“I’ll let you take some headshots to start.”
Max threw down his napkin and stood up. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” I said, laughing at his reaction. “What the fuck, man? I’m nothing special.”
“Wait until you see what I can accomplish. Come on. Let’s go.”
Emily looked as shocked as I felt, but we followed Max to the register and watched him pay for everything with a credit card, leaving a generous tip in cash.
We piled into a waiting limo and navigated New York traffic in style on our way to his studio in Tribeca.
It was a hotbed of activity by the time we arrived. Max’s assistant was running back and forth, talking on the phone attached to her ear via Bluetooth. There were three youngish men in kitschy outfits who I assumed were assistant photographers. They were setting down rolls of white paper on every surface. All of that would have been impressive enough, but what really made my head spin were the four Abercrombie models waiting for directions.
Tin was right to be nervous, although I’d never tell him. Each guy was stunning in a boy-next-door kind of way. Spray-painted tans made their platinum blond hair pop, and muscles rippled as they got into position. It took every ounce of willpower not to lunge at any one of them and lick from head to toe.
“You can watch from over there,” Max said, pointing to a small area with a love seat, two oversized easy chairs, and a table stacked with magazines. An industrial-sized coffee machine stood at the ready, providing the necessary staple to fuel the people who worked in the modeling industry. “I’ll get to you as soon as I’m done with these guys.”
Chapter 16
Cole stood by his uncovered bedroom window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar skyscraper in the distance. He could only make out the vaguest outline, but it was enough to assuage his fears for another day. Nonetheless, it was time to move forward rather than keep on hoping for a miracle. Life had handed him a curveball, and instead of hunkering down and addressing the problem realistically, he was behaving like a rookie, swinging at an impossible pitch without ever making contact. Cole had been labeled many things—proud and intractable, to name a few—but brainless wasn’t on the list.
Today he would spend several hours training to maneuver every square inch of his apartment without the benefit of sight. Sloan and Emily were gone for the day so he could expect privacy while he fumbled around. Reaching for Juliana’s sleep mask in his drawer, now an integral part of her nightly ritual whenever she spent the night, he tied it firmly in place to prevent even a sliver of light to guide him. Cole had adamantly refused to accommodate Juliana’s request for blackout curtains as a sleep aid. He’d be blind soon enough, he argued, and speeding up the process to keep the peace fell by the wayside when he mentioned his desire to watch the rising sun every morning before it was too late.
John’s mantra—learn to rely on your other senses—had grown tiresome over the last few months, but his sage advice was never more apparent as Cole groped around the apartment. However familiar, there were still tables and chairs that got in his way, and each time he banged his shin on an unexpected obstacle, he planted the location of said barrier firmly in his memory banks to avoid a repeat. And although Cole wasn’t the touchy-feely sort, John had encouraged him to utilize his sense of touch whenever it was necessary.
Cole thought about Sloan as he made his way from one room to the next. His fingers had painted a better picture of his roommate, one he would not have gleaned without touching. His lips were well-formed and he had high cheekbones and smooth skin. Sloan’s hair was on the longish side but wildly abundant, and the odds of him going bald at an early age were pretty slim. He had long eyelashes framing the remarkable gray eyes that tickled whenever they were close. Cole could only surmise he was a compulsive tooth brusher since he didn’t taste like an ashtray, and there was only the barest whiff of weed whenever he was nearby. Roaming his hands over Sloan’s willing body had confirmed a runner’s build, with hardly any body fat, but there were patches of dry skin on his thighs he needed to address.
Cole groaned when he thought about Sloan’s engorged cock. A vivid memory of their last encounter was pure torture, because he didn’t know if there would be a next time. Masturbation was always a poor excuse for the real thing, but in this case, it might be better than nothing. Sloan had made his feelings perfectly clear.
And yet, a vision of Sloan reaching for him and wrapping his long legs around Cole’s thrusting hips made him slump to the floor and curl into a ball. He’d relied heavily on his hearing to know how much Sloan had enjoyed every minute. He would have loved to see his expressive eyes light up with pleasure, but Cole’s skewed vision could only handle a little at a time. A slight turn of his head to the left or right put him in a true blind spot where he saw nothing. If Sloan wasn’t in the right position he was a blur. But right then, anything was better than nothing. He could still appreciate Sloan’s beauty in brief snatches.
Juliana’s smile used to be dazzling, but she wasn’t smiling much lately. Thoughts of his girlfriend brought a fresh pang of guilt, although, to be fair, he had stopped loving Juliana long before Sloan showed up. Something fundamental had changed between them, and it was hard to articulate without offending her. Every time he made an attempt, it escalated into a fight. She was incapable, or even worse, refused, to adapt to his new situation. Stubbornly clinging to the past had made him lose respect for her. Cole deserved a partner who was up for the challenge of living with a disabled person. None of her actions so far had proven she could handle it, falling back on privilege to avoid the truth seemed to be her default. She’d already demonstrated this by vetoing his suggestion for a guide dog. He wondered if the relationship would have lasted if he’d never been diagnosed with RP. Was she always this shallow? It was impossible to know for sure, but he was certain their marriage would fail if he continued to ignore his sixth sense.
The biggest hurdle in this pile of crap would be his father. Ken had been bitterly disappointed when Cole was first diagnosed. Baseball had been the center of his life since he was old enough to pick up a bat, and to his father’s immense delight, he had excelled at the sport. Walking away meant the end of a sports legacy Ken had planned to pass on from his son to grandson. His lofty goal would end in another disappointment if Cole broke his engagement. It was his duty to provide the next Fujiwara who would take up the spot on the pitcher’s mound that Cole had relinquished.
Cole got off the floor and headed for Sloan’s bedroom. He knew all the nooks and crannies because he’d painted the room himself when he’d first moved in and could see better. The double bed was pushed off to one wall to make more space. It was a great idea until you had to change the bedsheets, and then it was inconvenient as hell. Fortunately, it was now Sloan’s problem, not his. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a pillow, then pressed it to his face. The now-familiar scent was a tangible reminder of the man who’d boxed him into a corner.
He wanted Sloan. Cole never imagined the sex would be so good. His previous experiences with men had only involved circle jerks and blowjobs. Now that he’d partaken of the forbidden fruit, it was extremely difficult to get it out of his mind. But he’d been cut off, summarily rejected with a toss of Sloan’s beautiful head.
You need to get your head out of your ass, before you can get back in mine.
Those were his exact words, and although Cole had used every persuasive argument he could think of, Sloan wanted nothing to do with him. Now he was talking about moving. The only thing preventing him were the repercussions once their fathers found out the truth.
He put the pillow aside and left the room. He didn’t need any more reminders of Sloan, who was a constant ache in his gut no amount of antacid could eliminate.
The kitchen presented a whole new set of challenges. Sloan had mentioned he and Emily would be back around five. In theory, Cole could make dinner and have it ready by the time they walked through the door, if he didn’t cho
p off one of his fingers in the process. Cole decided on something familiar for his first attempt. Kamameshi was a simple rice dish with fresh vegetables and ground chicken, slow cooked in an iron pot. It would stay warm for hours and would provide a lot of nutrition for his malnourished roommate.
With his sleeping mask still in place, Cole dug through the contents of the crisper, finding an onion, some carrots, and a few stalks of celery. There was a bag of frozen peas in the freezer and he laid it on the counter until it was time to add it to the mix. In the meat drawer, there were two packages. One with ground beef wrapped in paper, and the other with ground chicken, wrapped in plastic. He’d asked the butcher to package them differently so he could differentiate between the two. He grabbed the chicken, feeling quite smug about his foresight.
The next ingredient was rice, and Cole felt his way to the center cupboard where he kept several different varieties. Some people liked potatoes and others were into bread and pasta, but Cole was a rice person. He had it almost every day. A square container held the Japanese variety he preferred. Basmati was stored in a glass jar, and the regular long grain was in a box; easily distinguishable, one from the other.
So far, everything was going smoothly, and he was growing more confident by the minute. The difficult part would be the slicing and dicing. His mother had shown him how the professionals curled their fingers so the side of the knife grazed his knuckles as he chopped. He’d gotten very good at it, but that’s when he could see what he was doing. Today would be a true test. He started with the easiest vegetable, the carrots. He grabbed the peeler from one of the drawers, removing the skin and dumping it into the garbage can. He sliced off both ends easily and proceeded to chop the carrots into small medallions. The celery was next, also relatively simple. He’d left the onion for last, convinced it would be a disaster, but it wasn’t. He peeled and chopped like a pro, happy when all his fingers survived the test without a drop of blood.
After sautéing the chicken in a frying pan, he threw in the vegetables and stir-fried for a few minutes before dumping the lot into the iron pot along with some chicken broth, the frozen peas, and two cups of rice. Now everything would simmer for about thirty minutes. It smelled delicious and he whistled as he wiped off the counters, rinsed the cutting board, and soaped the knife and other utensils before leaving them on the drying rack. He hadn’t felt this good since he threw his last no-hitter.
He dumped a bag of garbage in the trash chute out in the hallway and thought he’d add a trip to the bakery down the street for some dessert. Maybe cream puffs or brownies would be nice to top off the meal. He removed the mask before leaving the house but kept his eyes closed. So long as he wore sunglasses, no one would be the wiser.
I was having a cigarette with a cup of coffee, surrounded by the usual debris associated with a photo shoot. The coffee station was a mess, thanks to the models and their entourage who sucked up the brew like deprived camels in a desert, but never bothered to clean up. There were sugar and creamer wrappers everywhere, along with empty coffee cups and overflowing ashtrays.
“That wasn’t fun,” I remarked to Emily, in case she had any doubts as to how I felt.
“Stop complaining. Anyone would be thrilled to have this opportunity.”
“I don’t understand what Max means when he says my face was meant to be photographed.”
“He obviously sees something the rest of us don’t.”
“I’m dying to see the proofs.”
Tin sauntered over and, after flopping down on the sofa, put his head on my shoulder. “God, I’m so tired.”
“Standing around like a statue is hard work,” I countered.
“You know it’s true.”
“Now I do. Did you score with any of the Abercrombie dudes?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I saw you leave with one of them.”
“We went to the restroom for a little bit of action.”
“Is random sex a part of this world?”
“It’s always factored into my day.” Tin’s face brightened considerably. He leaned over and whispered, “Has Max made a move yet?”
“Will he?”
“Count on it.”
“Does he do all his models?”
“For the most part,” Tin remarked nonchalantly. “No one ever turns him down.”
“Really?”
“Don’t consider this some sort of challenge, Sloan. It means nothing to Max and blowing him will not guarantee you a cover.”
“Well, I’m not looking to be on a cover, so why would I even bother?”
“Because you find me irresistible,” Max interjected. He was standing behind the sofa and had heard my last remark. I looked up at him and grinned. “Oops.”
He smiled back. “Come on, gorgeous, I want to show you what I’m talking about.”
I disentangled myself from Tin and called out to Emily to join us. She followed us to the area where the magic happened. There was a counter lined with computers, and I moved up to the first one, surprised to see my face staring out at me.
With a little eye makeup and a dab of blush, Max had managed to turn me into an alluring model. My parted lips looked kissable with the addition of some sparkly gloss. My smoky eyes dominated, though, very languid and sexy. I didn’t recognize myself. The guy on screen was hot, and I would have bought anything he had to sell.
“Holy shit, Max. I’m impressed.”
“I told you I would make you a star,” Max whispered in my ear as he stood right behind me. I could feel his cock pressing against my ass and goose bumps erupted all over my skin. “I’m sending this straight to Klas. You won’t even need an agent. They can deal with me directly.”
“For what?”
“They’re looking for a fresh face for their new line. You’re perfect for the part.”
“I don’t know if I can make any commitments; I have school, you know?”
“We’ll work around your schedule.”
“What if I say no?”
“Are you crazy?” Tin hooted. “You would make millions.”
“Come on, Sloan,” Emily seconded. “You’ll never get another opportunity like this.”
“Listen to your friends, darling.” Max’s warm breath in my ear was doing funny things to my stomach. “They know what’s best for you.”
“What’s the catch?” I asked softly.
“I’ll get a nice commission for my efforts. If you’d like to show your gratitude at a private party, I won’t object.”
“When?”
“How about now?”
“Emily and I had plans for tonight.”
Max studied me intently, and I was sure he’d tell me to fuck off for wasting his time, but he broke into a rakish smile instead. “I’m disappointed, Sloan. Most of my models come willingly, but blowing me is not a condition to your success. Do you not find me attractive?”
“I… yes… of course, but….” I was stuttering and stammering like a twelve-year-old. Max’s question made me even more nervous.
Max leaned over and kissed me. It was shockingly possessive and matched the size of his erection pressing against my thigh. When he’d had his fill, he stepped back and wiped saliva off my lower lip with his thumb, all while undressing me with his eyes. “Call me when you’re ready to party. In the meantime, your portfolio goes out by special messenger tomorrow, and we’ll see what they have to say.”
I was stunned by his aggressive move. No one had ever pursued me or wanted me this badly. It was a heady experience.
Chapter 17
“This is really good,” Emily remarked, taking another mouthful of the chicken and rice dish.
Cole’s smile widened, pleased as hell with the compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”
He’d gone all out with this meal and even bought éclairs for dessert. I was enjoying it, which said a lot for his efforts. Picky eater was my middle name, and I could recount all the times my mother and I argued over my lackluster appr
eciation of her culinary skills. I wasn’t a big rice eater either, but this dish was tasty and didn’t have the fatty meat I found repugnant.
I wondered where Cole was going with this. Was he trying to make amends for being a sanctimonious prick or just being a good host? He seemed happy this evening and looked hot in his dark blue T-shirt and black jeans. His hair fell in a shiny curtain over part of his face. Habitually, he pushed it back, but it was silky soft and usually slid back down his forehead. It made me want to reach out and run my fingers through the inky strands as I’d done several times when we were having sex.
“Do you have plans for the evening?” he asked, looking right at me. We’d been avoiding any sort of conversation since our argument, but I was civil for Emily’s sake. It wasn’t necessary to subject her to our shit. “We’re meeting Max and Tin at a club.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you join us, Cole?” Emily interjected. “It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t dance.”
“So what,” I interjected. “Listen to the music and have a drink or two. You haven’t been out once since I moved in.”
“Come on, Cole,” Emily pleaded. “I need someone to stand with me while Sloan and his friends cavort on the dance floor.”
“Don’t you like dancing?” Cole asked her.
“Not really. I’m sort of a klutz.”
Cole snorted. “That makes two of us.”
I didn’t know this, of course. How could I? There was so much about him waiting to be discovered. Watching him converse with Emily and sit around the table with us was a pleasure I didn’t realize I was missing. Most of my contact with Cole had been heated, either exchanging angry words or tearing each other’s clothes off. This was the first time I’d been with him when he was at ease in my company.
Cutting Cords (Cutting Cords Series Book 1) Page 10