Cover Model

by Devon Hartford

  Except he’s completely naked.

  I’m staring right at his huge—

  “Can I have this?” Romeo asks, squatting to the ground at Connor’s feet while reaching tentatively for the crumpled bed sheet. “No, seriously, can I have this?” He stares up at Connor and his—

  I didn’t think it would be THAT big…

  “Be my guest.” Connor says casually to Romeo. But his eyes never leave mine.

  Romeo grabs the sheet and twirls it into a ball which he hugs to his chest like it’s a wad of thousand dollar bills.

  Meanwhile, my rage has gone super nova.

  Screw my professionalism.

  I don’t care. I’m not interviewing Connor Hughes. No matter how big of a—

  Never mind.

  I swore if I ever saw him again I’d shoot him in the face. Since I don’t have a gun handy, I decide the polite thing to do is walk away before I claw his eyes out.

  “I’m outta here.” I turn and march down the long hallway toward the elevators.

  I can’t wait to hear what Vince Pitts has to say when I tell him he needs to find someone else to do this useless interview.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  CONNOR

  “I’ll go get her,” the short goth dude with Electra says before jogging off.

  I was sorta hoping for a cat fight. Oh well.

  Sitting on the bed, I wait around for a while with the door open. They never come back. My jeans are crumpled on the floor in the corner. I grab my phone from the pocket and check my voicemail. I’ve had the ringer off since I brought Babe back to the room last night.

  “Connor, this is your dad.”

  I smile to myself. Like I can’t recognize his voice.

  “We just want you to know we’re having a great time on our trip. The air in Denver really is thinner. Your mom and I went up the steps of the capitol building to that mile high medallion. We were both huffing and puffing like a couple of old farts.”

  “You were huffing and puffing,” Mom laughs. “I jog, remember? And you smoke!”

  “She was huffing and puffing,” Dad chuckles into the phone. “Anyway, I should focus on driving—”

  “Gimme that!” Noises as Mom takes the phone and giggles, “Yes, your father should focus on driving. Connor, we just wanted to call to say we’re having a great time and we wish you were here.”

  “No we don’t! He’s old enough to take care of himself. When are you going to cut the apron strings, Kelly? Connor’s his own man. Right, son?” There’s a pause and Dad chuckles. “What am I thinking? This is a voicemail! You can’t answer. Oh! Did I mention we’re going to stop at Mt. Rushmore? Your mom doesn’t wanna go but I told her it’s educational and maybe she’ll learn something.”

  “I know plenty, Finn. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be eating hot dogs for dinner every night.”

  “I like hot dogs!” Dad laughs. “Anyway, I’ve always wanted to find out if Rushmore really does look smaller in person.”

  “Compared to your giant head,” Mom snickers, “everything is smaller.”

  “Which one?”

  “Finn!” She’s laughing. “You’re such a bad influence. Connor, promise me you’ll never be an egotistical ass like your father.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Dad chuckles. “Anyway, kid, we just stopped for lunch. We’ll call you again soon.”

  “Bye, Connor!” Mom cheers. “We miss you!”

  The message ends and I look out the window of the room and stare at the Pacific Ocean, smiling to myself.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  ELECTRA

  “Have you lost your god damned mind, Warmoth?!” Vince yells.

  Wincing, I hold my phone away from my ear. With my free hand I grab clean wet clothes from the laundry cart and throw them into one of the big dryers at the Lucy’s Laundromat around the corner from my tiny apartment. Since I bailed on the whole Connor interview thing, I decided today was a good day to do laundry. I hate having to drive here, but I don’t have a choice. I can’t afford to live in a nicer apartment complex that actually has an on-site laundry facility. “I can’t believe you set me up on this story, Vince! A male model tell-all? It’s ridiculous!”

  “What’s the problem, Warmoth? Guy get your panties in a wad?”

  A thousand megapixel image flashes through my mind of the bed sheet crumpled on the floor beneath Connor’s enormous junk. I growl into the phone, “That’s sexist, Vince.” While his comment might be true, it’s still sexist.

  “So what the hell is the problem? You got a thing for this guy?”

  I snort, “You couldn’t be any more off the mark if you were on the moon, Vince!” I hurl a pair of wet jeans into the dryer and they thud against the back wall with a metallic echo. “There’s no way I’m doing this interview!”

  “I’m sorry,” Vince says with feigned politeness, “did I hear you right? I think there’s a bad connection.”

  “You heard me,” I seethe, grabbing a fistful of wet leggings from the laundry basket.

  “That’s odd, because I could’ve sworn you said you were all over this story because you want to keep getting work from me, and the last thing you want to do is piss me off to the point that I lose your phone number.”

  I squeeze my smart phone so hard I think I’m going to crack the screen. When that doesn’t happen, I consider throwing it into the dryer with my clothes.

  “You picking up what I’m putting down, Warmoth?”

  “Yes!”

  The truth is, if it wasn’t for Vince, I wouldn’t have enough work to make rent every month. Paid work as a journalist is very hard to find. The last thing I want to do is move back in with my parents. I swore to myself I’d never get that desperate. If I wasn’t already short on rent for next month, I’d seriously consider telling Vince to stick this story so far up his ass that he could read it with his eyes closed.

  I sigh to myself.

  Everybody knows that adulthood means from time to time you have to bend over for your boss whether you want to or not. The image of sweaty Vince Pitts with his stringy comb-over flopping against his forehead while he bends me over his glass desk at the Trending offices makes me want to throw up all over my laundry. I swallow down my disgust. I don’t want to run this load of darks again.

  “What’s it gonna be, Warmoth? Am I calling Audrey to handle what you can’t?”

  Audrey Fisher is a senior contributor for Trending Magazine. She’s a kiss ass and a job hog who would love to take my paycheck.

  But I hardly care about her.

  I care about my reputation.

  Never in my career have I balked at an assignment. I’m the go-to girl. I get stuff done. I’m up for any assignment, no matter how much I might dislike the subject. I’ve interviewed drug dealers, embezzlers, corporate criminals, and human rights abusers. I always get the story, no matter how much the subject turns my stomach. But this is different. This is personal.

  “Well, Warmoth?”

  I grit my teeth. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Remember, your interview copy goes live to-day. Austin will meet you in the lobby at the hotel at noon to take pictures.”

  “I thought we weren’t getting an exclusive on the photos.”

  “We’re not. The agreement with Rom Com Con and Connor’s agent is that nobody gets any pictures until the live reveal. They’ve gone out of their way to keep this Connor guy’s face a secret. Why, I have no idea. But I want to go live with your article the second Austin has pics. Otherwise TMZ will break the story before we do. So drop whatever you’re doing and get your ass back to that hotel and finish that fucking interview! You hearing me, Warmoth?!”

  “Yes!!” I scream into the phone.

  The few people doing their laundry this early in the morning all stop what they’re doing and stare at me.

  “Sorry,” I mutter to the room. Not sorry.

  “I don’t want to hear sorry, Warmoth! Get your ass in gear!’

 
; “I was talking to the—”

  Vince hangs up before I can finish my sentence.

  While cursing Vince under my breath to the high heavens, I yank my wet laundry out of the dryer and stuff it in my basket. Then I stop one of the many washing machines in the laundromat with a violent twist, nearly snapping the knob off the control panel. I pull my unfinished load of soapy towels out and drop them sopping into my basket. I carry the dripping mess to my car. I don’t even bother to drive home and drop it off.

  My clothes are going to have to sit in my trunk until this evening. I hope they don’t get all mildewy between now and then.

  It is my sincerest wish that Vince Pitts dies a slow and painful death at the hands of an epileptic dentist who forgot to take his meds.

  No offense to epileptics, of course.

  Or dentists.

  Unless they deserve it. Like Vince Pitts.

  Damn him!

  Chapter 3

  CONNOR

  “How did the interview go?” It’s my agent on the phone, Gloria Powers. She’s been repping me for five years. Her voice is all smiles.

  I chuckle, kicking back on the unmade bed in my hotel room. “It didn’t happen.”

  “What?” Now her voice could cut glass.

  “She bailed,” I say casually.

  “Who bailed?”

  “The reporter from Trending Magazine. She left before the interview started.”

  “Ugh. Why did she leave?”

  “I may have pissed her off.”

  “You didn’t try to get her into bed, did you?”

  I chuckle. “Jealous?”

  “Fuck you, Connor. Did you try to screw her or not?”

  “You sound jealous to me.” I grin to myself.

  “Damn it, Connor. Do you know how many favors I had to call in to set up this interview?”

  “All of them,” I say sarcastically. “Look, I don’t fuckin know what happened, G. But I didn’t try to fuck her.” Not yet, anyway. If I can track Electra down, I just might. I can’t believe War Mouth dropped back into my life today.

  “You sure? No flirting? No grab-assing?”

  “No, Gloria. I told you. I didn’t do anything. She just flipped out.” I realize how stupid this sounds. “I think she had a screw loose. For all I know, she needed to take a huge shit and didn’t want to do it in my room and stink up the place.”

  “That’s disgusting, Connor.”

  “What do you want me to tell you? She left. No explanation.”

  She groans. “As long as you didn’t try to sleep with her.”

  “I swear, I didn’t.”

  “Good. Because the last thing we need is Trending printing an article about you sexually harassing their reporter.”

  “That might actually be a good story. You know what they say about bad press…”

  “That might work for Caitlyn Jenner and the Kardashians, but you’re still a nobody, Connor. You’re unknown. You know what they say about first impressions.”

  I run my hand through my hair. “I didn’t do anything, G.”

  “If I hear otherwise when I talk to my contact at Trending, you better hope I never find you because I will cut your dick off and soak the stump in rubbing alcohol.”

  I wince. “You wouldn’t want to do that to your favorite dick, would you?”

  “Don’t test me, Connor. I have a business to run. You’re not my only client.” She sighs heavily. “I’ll make some calls. Stay where you are. I’ll see if I can rebuild the bridge you just burnt.”

  I toss the phone on the mattress.

  Fuck her and her bridges.

  I don’t need this shit.

  I don’t even want to be here for this ridiculous reveal. It was all Gloria’s fuckin idea. I would’ve been happy to remain anonymous. But Gloria is dead set on building my brand.

  I guess her fifteen percent of my take home isn’t enough. So she has to make up for it by getting me more exposure which supposedly leads to bigger and better paying gigs and starring roles and all that shit. I don’t know what’s wrong with making just enough cash to cover rent and food and gas for my bike every month. What more do you need? I mean, besides pussy? And that shit’s free.

  —scream—

  I shudder.

  Maybe I need to bail on this whole fuckin convention reveal bullshit. I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing.

  Top on the list is fuckin Electra Warmoth, which isn’t gonna cost me a dime.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  ELECTRA

  “Just my luck,” Connor chuckles. He stands fully naked in the doorway of room 714.

  “Put some clothes on or I’m leaving,” I snap. It’s an empty threat but he doesn’t know that. “I don’t need to be here.”

  “You’re right. You being here is a privilege.”

  “You wish,” I spit.

  “Really? My agent has been hounding me to do a big interview like this for months. We already turned down People, US, GQ, and Esquire.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Nope. Everybody wants me, War Mouth. But you already knew that.”

  How does he make it so easy to despise him? He’s truly talented. “Okay, if that’s true, Connor Lewd, why did you pick Trending Magazine? Trending is still the up-and-comer. Those other magazines are well established.” Although I’m truly curious, mainly I don’t want to think about how naked he is right now. And the fact that we’re all alone.

  “Because I am the trend,” Connor says, cocky as ever.

  Cock.

  I snort, “You’re still full of yourself after all these years, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. Admit it, War Mouth. You like what you see.”

  “I do not.” It’s not like I haven’t seen Connor nearly naked before. He was always one of those guys who took his shirt off at the drop of a hat so he could parade his abs around for the girls. This is no different, except he’s taller and more muscular and I can see his… I close my eyes with obvious irritation. I’m not going to stare. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

  “What?”

  I glare at him. “Do you know what it feels like to be kicked in the balls by a woman wearing pointed pumps?”

  “Nope.”

  I smirk, “If you don’t put some clothes on so we can start this interview, you’re about to find out.”

  “You’re bluffing,” he says, amused. He really doesn’t care that he’s standing naked in the hotel hallway.

  I sigh with irritation. “Get a towel from the bathroom or something. Let’s get this interview over with. I have a deadline and I’m not about to miss it because you’re playing games.” I shoulder past him into the room and stride toward the round table by the picture window. The hotel room is standard but classy, with a king size bed and stylish dark wood furniture.

  The room door closes solidly behind me.

  One might say ominously.

  A large, muscled, naked model of a man stands somewhere behind me.

  Am I going to regret this?

  No. I can take care of myself. I’ve been in far more dangerous situations than this. I know how to deal with Connor Hughes. He’s a man-child. An authoritative tone ought to be enough to keep him in line.

  Connor’s voice tickles my ears, “Do you have any idea how incredible your ass looks in that skirt?”

  If Connor was a co-worker, I’d threaten him with a sexual harassment lawsuit. But he’s not. There’s nothing I can do but ignore it. It’s not like he means it.

  “I haven’t seen an ass that good since…” He sounds lost in thought. “Since the last time I saw you, War Mouth.” He chuckles to himself.

  Maybe he means it? No, he’s just trying to irritate me. We both know it’s not true.

  “Fuck, woman. Your hips won’t fuckin quit.” The tone in his voice is blatantly sleazy. I can feel his eyes crawling all over my ass. “What I wouldn’t do to bend you over that table and fuck you from behind while we both enjoy th
e view.”

  I swallow hard.

  I haven’t had a man talk to me this way since…

  Ever.

  But that’s not why I’m here. And speaking of views, the view out the window is very nice. I can see the Pacific Ocean. That’s the view he was referring to, right? Who am I kidding. This is Connor Hughes. Pursing my lips for my own benefit, I shake my head. “Can it, Connor. Either we’re doing this interview or—”

  “I’m doing you. Take your pick.”

  “That’s not what I said. And stop talking like a rapist. Not every woman on this planet wants to have sex with you, you know.”

  “You do. But you won’t admit it.”

  “Ha! I wouldn’t have sex with you if you were the last man on earth.”

  “Speaking of sex—”

  “No, Connor!”

  “—when was the last time you had any?”

  I swallow hard again. It’s been years. But I won’t admit that to him or anybody else. Nor will I admit that I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him inside me, bent over this chair, squirming as he takes me from behind and an orgasm rips through me…

  “And I don’t mean throw-away sex, War Mouth. I mean the kind of sex that is so good you call all your girlfriends and brag about it for months.”

  Not that I have many girlfriends to call. My career leaves me little time for friends. I make a lot of acquaintances on the job, but I wouldn’t call those people friends.

  He continues, “The kind of sex where you’re soaking fuckin wet and your pussy lips are swollen because it goes on all night long, the kind where you come so hard you see stars, the kind where you’re afraid to come one more time because you think it might kill you but you do it anyway. The kind of sex where your pussy aches the next morning but all you can think about is doing it again. And again. And again. And—”

  “Stop! I get it!”

  Am I panting?

  I think I was panting.

  One thing’s for sure, my panties are—