy glare. Way to fucking make us sound casual.
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing him,” I tell Mom. “We’re in the same major. He’s a grad student, and he’s been helping me study.”
“Study. Sure,” she says. “Won’t you come in?”
I nod, and wait for Mom to re-enter her apartment before I turn back to Dallas. “Please stop trying to charm the pants off of her,” I beg. “She’s been waiting for me to ‘find a man’ for ages and I don’t want her to get her hopes up with you.”
The corners of his mouth perk up as he leans against the door frame. “Why ever would I do that?” he asks.
“Because you’re evil, that’s why.”
He chuckles and follows me into the apartment.
^^^^
Mom has really outdone herself. I’m impressed.
I’ve been living a semi-vegan lifestyle since I was a teen, mainly having Mom as guidance. We did our best with what we could afford, making the most with our patio garden and practically living off of lentils. But tonight, she’s conjured a sweet and sour tempeh dish, with stir-fried vegetables and rice. I’m half expecting Dallas to be completely grossed out and not eat anything, but to my surprise, when we’re all sitting around Mom’s meager dining room table, he digs in.
“This is amazing,” he says in between swallows. “I don’t miss the meat one bit.”
I catch his eyes, trying my best to convey a look that suggests he’s full of shit. I’m not sure if it comes across.
But Mom seems happy and unfazed of any fakeness that Dallas may carry within him. “I’m quite glad,” she says. “I’ve been cooking without meat since Evan was in middle school. I’ve got to tell you, I’ve had more energy in my fifties than I ever did in my thirties.”
Dallas stirs the content of his plate with his fork. “Evan tells me that she was quite the photogenic child.”
He did not.
I look at my mother. It’s like Christmas came early. “Did she, now?”
I groan and hang my head in shame. But then a thought comes to me, a thought that could get me out of this mess. I shoot a look of contempt as Dallas before responding, “Actually, Mom, Dallas and I were stopping for dinner. I have a huge test next week and—”
Mom scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Evan. I haven’t seen you in weeks.” She glances at Dallas and grins. “If this is about bringing your boyfriend over…”
“He’s not—”
“I’m not entirely old school. I mean, I know I pulled that whole, ‘touching a boy will get you pregnant’ thing when you were younger, but do you honestly think I’m naïve enough to think the two of you aren’t sleeping together?”
“Mom—”
“Forget it Evan. You’re not leaving tonight. I turned the second bedroom into a guest room just for you—for the two of you—and I’ll be damned if you don’t use it.”
My mouth hangs unhinged.
“If that’s okay with you, of course,” she adds, nodding at Dallas.
Dallas leans back in his seat, a stupid, arrogant smirk growing on his face. He crosses his arms. “Perfectly fine with me.”
^^^^
“What is your problem?” I hiss when the bedroom door is shut and Dallas and I are alone together. It’s only ten. First I had to endure dinner after Dallas agreed to stay the night, and then what felt like endless hours as my mother pulled the most cliché move ever and showed my not-boyfriend old baby photos of me. And he said nothing that would indicate that we are not—in any way, shape, or form—dating.
“Chill out, Cosette.” He casually sits on the bed. The one bed. “Every time we spend time together it’s in the studio.”
“There was that one time, at that one coffee shop.”
“Oh, okay,” he says sarcastically. “That one time at that one coffee shop.”
“You want to spend time with me to get to know your fake fuck buddy, fine. But how the hell is this not weird? Please, enlighten me.”
He gives me that goddamn crooked smile of his. “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”
“So how does this work? You want me to snuggle up next to you so you can get to know me better?”
“Use your brain, Evan.” He nods toward my backpack in the corner of the room. “We’re going to study, so when you get accepted into UC Berkeley and they want your official transcripts, you’ll blow them away with all of those sparkling As.”
Studying? Really? Why do I feel so disappointed?
Focus, Evan.
I huff and pick up my backpack, plopping on the bed next to him. “Fine.”
He grins. “Perfect. Can’t think of a more distraction-free space.”
Distraction-free space. Dallas thinks this is a distraction-free space. That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
But surprisingly, he’s very adamant on getting me to study. He races through drills with me and walks me through protein structures I’m unfamiliar with, and before long, I’ve practically memorized chapter fourteen. Perfect timing, too. My phone starts to buzz—It’s Britain. I slide the lock and raise it to my ear.
“Yo.”
“Evan. Have you seen the interview?”
“Interview?” I suddenly remember that Britain’s interview with an erotic journal blogger was posted a couple of hours ago. “Shit, no.”
I direct Dallas to look it up on his phone. When he finds the article, his eyes go wide. He holds the phone out for me to see. “I’m not really familiar with the erotic blogging scene, but is this normal?”
I squint at the screen, and when I spot the numbers, my mouth falls open.
“One-hundred and sixty-three comments. Fifty-four tweets, and twenty posts to Facebook.”
“I know, right?” Britain squeals.
“In two hours?”
“I KNOW, RIGHT? Evan, the
issue hasn’t even been released yet and people are going nuts over the thought of the couple shoots.”
I swallow. If the excitement on the blog post is any indication of what the sales are going to be like, then Adam and Dallas are going to be sticking around for a while.
“And have you read the comments?” She chuckles. “Girlfriend, just about everyone can’t wait for Rylan to get banged.”
I gape at Dallas. He seriously raises an eyebrow, and I can’t tell if he overheard Britain or not.
“We’re… just going to be simulating that in the final shoot of the series, right?”
She laughs again. “I guess… I mean, unless you guys actually want to fuck for the camera. You know me. I’m open-minded.”
“Can you hear what she’s saying?” I ask Dallas.
He shakes his head, even though a coy smile grows ever so subtly on his face. I can’t believe him.
“Get to the studio as early as you can tomorrow. If the sales are really going to be as big as I think they are, I’m going to want to start brainstorming and shooting immediately for the rest of the spring series. Also, Delilah says she misses you and you need to stop being such a biology-obsessed twat.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I respond before hanging up.
“Don’t look so devastated,” Dallas drawls, leaning back on his hands. He looks far too amused for my tastes. “I’m a good fuck. I promise.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t hear.”
He ignores my statement. “I’ll show you.” Gathering the books scattered all over the bed, he drops them off the side and says, “Take off your clothes.”
My jaw drops, fire suddenly racing through my body. “For fuck’s sakes, Dallas.”
He rolls his eyes. “Cool it, Cosette. I’m not actually going to fuck you. I’m just going to show you how to simulate it.”
I cross my arms over my chest. I know how to dry hump. If he has half a brain, he’s aware that I know how to dry hump. And I could just point that out to him. But something inside of me aches to grasp the hem of my t-shirt and lift it over my head.
I glance at the door.
“Your mom already thinks we’re screwing,” he says.
Damnit, he’s right.
When I walk to the door and lock it, his expression is victorious.
He takes off his shirt and pants as I take off mine. “You’re not seeing my tits tonight,” I tell him, keeping my underwear on.
“Suit yourself.” He smirks. “But eventually I will. You know it’s inevitable.”
Wetness pools in between my legs. Fuck him and his brazenness for turning me on so much.
He kneels on the mattress. “You just going to stand there, or are you going to get under me?”
A take a deep breath to calm my pounding heart and sit on the bed.
“Lie down,” he instructs.
“This feels awfully familiar,” I drawl, but continue to do as he says.
He rolls on top of me, propping himself up on his elbows. Even with only the dim light of the lamp, his blue eyes are petrifying. “Don’t tell me you weren’t turned on as all hell in that office,” he murmurs. “I saw how wet you were.”
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
I try to keep my cool. “Focus, Dallas. You’re supposed to be showing me how to simulate sex, not trying to embarrass me.”
“Suit yourself,” he rumbles, sitting up. “Assuming EPE isn’t willing to shoot penetration…”
“Hah. Hah.”
“I’ll just have to act like I’m thrusting into you, and you’ll have to pretend like you’re feeling it.”
“So… in order to calculate the ecstasy that I should be feeling, roughly how large is your dick?”
He cocks his head. “You’ve felt it. You tell me.”
A small shiver ripples through me as I remember grinding on his erection during the pool shoot. God, if he were actually in me… I imagine our underwear gone, his cock as hard as a rock, pushing inside me…
“Where’d you go just now?” he asks, his eyes wicked.
“Just do your thing,” I whisper.
He points to the wall to the right of him, “If the camera were over there,” he grabs my ankle and brings my leg around his hips. “This would be a good pose to hide the fact that we weren’t really having sex.”
“But that’s a boring angle,” I argue.
“But far from a boring image,” he says. As he pushes his hips forward, I can feel how hard he already is. “When I push against you, arch your back and close your eyes. Pretend it’s the best fuck off your life.”
I can hear my pulse in my ears. The best fuck of my life… I’ve never had a best fuck of my life. All of my experiences have been mediocre at best. So how am I supposed to simulate this?
But then he thrusts his hips against me, and I forget that I’m simulating. I shut my eyes, a small moan escaping my lips.
“There you go.” He thrusts again, and I can feel every inch of him rub against my sex, nothing separating us but the thin fabric of our underwear.
“Oh, God,” I murmur.
He lowers his lips to my ear. “Relax,” he whispers, grinding into me again. My hands come up in between us, fingers grazing abs, finding their way to his back. My nails slowly drag across his skin, and his breath hitches.
My eyes flutter open, and I realize that his face is right above mine. I could raise my head and catch his lips if I wanted to. I could reach back and unsnap my bra, or drag the fabric of my panties to the side and order him to stop teasing me, because that’s all this really is. A whole shit ton of teasing.
But then that would make me the other woman. The whore.
“You should probably go take a shower,” I say.
He swallows and nods, but says nothing, rolling from me and getting off the bed. When the door to the joining bathroom shuts, I exhale.
Holy mother of God.
I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my life. And I’ve never wanted someone that I couldn’t have.
When he comes back into the room, I pretend to be asleep even though I can’t be fooling him. But he doesn’t call for me. Instead, he slides into bed, shirtless and smelling of soap, and I wonder what his skin feels like fresh out of the shower.
What it tastes like.
^^^^
After a vegan breakfast of carob chip pancakes and maple syrup, Mom won’t let me go. In the doorway, she clings to me tightly, and says, “You’re such a champ, Evan, you know that, right? I’ve been a failure of a mother and haven’t been able to help you at all and yet here you are, managing your money perfectly, getting scholarships, not even in debt.”
I cringe. Managing my money perfectly? More like managing my lies perfectly. Scholarships are my excuse for staying afloat, when in reality the only aid I’ve received for school is one measly little state grant. East Park Exposed is my savior. And I hope to God Mom never finds out. That would be an awkward dinner conversation.
“Are you sure you don’t need money?” I ask softly.
“Evan!” She finally pulls back. “Don’t you ever offer again. I mean it. I’m perfectly fine. The new place suits me. I really like my new neighbors.”
She’s lying through her teeth. It must run in the family.
“All right.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Love you.”
As Dallas and I pull away from Mom’s unit, I wonder if her answer would be the same if she knew I had almost ten grand saved up. If not telling her, if letting her live here thinking that I’m barely scraping by, makes me a terrible daughter.
Dallas
Evan says nothing about last night on our way back to the studio. What’s worse is that she keeps talking, yammering on about the most mundane shit ever—biology. The thing is, Evan doesn’t yammer, so I can only assume that this is some kind of coping mechanism to avoid awkward conversation.
I should have never “practiced” posing with her last night. I got ahead of myself. Thing is, even if I told Tricia, she would probably
just brush it off, telling me that doing things like that with Evan is just part of the job. That’s why I have to be even more careful. Only I can hold myself accountable.
Which is becoming harder to do. The more she blabs on about this article she read on the internet about mutating genes in kittens, the more I want to order her to pull the car over, push her against the window, and shut her up with my mouth.
My fantasies are getting out of control.
Luckily, I don’t have to listen to any more biology crap when we roll up to the studio. The cul-de-sac is packed with cars. Evan opens the front door, and the place is buzzing with people—models, makeup artists, writers, photographers. Britain runs up to us, her eyes bright with excitement.
“The numbers are already rolling in for e-issues. Huffington Post mentioned my blog interview in an article today. Can you believe that? The Huffington-fucking-Post.”
“The Huffington Post covers porn?” I say dumbly.
“Apparently, us renovating the zine to be more universally friendly cross-gender caught their attention. And it did. I mean, it worked.” She’s babbling a million miles a minute, almost as bad as Evan was in the car, but what Britain is saying is much more interesting. “Our agenda worked too. Have you been looking at the website?”
“No I haven’t been looking at the website,” Evan says with a huff. “We literally just got back from my mom’s.”
“Well, fuck you. Wait.” Britain raises and eyebrow. “We, as in both of you, just got back from your mom’s?”
“Long story,” I answer. “You were saying?”
“Right. Well, our feedback on the issue over all realms of social media is positive for both genders. But almost everyone is wanting more.”
“More what?” Evan asks.
“More sexual tension. And more skin.” Britain waggles her eyebrows and Evan rolls her eyes. But her eye rolling is a poor mask. She looks nervous.
“I hope the two of you are ready. We’re gonna promote the shit out of the second in the series. I want to shoot today, if that’s cool with the two of you. Can you be in hair and makeup in five? And it doesn’t matter what you wear.” She winks, and before either of us can respond, saunters away.
