Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection

by Hawkins, Jessica

  Finn shakes his head. “It’s good to live with people. You learn weird things about yourself, like that you fucking hate the smell of sautéed Brussels sprouts.”

  I smirk. “Lucky for you, I don’t eat Brussels sprouts . . . roomie.”

  “So what’d your dad say when you told him you were giving up your apartment to move in with a smutty photographer?”

  I take a long pull from my bottle. Finn looks smug, because he knows I haven’t done it yet. Just the thought makes me perspire, so it’s good I’ve got the headscarf. “I’m telling him next week.”

  “Right. You said that earlier this month, Hals.”

  “I will.” I just need to figure out a way to present it so it doesn’t look as though I made this decision rashly, without thinking it through. “I was going to the other day, but he lost another client. I swear, when I finally worked up the nerve to enter his office, his face was purple with rage.”

  Finn shakes his head, but it’s not as if he’s guilt-free.

  “And what about you?” I ask. “Are you going to tell Marissa I’m the live-in maid next time she comes?”

  He crams the last of his pizza into his mouth but continues to be gross by speaking. “You know, you haven’t checked your phone in a few hours.”

  “Smooth topic change.”

  “I’m just saying, I’m impressed. That’s a first.”

  I pick a pepperoni off and eat it. It’s not a first. The daily count of new followers is higher than ever thanks to the Buzzfeed feature a couple weeks ago. We’re already at seventy-five-thousand followers, and one-hundred’s just around the corner. The article’s nearly doubled what we had, which is astounding, but we’re starting to plateau.

  “I spent a lot of time looking through hashtags last night,” I admit. “I was trying to find new ones for us to experiment with, maybe tap into a new audience, but . . . I kind of fell down a rabbit hole of sex.”

  “So that’s why you woke me up in the best way possible at two in the morning.”

  I blush, remembering how it felt to have him come to life in my mouth. “I was excited.”

  “And now?”

  I shake my head at my pizza. “I don’t know. Now, in the light of day, I’m . . . not.”

  Finn puts down his beer. “I told you to stop looking through that shit. What’d you see?”

  “It wasn’t the comments.” I don’t have to ask what he means. I ruined our Valentine’s Day dinner date earlier this week. While Finn was in the restroom, I checked our account. Someone had commented that busty girls look fat in lingerie, and I read it with a mouthful of chocolate lava cake. I nearly spit it all over my plate. By the time Finn returned to the table, I was convinced that person was right. I was too fat, too gross to be half-nude in such a public forum. Finn threatened to delete the account if I didn’t promise to stop reading comments and messages. It didn’t matter that all other feedback about our Butter Boudoir shoot was good. Better than good. That comment haunted me for days.

  I agreed to Finn’s conditions and turned off push notifications. I’ve still been checking things regularly, just not several times a day like before. “I was looking at accounts similar to ours,” I explain. “They post less than we do but have hundreds of thousands of followers.”

  “We’re brand-fucking-spanking new, Hals. What we’ve done in a few months is incredible.”

  “I know. I just wonder. What if we posted twice a day for a while?”

  “You going to quit your job and pose for me for a living?”

  “Maybe.”

  He gives me a look that warns me not to go down this path, but sometimes, when it comes to this stuff, Finn needs a push. He gets business, but he doesn’t always know how to mix it with his art.

  I shift my hip against the counter. “We’re already getting a few sponsor requests a month. The more followers we have, the more money we can command.”

  “And is that what this is about for you? Money?”

  “You know it isn’t.”

  “So why are you bringing that up?”

  “It’s a bonus. Imagine if one day, you and I did this for real. As a living. We get a five-thousand-dollar sponsor every month, and that’s just to start.”

  “It’s a nice idea,” he admits. “I just don’t want you getting your hopes up. Things are going well, so let’s just keep doing what we’re doing.”

  “Posting twice a day is doing what we’re doing. It’s just doing it more.”

  He sighs and looks out the window over the sink. Under the harsh kitchen lights, the lines around his eyes are obvious. “It’s supposed to be a little warmer this weekend. We should do something. Get out of town.”

  “Finn.”

  He turns back to me. “We don’t have enough material to post more. As it is, we’re shooting every weekend and some weeknights.”

  “I know. And we’re running out of body parts.” And captions. I tense with the thought. Something has to give. The only thing I’ve been able to write about lately is Finn, but it’s personal, not anything I want to share. Not even with him. It’s about my boyfriend, not a faceless sex partner like the fantasy we create for people.

  Finn narrows his eyes. “So what do you suggest?”

  I’ve given this a lot of thought. Finn isn’t just getting recognition for his work. Since last month, girls have started requesting him, the sexy photographer. I know he’s seen it, even if he hasn’t mentioned anything. “There’s only one photo of you. The one in the suit.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m behind the camera, not in front.”

  “They want more of you, babe. You’re the one bringing in all these people.”

  “Me?” He laughs. “If you think that, you’re even more modest than I thought. This account is all about you. Fuck. You got a marriage proposal the other day.”

  I try not to smile but fail epically. “I did?”

  “It’s in the messages.”

  I’ve been avoiding those, but now I’m tempted to look. “Well, yes, I have fans too, but they’ve seen so much of me. All of me. But you? Or even us, together? That picture you took while unbuttoning my collar from behind—they love that one.” I put my bottle down and go to him, touching the hem of his t-shirt. My fingers are wet from condensation, and they leave a damp spot. “I love that one.”

  “We did that in the heat of the moment. It was a quick, easy shot. I can’t do a whole session that way, setting up the camera and then posing for the timer.”

  “Then let’s hire someone.”

  He slow-blinks. “To take the photos? Are you kidding? I’m the fucking photographer. This is my work.”

  “No, no, no.” I flatten my hands on his chest and lean into him. “I wasn’t saying that at all. I mean we can hire another model. If we don’t shoot his face, they won’t know it’s not you. Or maybe they will, but just having something fresh will revive us.”

  “Revive us? We just had a marathon month.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Not really.”

  “He and I would pose together, and you’d direct us. You’d have complete control.”

  “You want someone else’s hands on you,” he deadpans.

  “It’s just business, babe. You can even pick the model, I don’t care who he is.”

  “I’m not going to pick a man to—” His chest expands with a breath. “I don’t even . . . is this about yesterday?”

  I have the urge to pull away, but I don’t. I don’t want this to turn into a fight. “What about yesterday?” I ask.

  “You know what, Halston.”

  I drop my eyes to his chest. Finn was commissioned, for a lot of money, to shoot a local socialite’s boudoir session for her fiancé. If that’s not bad enough, she was made famous by stealing that fiancé from her best friend. I would’ve let him do it, but he accepted without consulting with me. “It’s not about that.”

  “I told you, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve literally not thought
about another woman since I met you.” He lifts my chin by his knuckle. “The money I make is ours, not mine. Come to the shoot with me. You can be the director.”

  “I’ve heard she’s dumb, but I’m sure she’s not that dense. She’ll know who I am,” I point out.

  He frowns. “Do you want me to cancel it?”

  I’m not worried about her. I’m anxious about what this means for us. Finn’s website is getting traffic now. My designer did a great job. It even has a Press section, and there are more than a couple articles in it. Me? I have nothing. Even though Finn mentions me in every interview, there’s no website with my name on it.

  If Finn starts taking other jobs and shooting less for our account, what does that mean for me? What do I even have, professionally speaking, without this? I never even dared to fantasize that one day, I might write for living, until Finn came along. But the truth is, that dream is smoke and mirrors. I haven’t actually written anything in months, nothing worth sharing, at least. What if this is it for me, but for Finn, it’s just the beginning?

  “Don’t cancel it,” I say. No matter how low I feel, I would never ask Finn to jeopardize his success for me. “I trust you, and this isn’t about her—it’s about us.”

  He rubs his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “Tell me more about that.”

  “I want more for us. I want to quit my job and be with you all the time.” At the beginning of our relationship, I might’ve been embarrassed to admit that, but now? I know Finn loves hearing my stalker-ish thoughts.

  He steps even closer to me, running a hand down to the seat of my overalls. He pulls me against him. “All the time, huh? And you’re not worried about the ramifications of hourly sex?”

  I arch an eyebrow at him. “The ramifications?”

  He shifts, pinning my hips to the counter with his. “You’ll have to help me with these overalls . . . unless there’s some secret flap down there for easy access.”

  I get a coat of goosebumps but try to focus on the task at hand. “Imagine it,” I tell him. “You don’t have to take any more shit jobs photographing spoiled brats. I don’t have to leave our bed at seven in the morning.” I slip my hand into the waist of his jeans, trailing my finger along his hip. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “We sleep in. We shoot a new photo or two every day. I sit at the window and write while you edit. We cook breakfast . . . for dinner.”

  He groans.

  Without bothering to undo his pants, I squeeze my hand into his underwear and take him in my fist. “We make love whenever, wherever. That’s our life. If we can build this business even bigger.”

  Finn assaults my mouth with a hungry kiss.

  I have my answer. He wants me, he chooses me—for now. If I can bring new life into our work, I’ll buy myself a little more time. As long as our follower count goes up, so does Finn’s career. But I’ll still be here where I started. If I don’t find a way to keep up, I risk getting left behind.

  28

  It’s not until I’ve hung up my jacket and emptied my pockets in the foyer that I hear voices. Specifically, one voice. And it’s much too deep to be Halston’s. I head to the studio.

  Halston swivels in my office chair when I enter. She brightens with a smile. “There you are.”

  I put down my camera bag. “I thought we were doing this at seven.”

  “No, I told you six.” She comes over to me, links an arm around my waist, and gestures to the couch. “Finn, this is Ken.”

  Ken King—supposedly his real name—sets a steaming mug on the side table and stands to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to this.”

  Looking forward to touching my girlfriend—I’m sure he is. Halston found him on Facebook, a friend of a friend and a working model with a similar build to mine. He’s even got some light brown scruff. I touch my jaw and look down at Halston. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.” Her breath smells like coffee. She smiles at Ken. “Excuse us.”

  I lead her out with a hand on her upper back, shooting Ken a glance on the way. I close the studio door once we’re in the hallway. “He’s been here since six?”

  “Just about.”

  “And you let him in? You should’ve waited for me.”

  “He would’ve been standing in the hall for half an hour.”

  “I don’t care. He’s a stranger, and you were alone in the apartment with him. Not just a stranger, but one who knows he’s here to take provocative photos with you.”

  “Finn.”

  I don’t care that she did the same thing with me. Or that Ken is supposedly a nice guy who regularly poses for NYU’s art department. Or that Halston trusts the friend who recommended him. I’ve been trying, and failing, to wrap my head around this for days. When Halston suggested another model, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but I’m the one encouraging her to be in control of her life. This project is more important to her than I ever imagined it would be.

  Now that he’s here, I want to call it off. He’s ripped. Handsome, in an obvious sort of way. I guess he would be, since he’s a model. I’ve been trying not to wonder whether bringing a third person into the apartment has anything to do with what I read in her “dark” journal. “I’m serious, Hals. You should’ve waited for me.”

  “Finn, he’s gay.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “He was telling me about a trip to Barcelona with his boyfriend when you came in.”

  It’s then that I realize my shoulders are at my ears. I lower them. This night just did a one-eighty. Though I’m relieved, I try to play it cool. “Still. You didn’t know that when you let him in.”

  She half rolls her eyes. “He already signed the release.”

  “And the NDA?”

  She folds her arms behind her back. “Not yet. I thought it felt a little extreme.”

  “That’s why I was supposed to meet him first. Now, he knows who you are without any reason to stay quiet.”

  “Is that so bad?” she asks quietly.

  “What about all that stuff with the tabloids? And your dad finding out? You still want to remain anonymous, right?”

  She shifts feet. “Yes.”

  “Then he’ll sign it.” I return to the studio and pull the slip from underneath the model release. I nod at Ken. “Would you mind signing this too?”

  Ken stands from the couch and picks up the paper. “Non-disclosure agreement?” he asks. “For what?”

  “Halston explained her situation, right? If you have mutual friends—”

  “We talked all about it. I’m going to tell my friend Halston was looking for a model for work.” I just look at him until he picks up the pen and adds, “But sure. Not a problem.”

  I don’t even want to think of how Halston would react if her identity were revealed. Now that I know her better, I see why it’s important to separate these identities. As long as she’s anonymous, there’s still a shield between the public and her. If insults about her work hurt now, they’ll be even worse if she removes that final barrier.

  “Did you get to look through the account?” I ask as I head to set up the equipment. “Get a feel for what we post?”

  “I did, and I love it,” he says. “I follow a lot of photographers and models because of what I do, but I haven’t seen anything like this. Especially with the captions.”

  “We love it,” Halston says. “We’re hoping these photos will get us to a hundred-thousand followers. We’re not too far, and we still have twelve days left.”

  “What’s in twelve days?” Ken asks.

  I’ve been wondering the same thing. When Halston asked me to pick a date, I indulged her. I hadn’t thought she’d be religious about it. Every day she writes our follower count in a journal, biting her lip as she calculates and then announces the difference to our goal.

  “Finn’s birthday,” she answers. “And that’s the present I want to give him. One hundred K.”

  I nod Ken over. “Let me get a few test shots.”

  H
e walks in front of the camera, and I direct him around the space. His white button-down is stark against the room’s smoky-gray walls. “We’re going for sexy, but in a suggestive, subtle way.” I turn to Halston, who’s standing a couple feet behind me, her thumbnail between her teeth. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She doesn’t move. She has on a black, short-sleeved t-shirt and ripped jeans. I asked her not to dress sexy this time around, promised I’d still make her look good, even if she opted for a Mumu. That’s my job. My eyes go to her red and patchy inner elbow.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “We can still call it off.”

  She covers it when she catches me looking, then passes to get in position. Once they’re in front of the camera, I play with the lighting. When I turn around, they both stare at me. “What?”

  “What should we do?” Halston asks.

  Right. I’m supposed to instruct Ken on how to touch my girlfriend. For a second, I don’t think I can do it, even if he is gay. We could switch places. Nobody would ever have to know I didn’t take the picture. Except me. This is my work. My first love, even before Marissa came along. Having another man behind the camera is about as bad as watching him with Halston.

  I wipe my forehead on my sleeve. “All right. This photo’ll be about domination. Your strength, Ken, versus her fragility.”

  “Oh. We’re jumping right in then,” Halston says with a nervous smile.

  I stop myself from pointing out that I’m not exactly interested in dragging things out. She’s always done what I asked. Made herself vulnerable to me. Allowed me to be a voyeur to her deepest desires. Trusted me. I don’t want to lose or betray that trust, especially while there’s another man in the room.

  I can do this for her.

  “Just tell me if we’re moving too fast. Halston, turn around. Ken, grab her upper arm.”

  Once Ken is behind her, he takes her bicep. “How’s that?” he asks her.

  “Harder,” I say. “Enough to demonstrate force, but not enough to hurt her.”

  He tightens his grip. “Like that?”

  “Drop your head back onto his shoulder.”