by Huss, JA
"That is the dumbest shit I've ever heard."
He busts out a laugh. "You're a fighter, that's for sure. And I'm not gonna ask, Rook, so don't wait for that moment. I do not care why you come off as broken, I really don't. I'm just not gonna be the guy responsible for making it worse."
"Well, I'm not gonna exert myself, Ford. I'll walk up the stairs."
He turns his back and starts running up the steps. "Fine with me, just don't stop climbing until I do. That's the deal."
I huff out some air and drag my feet up the steps. When I look up to see where he is, he's already finished this set and is running down the middle landing to the next set. He descends those stairs with just as much enthusiasm. I trudge my way up to the landing, then find him again. That asshole is like four sets of stairs away from me now.
It's like reverse psychology or something, right? He thinks he can shame me into putting in more effort, but he's wrong. I'm naturally lazy when it comes to athletic pursuits. I like sitting in the stands at the baseball game, not playing. Or running stadiums, for God's sake. I reach the bottom of my second set and then walk over to the next one. When I look up to find Ford, he's like a million miles away now.
We do this for a good while before I notice him starting to make his way back towards me. My legs are a little sore, but I do exactly what I said I would. I practically mope up these steps. I only cover a few aisles, that's how much I mope, but Ford, he does almost half the stadium, at a fucking run, before he turns back towards me.
I wait for him on the landing as he bursts up the last set of stairs and then stops to breathe hard, bending over a little in the process.
Damn, the guy really made an effort, he's dripping sweat, and I'm still fresh as can be. Not even thirsty. "I thought you said we were gonna eat, Ford?" He laughs, but he's still very much out of breath. "Shit, dude, you really take this stuff seriously, don't you?"
"Feels good, Rook. It feels good to run it off every morning."
"No," I say, shaking my head. "Mornings are for sleeping in and eating breakfast. Speaking of which, I'm starving, where's my food?"
He waves a hand at me to enter the stadium doors, not the way we came, but the way you go to get snacks during a game. We both go inside and Ford whips his shirt off and starts dabbing it across his wet body.
I steal a look. I'm a girl, I can't help it, he's not bad-looking. His hair is lighter than Ronin's, but not blondish like Spencer's. He's got a bit of scruff on his chin left over from yesterday. But I bet he shaves it when he gets home because he's more of a clean-cut kinda guy. The complete opposite of Spencer, who is one hundred percent biker, and Ronin, who comes off as hip and edgy.
Ford's look says goal-oriented or I come from a long line of bankers. I tuck down a laugh at those thoughts and sneak a look at his body. It's very nice. Maybe not Top Model Ronin nice, but still nice. He obviously takes very good care of himself.
He catches me looking and smiles as I turn away quickly.
We walk along the interior corridor for a while and the smell of breakfast food wafts into my nose. "Food!"
"They keep a stand open for us in the morning. Breakfast burritos."
"So, let me get this straight, you bust your ass to burn calories, then come eat breakfast burritos? That makes no sense."
"We're not here to lose weight, Rook. People who have access to the stadium are training, which means we eat a lot of food when we're done."
"What are you training for?" I can't help myself, he's made me curious with his secret endorphin-rush addiction.
"Life, just like you," is all he says before we come to the counter and he's ordering us food and orange juice. He pays, then we walk back outside and find seats in the empty stands.
The burrito is good and even though I didn't expend much energy, I do feel awake and have more pep than I usually do in the morning. I better be careful or that reverse psychology shit will start working on me and before you know it, I might turn into one of those annoying freaks who thinks all manner of physical activity is fun.
We don't say much after that. Just eat. Then he takes my trash and throws it away and we walk back over to the studio building and part ways. He goes to his car and I walk upstairs, grab some clothes to stash at Ronin's, then head up to his place and enjoy my totally legal kick-ass shower.
Smiling.
Chapter Eleven - Rook
Team Rook was nowhere to be found when I made my way to Ronin's apartment door, but when I emerge freshly showered, they are waiting outside in the hallway. We all act like I'm the only person there and all I hear is the scuffle of their shoes as they follow me downstairs to the third floor art room.
Spencer is already rocking out to that Bad to the Bone song, singing along quite loud for a guy, and messing around with some paints and brushes. "Yo, Rookie! I'm glad you came back for day two. Sometimes the girls skip out after the first session, but I guess I played it cool, because here you are!"
"I signed a contract, Spencer. I can't skip out. And please, do not ever call me Rookie again. I will go apeshit on you."
"Noted. But I played it cool, right? That's the real reason you came back, right?"
"Right," I say, smiling. It's hard not to enjoy being around Spencer. He's a clown, and a hot one at that. He's got on his usual garb today, a Shrike Bikes t-shirt, old faded Levis, and biker boots. Even though I've seen him like a bazillion times, I've never seen him wear the same t-shirt twice. And they are cool designs, not your typical black and orange Harley eagles or big-titted girls with American flag bandannas wrapped around their heads screen-printed on those cheap-ass black polyester shirts.
The designs on Spencer's shirts look like someone drew them with a charcoal pencil. This one is a light gray and has a blackbird on it, beak open like it's cawing, bending down with wings half open, like it's about to take flight. It says Shrike Raven in big bold letters on top, and at the bottom it has the new Shrike motto, Not Your Daddy's Ride.
I know that's a dig at Spencer's father because Ronin told me. He retired a few years back and left the business to Spencer, and Spencer, wanting to make his own name, came up with that tag line to let everyone know this was his game now.
And he's done pretty well. The guy's not even twenty-five and he's taken the company from small pop-and-son to mega-commercial in like two years.
Spence notices my gaze and points down to the raven on his chest. "This is one of the designs we're gonna use to promote the bike, but I'm gonna make one of you too."
"You're part of the merchandising package, Rook." For the first time I notice Ford sitting in the corner in that director's chair. "I just thought I'd let you know that, in case Spencer conveniently forgot to mention your face will be made into dolls and put on clothing." He says it in an irritated voice and then Spencer flips him off and turns away, busying himself with his art supplies again.
"Wonderful," I say to no one in particular. "How lucky am I? Don't all girls want to be turned into Barbie?"
"Yeah," Ford says, again with the irritation, "but I'm pretty sure Biker Barbie was never part of your girlhood fantasy, was it?"
I scowl at him. "What's your deal, Ford? I'm a big girl, OK? I'm fine with the doll shit. It's a fucking doll. Who cares, they'll probably make like five hundred of them, people will buy them, break them, lose them, destroy them—whatever—and it will be over. It's not like someone's naming a fucking battleship after me."
Ford says nothing, just keeps his bad mood to himself over in the corner.
"OK, well, what's the plan today, Spence?"
"Bikinis, four of them."
I shake my head trying to imagine four paintings and photo shoots. 'That sounds like a long day."
"Well"—Ford is back in action again—"it's not really, Rook. Because the term bikini is used loosely here." I mouth the words shut up at him, but he looks right at me and continues talking. "Because those little postage stamps Spencer is going to paint over your nipples barely count as clothing,
or paint for that matter."
Spencer turns around, his eyes blazing, his whole demeanor screaming fuck you. "That's it, Ford, I warned you. Out. I'm not putting up with your bullshit."
For a second I figure this is some theatrics for the sake of the cameras, but when I look over at Team Spencer, they start to get uncomfortable. Team Rook steps back, like these two are about to throw. "OK, what's going on? Are you guys fighting? I mean, I just saw you an hour ago, Ford. What's the problem?"
"The problem is what Spencer plans to do with you today, even though Antoine told him there's no one to help you between shoots, that's the problem."
"Spencer?" I ask, totally lost.
Ford continues, not even giving Spencer a chance to talk. "Well, let's walk through this, Rook. Spencer's gonna paint you up in a bikini, but he wants to do four shoots today, so that means that paint will have to be washed off four times." He stops to stare at me. "I think you can put two and two together from there."
"So Spencer will have to wash me off? Is this the problem?"
I look over at Spencer and he shrugs. "Rook, I gotta get through this catalog and get back up to Fort Collins by Friday, so we have to get as many shoots as we can. The bikinis are popular, easy, and quick."
"Hey, I could care less, Spencer. I'm not sure what Ford's problem is, but I'm pretty sure you're not painting on bikinis to feel me up." I roll my eyes. "Let's just do this."
Ford actually gets up and walks out.
I look back over at Spencer and he throws up his hands and turns back to his supplies. "Just get naked, OK? Twist up your hair and we'll get started."
I take a deep breath and look over at the camera people, then say an internal fuck it and whip my shirt off right there. What's the point? They're gonna see me naked whether I strip in that pathetic excuse of a dressing room or right here in front of them. I watch them as I do it too, daring them to even snicker. My look keeps them professional and when I glance back at Spencer he's laughing at me.
"You are something else, I swear. OK, first up is the white bikini." He says this last part loud, like he wants Ford, who is all the way across the room talking to Director Larry, to hear him. "White, so we can paint over it," he yells. "And not have to wash it off."
Spencer and I do a collective eye roll and try not to laugh.
"OK, Rook, just come stand here in the middle of the sheet." Spencer checks for Ford and drops his voice to a whisper and winks at me. "It might get a bit personal, but just know, I'm a licensed professional, Rook."
"Where have I heard that before? Oh, yeah, Ronin, when he was teaching me to shampoo his hair."
Spencer gives me a stupid look and I shrug. "Never mind."
Spencer's got his paints and brushes all laid out on a rolling cart this time. He catches me eyeing them and explains. "No airbrush today, right? It's all detail. So it goes a little slower at first, but the bikinis are so small, it won't be bad this time."
"This time?"
"Yeah, well," he says, kneeling down in front of me. "The other outfits aren't so easy. I've got something spectacular planned for Sturgis, that job will take all day, in fact we'll probably have to get up in the middle of the night in order to have it ready for the public presentation, which is later in the afternoon."
I think about this for a minute, trying to picture what that last shoot will be like, but even though I've seen all sorts of pictures of Sturgis, I've never been there before. And even though yesterday was pretty long, I can't imagine what it might take for Spencer to actually paint me all night long and into the morning.
His paintbrush on my lower stomach snaps me out of my daydreaming and I gasp as he drags it across my skin. His face is like right there. He's practically breathing on my sensitive little button!
"Sorry," he says, looking up at me. "There's just no good place to start this project. It's here, your ass, or your tits. Might as well get the hard part out of the way, right?"
I say nothing. Because honestly, I really didn't think this through.
I twist my head a little and find Antoine off to the side, his hand over his mouth trying to hide a frown. "Hey, Antoine. What's up?"
He stays right where he is, which is really too far away to have a normal conversation. "Ronin called. He can't reach you, he said. He wants you to call him right away."
I look down at Spencer but he's practically got his head buried in my girly parts, and if he cares that Ronin wants me to call him, he doesn't show it. I shrug a little, which makes Spencer grunt at me to stand still. "Can you dial the phone and hand it to me?" I'm secretly dying to talk to Ronin, it's been days and even though I was the one who said things should stay casual, I miss him. Like bad.
Antoine shakes his head. "No, not now. After we finish the first shoot, I'll call him back and tell him." And then Antoine walks out.
"Well," Ford says, from behind me. "Here we go."
"What's that mean?"
"Ignore that dickhead," Spence says, clearly irritated. "He's just jealous."
"Rook," Ford says, grabbing a chair and positioning himself off to the side, just out of my peripheral vision. "You do realize as soon as Ronin sees what's going on here, he's gonna be pissed? You do realize this, right?"
"Are you trying to make me feel bad on purpose?"
"Ford," Spencer growls, "I fucking told you to get the fuck out of here. No more talking to Rook, follow your own goddamn rules for once, will ya? She's just doing her job and if Ronin has a problem with it, he can take it up with me."
"Why would Ronin have a problem with it? It's not a secret." I don't get this weirdness going on with Ford and Spencer. "He's OK with the job, Ford, we talked about it."
"Did you talk about having Spencer between your legs drawing bikini bottoms?"
Spencer rushes Ford and they both crash through the flimsy partition pretending to be a dressing room. Spencer throws a punch that lands squarely on Ford's jaw, and a split second later Ford is back up on his feet and he pounces on Spencer. They grapple on the floor, landing punches and doing weird shit with their legs, trying to get the upper hand. All the crew on the other side of the room and Team Spencer start pulling them apart. Team Rook keeps filming.
They both stand there, breathing heavy, red-faced and lips bleeding. "Out!" Spencer growls. I've never pictured Spencer mad before, but right now he's scaring the shit out of me. He looks like he might kill Ford.
When I look over to Ford, he's the complete opposite, his tie is a little crooked, but generally, he looks calm. Spencer's anger barely touches him.
I think I have a new respect for Ford.
Antoine and his team enter just then and he is roaring, not really in French or English, but a strange mixture of both. He's talking to Spencer and the only word I really catch is stop.
I look over to my team and they look just as scared as I feel.
This studio has one rule. Just one. And that rule involves the word stop.
"Are we done for today?" I ask Antoine.
"Yes. Put your clothes on, go home, and call Ronin. Now."
I do as I'm told. Fuck these guys. I don't know why every single fucking time the men around here get in a fight everyone always acts like it's my fucking fault. I stomp away like a baby, my team doggedly following, then leave them all outside when I go back inside my apartment. My phone is still on the night table next to my bed, and when I wake it up I have seventeen missed calls.
No voicemails.
I press redial for Ronin's phone and he answers on the first ring.
"Shit, Gidget, it's about time!"
"Sorry, I keep forgetting to keep it on me. You're never gonna believe what just happened!"
"Let me guess, Ford and Spencer?"
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"We have history, that's all. I don't even know why Spencer took this gig, he knows Ford will just piss him off."
"Antoine called stop, so I guess we're done for today."
"Well," he laughs. "That's a first. W
hat'd they do? Get in a brawl?"
"Yes, Spencer charged him like he was Juggernaut. He kinda scared me, Ronin."
Ronin breathes out slowly on the other end and I can't really tell if he's frustrated with me, or just trying to remain calm. "He'd never hurt you, Rook, OK? He never would."
"Well, I just want this contract to be over. Can't you call Antoine and tell him to let Spencer finish these outfits today?"
I can hear Elise talking in the background, then a muffled noise, like Ronin's covering up the phone. "Yeah, OK. I'll have Elise call him. We won't be home until Sunday, Gidge, so just hang tight, OK? Clare's not doing well, she needs us right now. She really needs Antoine, to be honest, but he's got the contract. It's just really fucked up."
Sunday? I privately pout, then immediately feel guilty because Clare is physically sick trying to get over her addiction and I'm just caught up in my own stupid decisions. "Don't worry about me, OK? She's way more important than this job."
There's a loud knock on the door and I peek down the hallways to see who's there. "Ford's at my door, I guess I better go."
"All right, Rook, call me before you go to bed, OK? Antoine said he's taking you to dinner tonight, so don't let Ford or Spencer talk you into anything."
"OK."
"I miss you real bad, ya know that, right?"
I smile into the phone as Ford's knocking becomes pounding. "I miss you a lot, too. I really do."
"See ya Sunday. Love you."
I sit there, my mouth hanging open, wondering if I'm supposed to say it back. But before I can decide, I hear the line click off. He didn't wait to find out.
I let out a long breath.
Then smile.
I'll be ready next time.
Chapter Twelve - Rook
"What can I do for you, Ford?"
He runs his hand through his hair and grimaces. "I'd just like to apologize, I was out of line. I'll keep my mouth shut from now on. Antoine has revoked the stop order. We can proceed."