by Vivian Wood
“How many you had tonight?” Ashton asked as he revved the engine and pulled away from the curb.
“Fuck you care for?” Sean asked. He opened his eyes and looked over at Ashton, who gripped the steering wheel like it was a life boat.
Ashton shrugged. “Just askin’,” he said. “Tell me the address.”
Sean pulled out his phone and opened the blinking text app. The numbers and words swirled before his eyes. Damn, it had been a long time since he’d had the spins. “You don’t remember where this dude lives?” he asked.
“No, do you?” Ashton asked pointedly. Sean felt the SUV snake over the wake-up bumps on the highway and smiled. The shake felt comforting, a reminder of how alive he was.
“North Curson, you know where that is?” Sean asked.
“Put it in the GPS,” Ashton said. Sean glanced at the touch screen, inches from Ashton’s white-knuckled hands.
The rumble strip growled below the tires again and Sean heard a horn wail as they raced by. “Slow down!” he said. “You’re gonna get us fucking pulled over, man.”
“I am not,” Ashton said. “Just do the GPS. Cops don’t think anyone’s out partying on a Wednesday morning, there’s no speed traps.”
A flash of worry and fear trickled into Sean. He took a long pull on the flask to drown it. Ashton was right, cops weren’t looking for partiers in the middle of the week. If anything, they’d think they were tired from an early morning commute. He looked at Ashton. The coke had woken him wildly up. He could totally pass as sober, albeit high-strung. And besides, it’s totally legal for the passenger to be drunk.
But still … what if they drug tested Ashton? Wasn’t coke worse than alcohol? Fuck, who knew the laws here? “Hey, you want me to drive?” Sean asked. It seemed like the Audi they flew past was dangerously close.
Ashton laughed. “No, mom, I’m fine,” he said. “Finish your whiskey, dude, you’re starting to sound like an old lady. And tell me the goddamned directions, you’re going to put us in the valley or some shit.”
Now that was good advice. Sean took another pull of the whiskey and focused intently on the Google Maps app on his phone. No way in hell was he going to try and work Ashton’s complicated built-in GPS system. The images whorled before his eyes and he messed up repeatedly. “Fuck, what did I say the street number was again?” he asked.
Ashton groaned. “Seriously, by the time you get us there I’m gonna have to drop your drunk ass off and go straight to work.”
“You say that now, but that’s before you see what kind of THOTs turn up,” Sean said. He thought he sounded particularly wise.
“You know my weakness,” Ashton said. He turned the radio up with the controls on the steering wheel and rolled down the windows.
“What the fuck?” Sean asked, but the wind on his face was soothing. It whipped the heat the alcohol made him radiate off his skin.
Ashton lifted his head and howled into the night. Sean lolled his head to watch and laughed. He joined in and their combined voices wailed into the night. But when he glanced at the speedometer, it looked like it was well over the 100 mark.
“Ashton, seriously, you gotta slow down,” he said.
“Jesus Christ, Sean. What the hell is your problem? Why are you being such a goddamned prick tonight? I’m the one who has a real job I have to go to.” Real anger clouded Ashton’s voice, but he wouldn’t look at Sean.
“My problem?” Sean asked, amazed. His emotions overpowered the whiskey-flavored haze. “How about that I don’t want to go to fucking jail just because you’re driving like a lunatic? Slow the fuck down.”
“Fuck you, Sean,” Ashton said coldly. “You know, I don’t even know why we’re still friends.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sean asked. Soberness shot through him and steadied his vision. He looked at the speedometer again, 110.
Ashton laughed. “You’d like to know, right? Okay, here it is. I’ve been fucking Bren. Or, to put it more accurately, she’s been fucking me. She fucking begs for it.”
Sean’s heart sank. He didn’t love Bren. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he liked her. But she was his girl, and had been since they’d arrived. He’d met her on one of their first nights out, mesmerized by her lips that suckled the long cigarette outside The Sayers Club. “Bullshit,” he said, though he knew it was true.
“Bullshit my ass,” Ashton said. “You know it’s true. What, does that do something for you or something? You like being a cuckold?”
“Stop being a dick, man,” Sean said. He looked away and tried to shrug it off.
“You want proof?” Ashton asked. It felt like the car sped up again. “She’s got a birthmark shaped like a horseshoe on her ass and waxes her pubes into a little heart.”
Sean’s face began to burn.
“And when she sucks cock she stares at you the entire time,” Ashton continued. “But she wants you to come on her tits. You really gotta hold that bitch’s head for her to swallow.”
Sean’s heart started to pound, heavy and fast. There was only one way Ashton would know that.
“But … from what she told me?” Ashton said. “She likes it. Likes being demeaned. Look at my phone if you still don’t believe me. She sends me nudes all the time. Last one was just a couple hours ago. You know we fucked on your bed once? I can’t believe you gave that bitch a key.”
“You fucking asshole,” Sean said. He turned on Ashton, who had a smile plastered across his face.
“Guess what?” Ashton said, and raised his brows as he nodded ahead.
Sean faced forward just as Ashton blew through a red light.
The tractor trailer raced towards them, and somehow the sunrise was at their feet. We’re flipping, Sean thought. Fuck. Did I put the lid back on the flask?
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 take 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.
