 
# Exposure

## An East Park Romance

## Iris Blaire

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2013 by Iris Blaire

New Materials Copyright © 2020 by Iris Blaire

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieving system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the author.

Cover Image Copyright © 2020 by VitalikRadko

# Contents

Magazine

1. Evan

2. Dallas

3. Evan

4. Dallas

5. Evan

6. Dallas

7. Evan

8. Dallas

9. Evan

10. Dallas

11. Evan

12. Dallas

13. Evan

14. Dallas

15. Evan

16. Dallas

17. Evan

18. Dallas

19. Evan

20. Dallas

21. Evan

22. Dallas

23. Evan

24. Dallas

25. Evan

26. Dallas

27. Evan

28. Dallas

29. Evan

30. Dallas

31. Evan

32. Dallas

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1

# Evan

Selling sex is like owning an ice cream truck. If you make all your clients sticky and satiated, they'll remember to come back the next day when they're hot and bothered.

Right now, I'm selling both. Sex, and ice cream. Haagen-Dazs should give me a freaking commission.

Britain has me posing with my back pressed against a tree, a cone of vanilla ice cream tilted in my fingers. Melted cream drips from my glossy lips and down my neck. I'm wearing only a pair of pink panties that say EPU written in university text, and striped knee-high socks.

The only thing I can use to cover my tits are my wrists. They're pressed tightly against my skin to give that perfect lift so my boobs look fake. Sticky, melted ice cream runs into my cleavage, dripping all the way to my navel.

Britain tosses her blonde hair to the side and squats for a different angle. "Come on, Miss Rylan. Look more surprised. Like you don't know what to do about the mess."

She only calls me Rylan when I'm not giving her what she wants. I huff before popping out my ass a little more, getting the curve in my lower back just right. I know this pose makes all our subscribers go nuts. I shake out my sprayed hair and try to widen my naturally innocent-looking eyes.

Britain sighs and lets the camera drop. "More, Rylan. Like someone just came all over your face and you don't know how you feel about it."

_Gross._

I relax my posture, narrowing my eyes. "Thank you. For that."

She smirks evilly before raising the camera again. Britain gets off on stuff like this. For one, she's a total voyeur. And two, she knows when she's nailed a hot shoot. I can tell this one is hot by the excited energy about her. "Boys want sweet, innocent little Rylan. They want to peel those panties away and deflower you with their minds."

"You don't have to remind me. Again," I say with exasperation.

It wasn't always this way. My shoots used to be more _adulteress_ and less _your friend's bangable little sister_ until last issue. Correction—until the _success_ of last issue. Britain thinks the high sales were due to my shoot. I had been the cover girl, after all. We went a little fetishy with an oversized teddy bear and heart lollipop. My hair was in pigtails and the only thing I wore were white Mary Janes.

Gag. I miss being an adulteress.

But our customers ate it up. And they are the only ones who matter.

So now I'm Rylan Willow: teeny bopper sweetheart of _East Park Exposed_. And I don't think I'll ever be able to shake that label.

"You're lucky you're my best friend," I tell Britain, smearing more ice cream in between my breasts and twisting my face to faux shock. _Oopsie_.

"And you're lucky I pay you," she says, snapping away.

She's right about that. Damn, do I get paid well. A couple hours a week modeling for Britain is better than thirty hours at the coffee shop, which is where I worked when I first started college. But pulling straight As in classes like Molecular Biology and Immunobiotechnology isn't exactly a cake walk. I need time. I need to eat.

_East Park Exposed_ gives me both of those things. All I have to do is look like a naked Bratz doll for a few hours and _boom_. Groceries paid, tuition paid, rent paid. I'm a core model, meaning I have a spread in every issue. Part-time models are contracted, but I'm promised a paycheck from the magazine as long as I model every week. It's one of the perks of being best friends with the founder.

"Alright," Britain says, standing. "I think I got something halfway decent."

I relax and head toward the house, but not before Britain yells, "Time to hit the showers!" and smacks my ass. She regrets that decision as soon as I fling melted ice cream at her.

Britain and I live in the house where we do most of the shooting. I split the rent with her and core-model-slash-other-BFF Delilah Banks. Since it's usually just us on a micro-shoot day, I don't think twice about walking around the place topless.

Like now, for instance.

Which is why I'm not expecting to run face-first into a very hard, very broad chest.

_"Oomph_."

Two large hands grip my shoulders and pry me away, and suddenly I'm staring into the eyes of a very amused, very gorgeous blonde. He glances down at his torso, melted vanilla ice cream running into the crevices of his six-pack abs. And then, of course, he looks at _my_ chest and the ample melted slush slathered all over my breasts.

Finally, his eyes meet mine, and with a glint of recognition he says, "Rylan Willow, I presume."

I tug away from him and cross my arms over my chest.

He points to his mouth, swiveling his finger in a circular motion. "You have something on your face."

Keeping one arm pinned to my chest, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. "Who the fuck are _you_?" I say.

Being brazen is always better than blushing. Always.

"Wasn't expecting you to have such a bite," he muses with a coy smile.

"Ah, shit." Britain halts at the edge of the kitchen and runs her hand through her blond hair. "Ev—err—Rylan, this is Adam, our newest addition."

I try to keep my jaw off the floor. "A _male_ model?"

Britain gives a forced smile. "Adam, you mind waiting with Delilah in the shooting room?"

"Waiting with _Delilah_?" I say, but Britain doesn't respond until Adam winks at me and leaves us alone.

"What the hell's going on, Brit?"

"I swear, I was totally going to tell you."

" _Male_ model?"

"Delilah and I, well. . ." She places her camera on the kitchen island and wrings her hands. "We were talking about expanding our audience. Bringing in a couple of male models would be a good opportunity to make EPE less of a wank show, you know?"

I don't know why I feel so blindsided. I mean, it makes sense, but did she and Delilah really have to keep a secret from me? Britain always runs ideas by both of us before she executes on them.

"So, a male solo shoot?"

Britain shakes her head. "Don't be mad."

"He's shooting _with_ Delilah?"

"They're _so_ _gorgeous_ together, Evan."

I glance about the room, making sure we're alone. If this Adam guy is sticking around, he's going to eventually hear my real name. Great. No man employed by EPE knows my real name. Not Rob, our layout genius, not the tech guy, nor the stagecraft boys who help out for the magazine credit.

No men have had the opportunity to connect Evan Cosette to Rylan Willow. I'd like to keep it that way.

But I'm not ashamed of the work. Society wants me to be self-conscious because society wants _all_ women to be self-conscious. I'm proud of my body. And if erotic modeling weren't such a stigma to the rest of the world, maybe I wouldn't even have a stage name.

But as of now, it is a stigma. So I keep my two lives separate.

"Hey!" Britain throws her hands up. "If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work, and you don't have to worry about it. Alright?"

"It's _just_ him?"

She takes a deep breath and I know she's about to spill something that I'm not going to want to hear. "We have a lot of good applicants. I'm thinking we might hire another."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Just keep me out of the shoots with them, alright?"

A wicked smile creeps across her face. "What, Evan? Afraid of some boy?"

"Yeah, right." I strut away from her. "I'd rather not have _some boy_ stealing my spotlight. Or my fans."

"Trust me," she yells. "Your fans are all about Rylan. They won't be wanting male accessories any day of the week."

I don't know if I should be offended or not, so I don't respond. _East Park Exposed_ is a trashy name with a classy interior. Britain is a pro with boudoir shots, which is why the mag is seen as more edgy than softcore.

Since edgy boudoir sells less than softcore, I guess that—with these pink panties and sloppy vanilla ice cream—I'm going to be the one thrown under the bus to attract freshmen with raging boners.

Our house used to be for two tenants until we decided to rent out both sides from the landlords, turning one side into a studio and the other into our home. There are two of everything—kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, and even driveways. A single oak door by the studio's living room glues my two lives together.

Still wearing only my panties, I grab my purse from the couch, dig for my key, and open the door to the other side.

The smell of home is totally different from the smell of the studio. Less cheap hairspray and shellac makeup and more sugar cookie and lavender. The sound of my keys rattling against the kitchen counter echo through the empty space. I relax and glance toward the stove clock. I have an hour before bio lecture starts.

I dart upstairs and into the bathroom I share with Britain. It's white, clean, and always smelling faintly of lemon cleaner. We're slightly neurotic with our tidiness. I turn on the shower and, as the water is heating up, glance at myself in the mirror.

Teased and sprayed chocolate curls. Makeup pancaked so thick you can't even see my freckles. Nora, the hair and makeup girl, has perfected the way she transforms my eyes to make them pop. Then Britain does her job by photo-editing my brown irises a bright emerald green. Just another thing that separates Evan from Rylan.

After peeling off my fake eyelashes, I step into the shower. Rylan melts away with the help of the berry soap and shampoo Britain is totally into.

I dry myself off and wipe the steam from the mirror. I take out my contacts and shove my glasses on my face.

Evan is back, glorious freckles and all.

My school garb is basically a uniform: yoga pants, an East Park sweatshirt, flip-flops, a messy bun, hipster glasses, and no makeup. I sling my school bag over my shoulder, grab a green juice from the fridge, and head out the door.

I hate night classes with a passion. The only reason I sign up for them is so I can lurk around a dark campus. I never stick around for any school spirit crap. No sororities, clubs, readings, or galleries—though I do make an exception for the occasional scientist visit. I'm in and out of my lectures and labs, not giving anyone a chance to make the connection of where they've seen me before.

I slurp on my green juice at the back of the lecture hall. My laptop is out on the flip-desk and I'm scrolling through my notes from Monday's lecture. It's the only way I can process all the material from the five classes and two labs I'm taking this semester. Reading and drilling and re-reading.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn and it's the guy next to me, the only thing separating us a vacant chair. "You mind? My pencil rolled under your seat," he says.

I shift and bend forward, reaching beneath my chair. When I find his pencil, I raise my arm to give it to him and catch sight of his phone screen.

Oh, _God_.

There I am in all my softcore glory, snuggled up next to that stuffed animal. The tips of my fingers go cold.

"Uh, my pencil?"

I meet his eyes. The guy looks incredibly annoyed, but that's about it. Nothing about his face tells me that he recognizes me at all.

I lean forward enough so that we can make the exchange. "Thanks," he mutters. I sit up and breathe a sigh of relief.

Messy bun, baggy sweatshirt, glasses. I have to trust my own clever disguise.

But I'm still waiting for the moment where someone sees me from across the lecture hall and _knows_ who I am. I've managed hiding in plain sight for two years without being recognized. I can manage one more semester.

One more.

Professor Gates takes the stage. The murmuring doesn't die down until he says, "I'll be taking a seat today. We have a guest lecturer. One of my brightest students, Dallas Whitley."

One of his students? Must be a biology grad student. Everyone knows bio students are either med students or really boring nerds. And if this is one of Gates' _brightest_ students, I'd bet my ass the lecturer is a boring nerd.

There is nothing worse than a two-hour-long boring nerd lecture from a grad student.

Even though I've already wasted gas getting here, now seems like the perfect opportunity to ditch. I have stats homework to get caught up on, anyway.

As I stand to shuffle to the aisle, the grad student steps up to the podium.

I slowly lower my bag back to the ground.

And sit.

I've never seen a human being like him. He's tall and well-built (I can only imagine what he looks like under that pale blue button-up), with just enough of a square jaw to keep him youthful. Beneath a mop of wavy, chestnut hair, he has the most piercing, _blinding_ blue eyes I've ever seen in my life.

A flutter of whispers spark behind me. I crane my neck to see a couple of girls hunched close together and gawking. Seems as though I'm not the only one noticing that a Greek god has just walked into the classroom.

He shuffles his papers and pushes his careless mess of hair to the side. He's nervous. Freaking adorable.

"Hello... err... _class_. Today, I'm going to continue Professor Gates' lecture on tumor suppressor genes."

Fabulous—a topic I've already read ahead in. I can watch this gorgeous grad student stumble his way through a lecture without the hassle of needing to take notes. His voice is a smooth baritone, and an easy one to get lost in.

I realize how deep my new fascination runs with this eye and ear candy and let out a silent sigh. _This is as good as it gets, Evan. Soak it in while you can._

Snagging a boyfriend right now is a laughable thought. First, there's the fact that I don't think I could ever hide my double life from the boy I'm with. That conversation wouldn't be the most pleasant thing in the world. _Hey, babe, I just wanted to let you know that the reason why I don't have any student debt isn't because I have rich parents. It's because most of the male population at East Park has seen my tits._

And secondly, there's grad school. Getting into UC Berkeley is happening. Why bother starting a relationship here when I'm destined to go south?

I'll just have to do with Mr. Dallas Whitley here as he finally gets the ball rolling, fluently making his way through his slide deck. But I'm not taking notes on the slimy, grotesque photos of tumor developments flashing across the projector screen.

I'm undressing Dallas with my eyes, thank you very much.
2

# Dallas

Tricia has tried to call me eight times in the past two hours. She probably wants to remind me to pick up milk on my way home.

Which is why I'm not expecting the first thing out of her mouth to be, "Oh. My. God. Dallas... _Dallas_!"

I slide into the seat of my beat-up Toyota 4Runner. "What, Trish? _What_?"

" _East Park Exposed_. The photographer... she already got back to me on your headshot submission. She wants you to come in tomorrow."

I pause in starting the ignition. Okay, good news. So why is my stomach twisting? Oh yeah, because I wasn't the one who sent in my headshot.

Tricia was.

Yes, my girlfriend wants me to pose for _East Park Exposed_. The mag is so popular, she said. You'll get your face out there. Your modeling career will take off.

She's been pushing the modeling thing ever since I decided to go into field research instead of med school. It's her way of making sure that I'll still be paying some bills, since now I'll be getting my PhD for a five-figure salary.

"That so?" I say. "So, what is it? An audition?"

"I'm not too sure," Tricia responds. "I think she just wants to see you. Maybe do a test shoot?"

"Which means I'll be grinding up against naked girls _tomorrow_. You know that, right?"

Her sigh is loud. "We already discussed this. I told you, work is work." She scoffs. "You really think I'd be jealous of those sluts?"

I kind of hate the way she says _sluts_ , but it's not worth correcting her. "Just double checking. Love you. See you in a bit."

"Don't forget the milk," she says, and hangs up.

I drop my phone in the cup holder and rub my eyes. Already a reply from the photographer... am I ready for this? Posing isn't a big deal. I've done underwear shoots before.

But the fact that the mag is affiliated with East Park makes me feel so unprofessional. On top of it, I'll be shooting with girls that aren't Tricia.

But she doesn't care, so I shouldn't care.

I pull out of the parking lot, looking forward to nothing but buying milk and grading undergrad papers.

And being poor.

And whoring myself out to EPE subscribers.

Fuck college.
3

# Evan

"I've narrowed it down to four sexy models," Britain says right when I walk in the door. She sits at her desktop computer. "They're all gonna stop by tomorrow."

"Okay," I say as indifferently as possible. I throw my bag on the couch and head to the kitchen to wash out my smoothie cup.

"Well, aren't you interested?"

"In seeing what your model boys look like?" I yell over the running water, and shrug. "Not really. I mean, _I'm_ not going to be posing with them. And they're just temps, right?"

"Jesus, Evan. Stop being a prude and come check out some hot ass with me."

I roll my eyes and turn off the water, trudging into the living room. I pull up a chair and sit next to her at the desk. She has the first headshot already open. He's hot, I guess. Nice abs.

"He looks a little goofy."

"You're impossible," she says.

"Show me the next one."

She clicks her mouse and a new photo pops up. He leans against a brick wall, crossing his meaty arms. Meaty is an understatement.

"This guy is huge. And short. And bald. God, you have terrible taste in men. Why am I just realizing this now?"

"Shut your face."

She clicks to the next portrait, and I stop breathing.

The model wears low-rise jeans and lounges on a couch. His white shirt is completely unbuttoned, revealing his tanned chest and the ripples of his six-pack.

I exhale. "Oh my god."

His neck is craned as he glances at the camera with gorgeous blue eyes.

"Evan has a lady boner," Britain sings.

I open my mouth, but what the hell am I supposed to say? That she's late to the party? That I've already been mentally masturbating to this guy for the past two hours? "I know him. Well, sort of. He was our student lecturer in bio today."

"Wait. You're telling me that he's a _grad student_?"

"Yeah. But what does that have to do with anything?"

She shrugs. "Maturity level. Adam is already getting on my nerves."

"Which is why we shouldn't have any guys in our shoots."

"Which is why we should hire this one."

I jump up, almost knocking my chair over. "Hell no!"

"Are you kidding me? We have to. He's perfect. I heard the way you gasped when you saw him."

"He's in my department, Brit. The first time a subscriber sees the two of us near each other, they are going to figure out exactly who I am."

She pushes her blond hair out of her face at the same time Delilah swaggers down the stairs wearing booty shorts and a crop top. "You really need to get past this whole double life thing. You'd be way less stressed out." Britain nods toward the stairs. "Take Delilah for example. Delilah's never stressed out."

Delilah swings from the bottom end of the banister, her curtain of auburn hair waving back and forth. Delilah—EPE's Jessica Rabbit. Full hips and boobs, tiny little waist. Huge lips and eyes. She doesn't just play a vixen on television either. And she doesn't use a pseudonym.

"I've told Evan this a million and a half times," she says, sauntering over to us. "You get used to the cat calls. The free drinks make up for it. Plus, sex any time you want it."

"I'd never get any work done if I didn't have a stage name."

"You'd be too busy fucking."

"Well, no—"

Delilah cuts me off. "Who. Is. _That_?" She leans toward the computer. "I want to lick every inch of him."

"You might get to." Britain zooms in on Dallas's picture.

"He's one of our new guys?" Delilah bites her bottom lip.

" _No_." I place my hands on my hips. Nothing says serious business like hands on the hips.

"Think about it, Evan. You'd have someone in your department who understands you. You guys could be buddies." Britain bats her eyelashes. "While Delilah climbs him like a tree for our benefit."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever."

As I trudge up to my room, Britain yells, "So you'll be around tomorrow to meet him, right?"

I don't answer.

"Hey Evan, want to have a _Parks and Rec_ marathon this weekend?" Delilah asks.

"Can't. Homework. Always homework." I watch as she pouts from below. "Try after graduation."

As I lie in bed, I clutch my stomach and wonder why it's twisting so much. I'm not jealous of Delilah. I'm not. I'm making money. I'm getting great grades. I'm going to get into grad school. The last thing I need is to be distracted by a bunch of male models. Bringing them in to work alongside us is a bad idea.

Britain will see that having them will only turn off our reader base. Then they'll get fired, and things will return to normal.

I just have to wait.

When I hang around shoots that aren't mine, waiting for my own turn in front of the camera, I usually wear something comfortable but much trendier than what Evan would wear to school. Sexy, comfy Rylan. Today, it's a black romper and gladiator sandals while Nora does my makeup and hair.

Nora is another person who knows both of my identities, but I don't really care. She graduated from a cosmetic school on the other side of town, is not-so-secretly goth, and wants nothing to do with us college skanks.

I kind of love her.

Britain doesn't pay her much. I'm sure she only comes in to doll us up for the credit in EPE. She's had quite a few of our subscribers (and subscriber's girlfriends, I guess) book appointments with her.

I close my eyes as she sprays on my makeup. I get the usual Rylan look today—soft, curly hair cascading over my shoulders, a shadow palette in quiet browns, and an innocent pink hue on my cheeks. My favorite thing, oddly enough, is the pair of fake eyelashes. There's something about eyelashes that totally changes my appearance. They make me look like a different person.

When Nora is done, I examine myself in the mirror. _Hello, Rylan._

I curl my finger around one of my locks and head upstairs. We use the bedrooms for most of our indoor shoots, beds, furniture, and walls covered or changed to match our theme. I haven't been paying attention to the mag lineup lately, so I'm not sure what is planned for Delilah's shoot.

When I step foot into the first bedroom, I'm not expecting to be handed a bottle of chocolate syrup and see a very, _very_ naked Adam in front of me.

"Help smear this on Adam," Britain instructs, returning to her job of dousing Delilah, who wears only a black thong.

"Well," Adam throws me a smirk and stretches out his arms. "Ready when you are."

I sneer. "Of course you'd give me the naked giant to cover." Naked giant with nice assets. But I'm not about to comment on them and make his ego even bigger. "Whatever," I mutter. Rubbing chocolate on a hot, naked man isn't the weirdest thing that I've ever done. I walk toward Adam and pop open the lid to the bottle. "Hershey's. Classy."

I shake the bottle at is torso. When chocolate spurts onto his skin, he groans.

I snort. "Give me a break."

"What?" Adam says. "You don't find giving me a chocolate bath erotic?"

"I find it cheesy as hell. Don't step off the plastic. Chocolate syrup is a bitch to get out of the carpet."

"You'd know?" He asks wickedly.

"Yeah. You and Delilah aren't the only ones in this room who've been covered in dessert."

"But you haven't been covered in dessert with _me_."

"Oh, _god_." I step back, pointing to Delilah. "Do you not see this hot piece that you're going to be shooting with for the next hour?"

"Why thank you," Delilah sings. Delicately, she climbs onto the bed. I notice now that it's covered in the ivory vinyl comforter and pillows. It sounds tacky, but it actually looks like an expensive down set, and yet it can be sprayed off with a hose when needed.

"But having just Delilah isn't as good as having both of you," Adam says.

"Sounds like someone has a crush." Delilah kneels on the bed and fluffs her hair, completely free of shame as chocolate slowly trickles over her breasts. I mean, when it was just us girls during shoots, so much exposure wouldn't make me blink twice. But the thought of being naked in front of someone like Adam, who devours me with his eyes while I'm clothed, weirds me out, even though he has already seen my boobs up close.

I can't let it. Just because a guy is involved in a shoot doesn't mean that I don't have the upper hand. I can't be afraid of something new and unpredictable.

I put a little swagger in my step as I walk toward him, squirting chocolate syrup on my hand. "So, you're one of those guys who thinks he's so hot that he can just have it all." I press my hand against his chest, smearing chocolate all over his pecks. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I trail my fingers down the muscles in his abs. "It must be shocking for a girl like me to be apathetic at the thought of licking chocolate syrup off of you."

I trace his hip bone. His eyes roll back and he squeezes them shut. I glance down to find him hard as a rock, his dick less than an inch away from my abdomen.

Good to know I can turn a guy on in person. A little affirmation here and there can't hurt a girl.

"Quit flirting with the model, _Rylan_ , and hurry up," Britain drawls.

I quickly smear the rest of the chocolate over Adam's torso, and then he climbs onto the bed with Delilah.

"What are they going to do now?" I mutter to Britain.

"Lick it off each other—what do you think?" she responds with indifference as she readies her camera.

I think it's a bit corny, but I don't say anything. Instead, I sit in the corner and wait for Britain to get the lighting around the white-washed room just right.

"I'm going to try this shoot with a bunch of different aperture settings, so we might be here for a bit. You two okay with that?"

Delilah bites back her grin as Adam pulls her toward him. Instantly, I am no longer the focus, and Delilah is the new lust-object. God, men are so predictable.

"Absolutely," Adam says.

Britain doesn't instruct a lot like she usually does with the solo shoots. I guess the pheromones are doing a well-enough job. Adam forcefully pushes Delilah back onto the bed, dips his head, and licks between her chocolate-covered breasts. Delilah's plump lips part as she gasps and writhes on the comforter.

Stealthily, Britain grips a canopy pole for support and hops onto the footboard of the bed, shooting away. She's good at these balancing acts. "Great. Keep it steamy, guys."

That's all she says. She doesn't instruct Adam to lick up Delilah's neck or for Delilah to look more invested in what he's doing to her. They're perfect.

Adam murmurs something to Delilah, and she giggles and nods. Adam trails his chocolate fingers up the inside of her bare thigh. He lowers his head to her breast and covers her nipple with his mouth. Delilah whimpers and raises her hands above her head, giving him full access.

Heat floods the apex of my thighs. Damn, this is hot.

I keep telling myself that I can make it through my PhD without dating or hooking up, but watching them reminds me that it's been a whole year since a guy touched _me_ like that. I cross my legs, imagining how it must feel for Delilah right now—Adam's tongue flicking against her nipple, the pad of his thumb moving over her thong and rubbing against her.

"Don't let him dominate you, Delilah. Do something about it," Britain says.

Adam lets Delilah flip him so she straddles his torso. Britain hops down from her spot and gets in as close as she can, shooting their bodies pressed together, Delilah's tongue running along the cusp of Adam's ear.

I keep my legs pinned together, my breath even, my teeth gritted.

I've never been so envious of someone and yet so thankful that I wasn't them at the same time.
4

# Dallas

I'm not sure what I was expecting the EPE headquarters to look like. Hell, these shoots are basically porn. I mean, classy porn to say the least. Artistic porn.

I'm broke and this is what it has come to.

I guess I was expecting a dump in the inner-city part of town, but that's not where my GPS has taken me. I park outside of a large home on the outskirts of the East Park suburbs. Nothing surrounds this house other than a cul-de-sac and some open fields.

The house is in nice condition, too. And it's huge, like a middle-class _Desperate Housewives_ version of the Playboy Mansion.

Before I get out of the car, I look down at myself. I'm dressed like a prick, fresh from student teaching. My shirt is buttoned up to my collar and tucked into my slacks. I pull out my shirt, undo my tie, unbutton a few buttons, and take in a deep breath.

Why the hell am I so nervous? It's not a big deal if I don't get the job. It might be for the better. Applying was a stupid idea in the first place, even if Tricia's right about it giving me a leg up in the industry. And what about respect from undergrads? The last thing I need is a bunch of freshmen who think they can mess with me because they've seen me naked.

Mostly naked.

EPE is good at avoiding crotch shots. But still. This was a mistake.

Right when I'm about to start the engine back up, a cute blonde wearing glasses bounces out the front door of the house. She spots me, waves, and runs over. She's dressed in a tank top and cut-off shorts.

Normal enough.

She leans into my open window, holding out her hand. "You must be Dallas," she says. "Well, obviously you're Dallas. I've seen your photo. I'm Britain."

_This_ is Britain? I thought Britain was a pseudonym for an old creepy forty-year-old man with a pot belly. Britain looks like your average college student. Naturally pretty, but a bit too nerdy to be in a sorority. Kind of plain. Not like she'd be into taking pictures of naked people.

"Hi," I say awkwardly. I pull my keys out of the ignition and step out of the car.

"Come on in. It's okay, you look kind of scared." She grins. "I hope you didn't dress up for us."

I tug on my collar. "I teach."

"Oh, that's right."

"That's right?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, I had to do my research. Umm, one of my friends is in your bio class." She looks away from me and heads toward the door.

_Great_.

I follow her up the steps and into the house. The main room is vaulted and big, but classy. Much classier than I expected, other than the framed posters of the half or mostly naked EPE models on the walls. I recognize all of them. I'm not an avid reader or anything. Tricia looks through the issues more than I do. But I'm a subscriber. Who on the East Park University campus isn't? We have the most successful independent erotic magazine out of any campus in the country.

Everyone's going to be looking at pictures of me now.

I've done underwear modeling. _It's the same thing._

In the corner of the room, a girl stands in front of the promotional poster of herself. It's almost like she planned it.

Rylan Willow. Holy shit, it's Rylan Willow.

She looks much happier in her promo poster—and wearing a lot less—but it's definitely her. Even though I'm not what you'd call EPE's biggest fan, I never skip the Rylan spreads. And now she's standing before me, arms crossed tight against her tits so her cleavage spills perfectly over that one-piece thing. Whatever the hell she's wearing looks damn good on her.

Maybe the exposure of this job will be worth it if I can shoot with her.

No. I can't think like that. Not when Tricia's trusting me so much.

Why the fuck does Rylan look so pissed at me?

"Dallas, this is one of our primary models, Rylan Willow."

"I—am aware of that." _I'm aware of that? Knock off the professor façade, you fucking idiot._ I hold out my hand but she doesn't take it, so I shove it into my pocket. "Nice to meet you, Rylan."

She raises an eyebrow. "Pleasure," she drawls. She could've fooled me.

Britain leads me to the couch and lays all the typical interview questions on me: how long I've been modeling for, what my favorite gig has been thus far, and what I do when I'm not in school. She thinks it's funny that it was Trisha's idea for me to audition for EPE.

I catch myself glancing at Rylan, who has pulled a weird green drink from the kitchen fridge and is sipping it by the island, watching us.

"So, since you've informed me that you have a girlfriend, this might be a problem in terms of how far you're willing to go in the shoots. I mean, I try to stay classy enough to call this art, but you'll still have to get intimate with the models."

Rylan sighs from the counter.

"I don't have a problem with that." When Britain raises her eyebrow skeptically, I add, "Really. The only thing I won't be able to do is cock shots."

Britain busts up laughing. "Okay. No cock shots. I can swing that."

"No, seriously. Undergrads are going to see enough of me in this magazine as it is. I'm done with my teaching hours now. Today was my last day—"

"Congratulations."

"Thank you. But they're still going to remember me."

"Sounds like this one's prone to humiliation," drawls Rylan. "I don't think he has the guts to take on the job, to be honest."

What's this chick's deal?

"Don't mind her." Britain winks. "She's just mad because you're a part of her—"

"Brit! Shut the fuck up!"

"We'll let the camera decide how humiliated you are, shall we?" Britain glances at a closed door at the other end of the living room. "All we need now is the modelette."

"Excuse me?"

"You'll be shooting with Delilah for the test. We're only placing the male additions with her until we see the response."

Delilah—that would make sense. She's the edgiest model, from what I can remember.

"But we just finished a shoot where she was covered in chocolate syrup, and I guess she needs a few hours to recover with a shower, hair, and makeup. God, I didn't think it would take this long. You don't have anywhere to be, do you?"

I shake my head at the same time another male model walks into the room from down the hall. He wears nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Nodding at me, he says, "'Sup, bro."

"Uh... _'sup_."

"This is Adam, our first hired male model. Adam, where's Delilah?"

Adam shrugs. "Last I saw her she was just getting out of the shower."

Britain sighs. "Great. Well, I don't have all day. And I'm sure you don't have all day."

"Really, I'm fine," I try and tell her.

"Hey Rylan, You're up."

I look at Rylan. Her eyes are bugging out of her head as she clutches the empty glass in front of her, horrified.

So the hottest model of EPE hates me for no reason. I'm off to a good start.
5

# Evan

" _H_ _ell_ no!" I practically scream.

There is no way I'm going to do the things that Delilah and Adam just did with a guy from my department. Does Britain want me to _fail_ college?

This is bad. Dallas is just one big awful distraction that needs to go.

"I can tell I'm wanted here," Dallas says dryly. Britain shoots me a look of contempt.

"No, Dallas, it's not that I don't like you," I try to counter quickly. "It's just, you know, I have an image to uphold. An untouched, virginal image, and Britain and I agreed there'd be no guys in my photo shoots."

"Well, if that's your problem." Britain hops up from the couch. "I never said I'd be using these photos in an issue, did I?" She grins. "This is just a test."

I truly hate my best friend sometimes. I open my mouth, but unless I tell Dallas that I'm in his department, I have no argument.

"Change into what you were going to wear for your shoot today, _please_ ," Britain orders.

"Yes, your majesty," I say through gritted teeth, stomping off toward the dressing room. I hate her I hate her _I hate her_....

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Nora asks as I walk in. When I don't respond, she says, "Can I do anything to help?"

"Kill me?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but I do have fake blood in my kit somewhere."

Maybe that would do. I could cover myself in fake blood and then Britain would have to send _me_ to the showers.

I get a hold of myself and simply thank Nora for her efforts, changing into the outfit on my hangers: a white lace bandeau bra and panties, and a blush pink sundress. Little Rylan, innocent as ever. I dress and examine myself in the mirror. With my hair this big, I look like a brunette Barbie doll.

I gag at myself in the mirror, never thinking that I'd miss being an adulteress dressed in black lacy lingerie. This schoolgirl persona is going to kill me, no fake blood required.

I head out toward the pool, rubbing at the chill on my arms and resisting the urge to cup my hands over my boobs. It can't be more than fifty degrees. At least it's not raining.

Dallas is in nothing but a pair of white gauze pants. He looks around. "This place is really nice. You rent the whole house just for shooting?"

"We live here, too," Britain says. I glare at her. Next she'll tell him what my real name is, for the love of God.

"The pool heated?"

"Obviously. It's Oregon."

"Who takes care of it?"

"The pool guy."

"Yes, the pool guy, like normal houses," I say, interrupting their little chat. "Can we get this over with already?"

"Alright, Miss Bossy Pants." Britain readies her camera. Pointing to one of the walnut lounge chairs, she says, "Dallas, go sit over there. I need to shoot as much as I can before it starts to rain."

He does as he's told, lounging back. His skin glistens in the daylight.

"Straddle the chair. Rylan, go sit in front of him."

I slowly walk across the smooth stone surrounding the water and toward Dallas. His piercing blue eyes are on me the whole time, relaxed. Maybe even a bit excited.

I think I'm going to throw up.

_Get a hold of yourself, Evan._

I swing my leg over the chair, sitting in front of him so I'm also facing the water.

Britain squats in front of us, raising the camera. "Scoot together."

We scoot until his hard torso presses against my back. His breath tickles my ear as he says, "This is kind of awkward for a first meeting, isn't it?"

I bite back my grin. Cute and charming. Fuck me, I am never going to be able to stop thinking about these next moments.

But this will be it. I'll get this test shoot out of the way and then I won't have to shoot with Dallas ever again. Maybe I should just loosen up and enjoy the only male contact I've had in a year, and probably all I'll have until I finish my PhD.

"Scenario," Britain begins. "Rylan, I want you to keep up that virginal persona of yours. This is the first time you've ever been touched by a man. Shouldn't be too hard for you."

"Fuck you," I snap before realizing that Dallas is going to find this work environment incredibly hostile if I don't keep my mouth under control. Luckily for me, he reacts by giving a deep and throaty chuckle. My heart hammers in my chest.

"Dallas, I want you to unwrap her like a Christmas present. Rylan, I want to see his every touch written on your face. Let's see you two make magic."

Your one chance to get some action in, Evan. Forget your biases. Roll with it.

I lean my head back and breathe, "You heard what she said. Touch me."

I don't know why, but I'm not expecting him to listen. Maybe because from what I've seen of Dallas, he seems more awkward than anything else. But he does listen. I feel his slow breath on my jaw as his hand slides across my stomach. He pulls me right up against him, my ass snug against his groin.

"Where do you want me to start?" he whispers.

Oh, god. _Oh, god_.

Slowly, the hand resting on my stomach trails up the center hem of my dress. He reaches the top and hooks his thumb beneath the fabric. The moment his lips brush against the cusp of my ear, he drags my dress down until my bandeau is fully exposed.

Britain snaps away. She might be giving me direction, but I don't focus on her. I don't care about the outcome of this shoot at all. I just want to feel Dallas touching me in places I haven't been touched in ages.

He drags his hand back up my bare skin and to my bandeau, cupping my breast. I let my head fall back, a small moan escaping my mouth.

"We're not recording audio, are we?" His voice is laced with amusement. "Or was that noise not for the camera?"

"Shut up," I breathe. I raise my arms up and behind my head, wrapping them around his neck. His free hand rests on my thigh, slowly inching upward and beneath the skirt of my dress. He's going to feel how wet I am, and we're not even _doing_ anything.

In one quick motion I flip my body around so I'm facing him. I straddle him, squeezing his hips with my knees, hands finding his shoulders and pressing him back against the lounge chair.

His eyes are surprised, but his mouth is twisted into a smile, like he knows something I don't.

I rock my hips into his, feeling how hard he is.

"This isn't very virginal of you," he mutters.

Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be keeping character. But facing him, I can study him more closely: his bold jaw that I want to run my tongue over, his full bottom lip that I want to bite....

Britain moves closer, changing her angle. "Dallas, get her out of that dress. Ry, be unsure of him."

As he pulls down my dress, his fingers graze the curve of my ass. Be unsure of him? How can I be unsure of him when I want him so badly?

He doesn't give me a chance to ponder. Keeping one hand pressed to my back, he pushes me forward until I'm lying on the chair and he's on top of me.

Britain's voice floats through the air. "Lift your arms above your head, Ry."

I listen to her. Dallas hovers over me, sliding the dress over my knees and off my ankles until I'm in nothing but my bandeau and panties. Our eyes connect, and suddenly, even with the bright light of the afternoon day, there is something dark and wicked lingering in his. Something far different from what I saw in him yesterday as he stumbled through his slides at the front of the lecture hall.

In an instant, being unsure of him comes naturally. I bite my lower lip as he dips his head to the flesh beneath my navel. His tongue glides above the ridge of my panties. I hiss and buck my hips. My skin vibrates with his laughter. He's aware of how much this is killing me.

This session just turned from smoldering hot to pure torture.

"Lick her neck," Britain instructs.

Okay, _now_ it's pure torture.

Dallas crawls forward until his body covers mine. "Don't mind me," he murmurs, still grinning. I want to counter with something clever but all that's escaping my mouth are rapid spurts of breath.

He lowers himself until his chest is against me. He keeps himself steady with one hand and uses the other to cup my neck. His nose brushes against mine and I part my lips, wondering if he's going to kiss me. Wondering if I'm okay with that.

"Close your eyes," he orders. I let them flutter shut and wait.

I gasp when his tongue sweeps my throat. He finds the sweet spot behind my ear and sucks.

"Don't move," says Britain. "You look perfectly shocked right now, Ry."

I hold my breath, trying my hardest not to move or change my expression. As I do so, Dallas runs the pad of his thumb against my jaw and whispers into my ear, "You're good at faking it."

He's teasing me. He's teasing me because he knows my reaction was real.

"And that's a wrap," Britain says.

I exhale. I need to get Dallas off of me before I start panting like an animal. But he doesn't release me. Instead, he pulls me to his chest, grabs my legs, and picks me up.

"What are you doing?" I yell.

He runs toward the pool. I'm screaming obscenities and Britain's laughing and suddenly I can't hear her anymore, because cold water engulfs me.

I swim to the surface, spitting water from my mouth. Dallas is treading next to me, looking far too smug.

I want to kill him.

I want to ravish him, and _then_ I want to kill him.

"You're hired!" Britain screams.
6

# Dallas

I've taken three cold showers since I've been home.

Luckily, Tricia's so wrapped up in her work that she doesn't seem to notice.

I aim the freezing cold jet of water right at my cock, but every time I even think of Rylan, I get hard again. The way she writhed beneath me like she wasn't rolling her eyes the moment before. She acted like she hated me until I touched her. And then something happened. It was like she _really_ wanted me.

I turn the shower off and stand there, cold and dripping, and think about the way she tasted. Sweet, like frosting.

I groan and turn the shower back on. There isn't anything I'd rather be doing than getting off to the thought of Rylan Willow for the rest of the night, but there's a seminar tonight on mitochondria and metabolism and they're flying in scientists from Philadelphia. All serious grad students will be there.

And I'm giving up med school to go into field research, so I must be a serious grad student.

Finally, when I think I can manage to go five minutes without getting hard, I leave the shower and change into a t-shirt and jeans. In the living room, Tricia sits on the couch with her computer in her lap, completely invested in her work. She works as a web designer, or should I say _lives_ as a web designer. Dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, she doesn't even look at me as I walk past her. Recently, she cut her straight hair super short so she doesn't even have to style it between rolling out of bed and getting to work. The cut fits her face nicely, I just wish she'd actually look at me so I could see it from the front.

I sit on the couch next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as she continues to type away at her keyboard. She's emailing someone—must be a client.

"You going out?" she says.

"Yeah," I scratch my head. "I am. You wouldn't want to come to a seminar on mitochondria and metabolism, would you?"

"I'd love to," she says with such a straight face that I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not paying attention. "But these clients are murdering me."

I kiss her right beneath her ear. "How about I pick up a bottle of pinot on the way home and we can forget about our clothes for the night?"

She turns to face me, pecking me quickly on the lips. "Maybe, babe. You know I'd love for nothing more. But this client is paying this month's rent."

I sigh and slide my arm from her. "I'll be back in a few hours."

She says nothing as I leave the apartment. Connecting with Tricia has been difficult lately. She loves her job and works hard, mainly because we're both buried in student loans and rent in this area of East Park isn't exactly cheap. It's why she pushed for me to audition for EPE. Maybe, if the gig actually gives me a solid paycheck, she'll be able to work less. Things can go back to being like how they were when we started dating three years ago. Passionate. Somewhat interesting. More action with her than with my hand.

The parking lot near the science building is packed when I get to school. The researchers are big deals, but I didn't realize that every department in sciences and mathematics would be attending.

When I enter the building, I shake out my raincoat and push through the throng of people near the auditorium, hurrying to the biology office to check my mailbox before the event. As I'm leaving, sifting through papers that one of my professors dropped off for me to grade, I don't notice the person darting through the hallway.

I manage to hold on to my papers as her shoulder connects with mine, but she drops her books. I notice they're published theory from the lecturers that I— _we_ —are about to attend.

"Shit," she mutters, stooping to pick them up.

"Dammit, I'm so sorry." I bend down to pick up a book that flew extra far. She grabs it at the same time, and I look up at her.

She wears chunky hipster glasses with blue frames, her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her t-shirt says, _Dear Algebra, Stop asking us to find your X. She's not coming back._ And when our eyes meet, her expression morphs to terror. We simultaneously stand, staring at each other.

"Rylan?"

She slaps me hard across the face.
7

# Evan

I try to lose him.

Night classes must just be starting. I dive into the crowd and dart around the students filling the hall, but he's desperate to keep up with me.

"Rylan!" he shouts again. "What the hell was that for?"

I spin on my heel to face him. "Are you an idiot? Don't you _ever_ call me that name at school!" I hiss.

And then it dawns on him. "Oh."

I scoff and march away, but he doesn't get the hint. Right on my tail, he asks, "So what am I supposed to call you?"

I give in, halting and leaning against the nearest wall. People rush out of classrooms and down to the auditorium. The symposium's going to start at any moment. I'm going to get a terrible seat. "Nothing, Dallas. You're supposed to call me nothing, because you aren't supposed to run into me on campus. People shouldn't see us together."

He narrows those gorgeous blue eyes of his. "Why?"

I sigh. I'd rather not discuss this in the middle of an East Park hallway. "Because," I whisper. He leans in close. "Britain's going to use the photos from the shoot."

His eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

I hate the fact that I have to nod. Before I left for class, Britain told me that the photos from the shoot were so good that there was no way she _couldn't_ use them. I yelled at her a lot. And then I left.

"Everyone will see the two of us mostly naked in the magazine, and then if we're seen around campus, people will put two and two together."

"And that's bad because..."

I can't believe he isn't getting it. "Because I'm not Rylan, Dallas." I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans and glance at it. "I'm going to be late." I turn from him again and make my way down the stairs.

He continues to follow me.

"Okay, whoever you are, I get it. I'll leave you alone. If I see you in the halls, I will ignore you like I've never seen you before in my life. Tomorrow. Let's break the rules tonight."

This boy is ridiculous. "And why would I want to do that?"

"Because I don't want to sit alone at the symposium. Come on."

I pick up my pace. "Well, I won't publicly cause a scene if you sit next to me, if that's what you're asking."

"Thanks," he murmurs.

I bite back my smile and hurry into the auditorium, Dallas right on my heels. Like I guessed, there is hardly an empty chair in the sea of hundreds of seats. There are a few solo seats near me. I could take one of those and Dallas would have to fend for himself, but then I spot two vacant chairs next to each other and head for them.

Why am I doing this to myself? Because he's pathetic and doesn't want to be alone?

That isn't the real answer, but I really don't feel like thinking on it further.

Dallas sits next to me. He's about to open his mouth again, but the professor introducing the speaker walks on stage and everyone begins to clap. Thank God for being late.

I pull out my notebook and flip to a blank page. As I breathe in, I smell the spicy sea breeze of his cologne, and instantly I'm back in that lounge chair with Dallas's tongue running over my hip bone.

I cross my legs and clear my throat.

"You're _taking notes_?" he says.

I glance at him. He looks impressed. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do at these things?"

He shrugs. "I never."

"Well, I always do." The professor mentions one of the speaker's books, and I pull it from my stack, opening up to the first page.

Dallas leans closer to me. "Evan Cosette."

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck._

Brilliant me, thinking it was a good idea to write my name and phone number on the front flap of all my books. Not the brightest move for a girl trying to hide her true identity half the time. Not at all.

I keep my composure. "That's right. _Evan._ "

One corner of his mouth curves up in a crooked smile. "Huh. Yeah, I can see you being an Evan. One of those cute masculine girl names. Suits your personality."

I raise an eyebrow. "You calling me masculine?"

"Bold is more like it."

"No, I think you're calling me masculine." I turn back to the speaker and he doesn't say anything else. But every time I glance at him through the hour-long lecture, he's still wearing that smug grin. I want to wipe it off his face.

The question is, how?

When the lecture is over, Dallas still won't let me get away from him. In the parking lot, I'm almost to my car when he says, "Hold it, hold it. I barely got to learn anything about you, Evan."

I reach my Saturn and pop the trunk, throwing my books inside. "Can't we do that at work?"

"Why can't we do it now?"

I slam down the trunk lid and lean against it. "Gee, you're a lot less annoying when you're either licking my neck or stumbling through a bad slide presentation."

He takes a step back. "Excuse me?"

I cross my arms. It's my turn to be smug.

His expression falls. " _You're_ in Bio 114?"

"I am. And you know I'm just giving you shit. You're not half bad, but mostly because you're distracting eye candy."

A glimmer of a smile catches his lips. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Why would I be doing that? You have a girlfriend, don't you?"

He sighs and pushes back his hair.

I continue. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some biology homework to catch up on. Pretty sure you assigned it."

As I walk toward the front of my car, he continues to stand there without saying goodbye. I open the door and look back at him. "See you tomorrow?"

"Was the shoot today weird?"

I shake my head. "What do you mean, weird?"

"Like every conversation we have is going to be as awkward as this one, weird."

I bite my lip. His shoulders are hunched over, hands in his pockets. In a t-shirt and jeans, he looks like any other student. An undergrad maybe—a gorgeous one. He must have girls coming up to him every day on campus.

"I guess we'll find out."

When I get home, Delilah and Britain are in their pajamas and crowded around the desktop in the living room. Delilah is gushing about how sexy Adam is.

"I don't ever want to go back to solo shooting," she says dreamily.

I throw my bag on the couch. "You can have my boy too," I tell her with a wink. "Double the action."

"Jesus, Evan," cries Britain, her attention remaining glued to the photos she's editing. "It's like I'm making you pose with some ugly ogre."

I dig in the fridge until I find all the makings for a tofu scramble and pull the frying pan out of the cupboard. "It's not that I don't find Dallas attractive."

"Yeah, I can tell by your o-face in all of these shots." Delilah leans over Britain's shoulder. They must be going through my shoot from this afternoon. "Oh my, did you let him _eat you out_?"

"Did not!" I yell. "Britain was just playing her angles."

"I do get what you mean," Delilah says as she studies my photos, toying with the end of her auburn braid. "I still want my platform. Trust me, I love shooting with Adam. I just hope that he doesn't outshine me."

"Well, hopefully the co-ed shoots flop," I say. "That would make the most sense, right? Our magazine is aimed toward straight men."

"Not for long." Britain spins around in her chair and crosses her arms. "Just hired a bunch of women writers." She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Sex, health, socializing—EPE isn't aimed just toward men anymore. We're going all out, baby. And you know what that means." She takes a paperback book from the desk and chucks it at me. It flies over the island and I duck just in time. When it smacks against the cupboards and falls to the floor, I realize that it's a paperback romance novel. The smutty kind.

" _You_ are being given the job of finding out what turns women on."

I pick up the novel and stand. "So, what? I'm supposed to read _this_?" I return to my sizzling skillet.

"That and the fifteen other ones I stacked in your room. It's what you'll be basing yours and Dallas's shoots on."

I drop my spatula, and it clatters beside my feet. "Wait, _what_?"

Delilah's eyes are wide and excited, darting between me and Britain.

Britain smirks. "That's right. Little Rylan is going to give it all up to Dallas for the ladies."

I stare at my ceiling, my bedmates a stack of trashy romance novels and a binder full of bio homework.

When I close my eyes, I think of my shoot with Dallas. I've been making guys come for almost two years without so much as holding hands with one. Maybe that's why his hands all over me felt better than any sex I've ever had. Especially the way he moved his fingers up my thigh.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've inched my own fingers past the hem of my shorts.

His mouth on my neck...

My phone buzzes, and I groan.

I pull my hand out of my shorts and roll over, checking my phone on the nightstand.

**New Message from Mom: Finally moved in. You should come see the place.**

I sigh and rub my eyes. As much as I want to see Mom, I don't want to see her apartment. It will only break my heart.

I was the outcome of an affair that my mom had with one of her professors twenty-three years ago. Ever since then, it has just been me and her and the occasional boyfriend of hers that I've put up with. I always had food and second-hand clothing and a roof over my head; Mom did clerical work at a law office.

Luckily for her, when the office went out of business, I was already out of the house. Now, she only has to worry about herself. Still living in Portland, she's downgraded to an even crappier apartment, so unemployment will cover her for now.

I wish I had enough money saved up to help her out, but Mom claims I've helped out enough. _You're getting good grades and staying out of debt_ , she told me last week when she informed me that she had moved. _That is your payment to me and giving me any money that would prevent you from doing so would be disgracing both of us_.

She doesn't know the money I get comes from erotic modeling. She thinks I work a desk job.

Just like she did.

I wake up at nine and trudge to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I re-enter my bedroom, I freeze as I gaze out the window.

"Un-fucking-believable," I mutter.

My window looks over the cul-de-sac. Dallas stands on the sidewalk, hunched over with his hands on his knees. He's shirtless, his rock-hard body glistening with sweat.

He straightens and checks his pulse with his fingers, looking at his watch.

Dallas is running shirtless—around _my_ neighborhood?

I slip into flip-flops and race downstairs. This side of the house is empty—everyone's in the studio this morning. Wednesday is our mass photography day, when we get most of our shooting for the issue done. The part-time models start arriving by eight.

I pull a mason jar full of oatmeal-apple smoothie from the fridge and open the door to the studio. The air buzzes with activity.

Usually I'm halfway made up by the time anyone arrives, but today, I'm the late one to the party. The living room is a makeshift dressing and makeup room for the part-time models. Several hair and makeup artists have lined up the girls and are working on getting them ready to shoot.

Britain walks up to me. "You're late. Get into makeup."

"Alright, alright, hard ass."

She grins. This is how mine and Britain's relationship has been since she started the magazine. Brazen and slightly sarcastic. I think it's our coping mechanism for working together and not ruining our friendship. It has worked so far.

"Question before I go: why is Dallas jogging by our house?"

She holds up two fingers in succession. "One, because he got here early and doesn't need a lot of makeup because he's a dude, and two," she glances around and says quietly, "He was getting a ton of attention from the girls and, honestly, I think he's an introvert. He's trying to find a way to busy himself until his shoot."

Warm butterflies burst to life in my stomach. Why am I getting gushy at the thought of Dallas being an introvert?

_Because if he really is an introvert, then he's just like me_.

I take a large gulp of smoothie, weaving through the crowd of models. Many of them give me a double take, and I'm wondering if it's because they don't recognize me, or do recognize me and don't know how I've managed to look so homely.

Jessica, the tall blonde who posed last issue as a sexy cheerleader, stops me before I can make it to the dressing room. "Christ, Rylan. What happened to your face?" Her nose is crinkled like she just got a whiff of cow shit.

"Fuck off, Jessica," I say, shoving past her.
8

# Dallas

An hour-long run later and Britain is nowhere near ready for me. I shouldn't have even gone inside to see if she was, because now I can't get to the front door again.

"I heard you were a grad student," a brunette says, twirling her hair around her finger.

She and her friends have me cornered. Literally. My back is pressed against the wall and I'm mopping sweat off me with my balled-up t-shirt. I definitely reek.

"I... uh... yeah."

She flashes her perfectly white teeth while her friends _ooh_ and _ahh_. "That's so hot. What's your major? I'm business administration."

"I'm bio. Biology. I do research."

Her eyes light up. "You're going to be a doctor?"

Fuck me. I hate having this conversation with ugly people, let alone ten gorgeous women.

"No, no. Not a doctor."

"Dallas!" Britain barks. "Get your ass over here."

Thank _God_.

"Excuse me," I say. The girls' faces fall as I push past them and I hurry over to my photographer.

"Jesus, it's like you're a puppy at a kindergarten birthday party."

I relax my shoulders. "Can you hide me?"

"Yeah, but bro, you smell terrible." She looks toward the bathroom. The door is open and girls are literally pouring out of it as they attempt to do their makeup. "I never do this, but I like you, and, like all these bitches here, think you're kind of cute." From the pocket of her jeans she pulls out a key and dangles it in front of me. I take it. "This is to the house. Use the bathroom upstairs—there are towels above the toilet. Lock it up when you're done and don't screw around with anything else. Got it?"

I grin. "Yes, ma'am."

"And don't ever call me that again."

"So by screwing around, you mean I can't stay over there, right?"

"Am I not speaking English?"

"I just have a lot of homework to get done." I glance at the gaggle of models in the corner. The brunette winks at me while the two behind her whisper back and forth to each other. "It's kind of impossible to work in here."

"Oh, god. Kid, just ignore them. You're not _that_ cute." Then she laughs and says, "Okay, you _do_ look terrified. There's a private makeup and dressing room for Delilah and Rylan. I think Rylan's the only one using it right now. You can probably camp out behind the clothing racks and do some algebra."

"Biology. You can't get a master's in algebra."

"Whatever."

I smile. "Thanks."

"I'm only nice to you because you take good photos, you know," she says. But then she smiles back.

I decide that Britain is a badass.

I unlock the door to the living quarters and slip inside.

The lock clicks behind me and I'm wondering if I stepped through the right door.

The living room isn't like one belonging to three college girls. The stuff in here is _nice_. The kitchen countertops are marble and the appliances are brand new. The couches in the living room are leather, and the desktop computer is easily worth a couple grand. Instead of half-naked posters of the EPE girls covering the walls, the space is decorated with framed photos of urban East Park—from the whole cityscape to exchanges on the streets. The skyline and the downtown coffee shop.

If I were to walk in here without knowing, I'd think that a rich middle-aged man lived here alone.

_Don't screw around,_ said Britain. Right.

I follow her instructions, heading up the stairs. She said the second door on the left was the bathroom. I walk past the first door on the right and stop.

The room is decorated in purple and black. A few framed photos scatter the walls, along with a poster of a band I've never heard of. The bed is unmade. Biology textbooks and romance novels are stacked on the computer desk and plywood bookshelf.

This is Rylan's—this is Evan's room.

Something washes over me... an urge to crawl into her bed and wait for her to find me there.

Snap out of it, Dallas.

I told Tricia last night when I got home about the shoot and the amount of time I was going to have spend touching, licking, and kissing other women. She seemed totally unfazed. _If it helps you concentrate better, just pretend that you're single when you walk into the studio. Pretend you have no obligation to stay loyal to me._

I'm sure if any guy heard my girlfriend tell me this, they'd think I was the luckiest man in the world. So why don't I feel lucky? The fact that she's cool with me acting single in the midst of all these gorgeous, naked women makes me sick to my stomach.

But it's not real. It's just for show, for money. I have to remember that.

I leave Evan's room and shower in a white bathroom decorated like the ocean. I pull on my shorts and head back to the studio. Some models have created a makeup station by the door and look at me funny when I pull out Britain's key and lock it.

"Is he sleeping with one of the full-timers?" One of them whispers as I walk past. _Great_. This is how rumors start.

Not wanting to be subject to model stares any longer than I have to be, I find my bag buried under a pile of clothes next to the front door and head to the VIP changing room. The door's closed. I knock.

"Come in," Evan says.

I push open the door and pause. She probably wasn't expecting me. I should leave. But before I can, she glances at me in the mirror and says, "Hurry up before anyone sees you."

It's like she has no shame at all that she's almost naked.

I close the door, letting my bag fall to the floor.

Her curls roll down her back. I want to ruin their perfection by dragging my fingers through them. Her cleavage spills from the top of her baby blue bra. Her panties expose the bottom swells of her firm ass. I'm hard in seconds.

Dammit. Not _now_.

The worst thing in the world is having a boner while trying to finish biology homework.

She acts like there's nothing weird about this. Just another day at the office.

"Does Britain need me or something?"

I hold up my book. "I just need a quiet place to keep my sanity."

She continues to powder her face. "It'll be yours in a bit. Britain wants to start my shoot soon."

Homework is hard enough to do in the studio in the first place, but she's going to leave me hot and bothered? I might as well not even try.

I take a deep breath. It's okay. _Play it single in the studio_ , Tricia said.

Just play it single.

"You need an audience?"

She pauses in applying her mascara and laughs. "Oh, Dallas. I won't be cruel because you've never been here on a mass photography day. But trust me, I'll have an audience."

My eyes lock onto hers. "What, a bunch of girls who are insanely jealous of you?"

She scoffs. "Jealous of my position in EPE, maybe. But that's all. They see my success and study my shoots so they can copy them. Trust me, most of these girls think they're way hotter than I am. They also think they could do a better job."

I can't remember when I started walking toward her. My eyes don't leave hers. "And you think they have a chance at performing better than you?"

"Even if they did, Britain would never demote me."

I stop right behind her. Her eyes widen as I place my hands on either side of the counter surrounding her. "That's not what I asked you."

She opens her mouth to respond, but when no noise escapes, she bites her lip. Finally, after seconds of silence, she changes the subject by asking, "Why do you want to watch my shoot?"

I lean in close to her ear, strawberry-scented locks brushing against my nose. "To study you. I need to know how to move with you if you're going to be writhing under me for the next month or so."

I watch her jaw drop in the mirror. She spins around until she's facing me, back pressed against the counter, and says, "Are you for _real_?"

I hunch until my face is level with hers. Her quick breath smells like spearmint. I cock an eyebrow and say, "What do you think?"

The door opens behind me, and Britain yells, "You're up, Ry."

Evan bites her bottom lip again, teeth sinking into plump, glossy flesh. "Then watch," she says.

I push away from the counter and she slides from me, hips swaying as she walks toward the door. She doesn't look back.

Homework is _so_ not getting done today.

I hurry after her.

Evan wasn't lying. The pool deck is packed with models. Britain's barking at everyone to stay on one end of the patio so they don't block her shot. I don't listen to her, heading to the other end of the pool and the lounge chair that Evan and I posed on the other day. Britain doesn't say anything, maybe because she notices the pack of models eyeing me like prey.

And I seriously need my privacy when watching Evan.

Britain mumbles some swear words at the approaching dark clouds. March in Oregon is completely unpredictable. "Hurry up, Ry. I don't want to get rained on."

Evan steps into the pool, slowly dunking her whole body beneath the surface of the water. When she climbs back onto the patio, her soaked lingerie clings to her, and I can see everything.

Ev-ery-thing.

Everyone watching can see everything, and that doesn't even faze Evan. Britain flips her blond braid to the side and instructs Evan to lie at the edge of the pool so her feet are facing me. As soon as Evan does, Britain kneels and starts adjusting her lens.

Evan raises her hands above her head until her perfect tits are the fullest they can be, her nipples straining against the wet fabric of her bra. She arches the small of her back and lets her head fall back.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Without being too conspicuous, I place my fists in my lap and lean forward.

Evan spreads her legs, her underwear clinging to the insides of her thighs.

"More innocence to your face, Ry."

I force myself to pry my eyes away from her and to the models at the other end of the pool. Most of them stand in groups, whispering back and forth to each other, all of them in their lingerie.

None of them are anywhere near Evan's sex appeal.

Evan flips on her stomach and raises her ass, craning her head to the side so she's staring right at the lens.

The models' whispers flutter frantically through the air, and I hope to God they won't be watching when I'm shooting with Evan.

I want her all to myself.

I'm able to catch her before she heads back to the dressing room to change. Luckily, I remember to call her Rylan. The name thing is going to be hard to get used to.

"Follow me to the dressing room," Evan says.

"Why? What's up?"

"I don't like the way these models are looking at both of us. Like you're the meat and I'm the bitch that's hoarding it."

I laugh until I realize she isn't joking, dropping my head and following her to the dressing room. When I close the door behind me, she lets her towel fall. She might as well be wearing nothing.

She crosses her arms. "Well? What do you want?"

"To study with you tonight." Really, I just want to spend time with her when both of us aren't being gawked at. Which isn't something I should want. I shouldn't _want_ to spend time with my gorgeous coworker when I have a girlfriend, a girlfriend who told me I could only act single inside the studio.

Evan scoffs and turns away from me. "I told you. We can't be seen together. I know a lot of models like the attention that EPE gives them, but I don't, okay?" She reaches behind her and takes off her bra so I'm staring at her naked back.

My mouth goes dry. I swallow. "East Park is a big city, Evan. There's a really cool coffee shop in the western suburbs. No one will recognize you there."

She slips an oversized t-shirt over her head and glances back at me. "And why the hell would I want to do that?"

I smirk. "Because I know what Professor Gates is planning to cover on the midterm."
9

# Evan

How did I get suckered into this again? Oh yeah—Dallas bribed me.

I watch him as he orders our drinks. His shirt is buttoned all the way up and tucked into his slacks. He smiles politely at the barista—even jokes with her as he shoves a few dollars in the tip jar. On the outside, he's an adorable nerd, the kind all the virginal girls go for and all the skankier ones want to corrupt.

But I know what he's really like. I know so much more.

Actually, the only thing I really don't know is why the hell he wants to hang out with me so badly, like we're buddies or something. Like he has a crush on me.

But he can't have a crush on me, because he has a girlfriend.

Unless he's one of those assholes who cheats on his girlfriends. But I don't know. That doesn't seem like what I know of him.

"One soy latte," he says when he returns to our table, setting the drink in front of me.

"Thanks." I take a sip of it. Perfection.

He sits across from me, the only thing separating us our binders and a mound of textbooks. "So, you a vegan or something?"

"Or something," I say, taking another sip. "Why do you ask?"

"You ordered a soy latte."

"I could be lactose intolerant."

"I always see you drinking those weird green shake things."

I raise an eyebrow. "Yes, okay, I'm vegan. Does that weird you out?"

His lips shift to a coy smile. "A little." He sips his drink. "As long as you don't choke me out for drinking dairy in front of you."

I shake my head. "I'm not that kind of vegan. I like feeling like I'm doing something good for the planet, but mainly, I'm vegan because I have to be."

"You _have_ to?"

I gesture toward my body. "You think this comes from eating pizza and burgers every day?"

"So, health reasons."

"More like model reasons," I correct.

I'd love to say that I'm one of those girls who doesn't give a damn about society's warped idea of beauty. Unfortunately, my job is to be naked all the time. I get paid for giving into media trends. For looking _hot_.

"You must cheat, though," Dallas says, folding his hands in front of him like he's going to spend the next few hours hounding me about my eating choices.

"Of course, I cheat." I open my textbook. "What kind of human being would I be if I didn't cheat?"

He just nods and opens his own textbook, and we both start to read. About a minute later, he speaks up again. "What's your favorite cheat food?"

I glance up from my book and meet his striking eyes. He actually looks interested in my answer. I sigh and put down my pencil. "You really want to know?"

"Why else would I be asking?"

"Half-baked chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, a side of Flaming Hot Cheetos, and a nice IPA to wash it all down."

He blinks once and bursts into laughter.

" _What_?"

"You've obviously thought about this for a _long_ time."

"Well yeah, when you're eating rabbit food, you fantasize about the stuff you could be eating a lot. Now wipe that dumb grin off your face and get to work."

The fact that he listens to me is sort of thrilling. I like having a little power over the guy who cornered me in the dressing room like he owned me.

It's like a game. A way to make our erotic modeling a little sexier and less awkward. I'm all for that, as long as my grades don't drop.

And with the way his eyes are on me now, I can totally see my grades dropping.

I clear my throat and focus on my biology. Surprisingly, Dallas stops asking me questions and directs me toward the chapters I should be reading for the midterm. With the lack of interruption and boost of caffeine, I'm able to get quite a bit of studying done. A lot more than if I were at home.

Finally, when I'm starting to go cross-eyed from terminology, I pack up my textbooks and pull from my bag one of the romance novels that Britain wants me to read. It has a pretty promiscuous cover—a pair of handcuffs on satin sheets. Subtle, yet sexy. I start to read. The thing is like crack and before I know it I'm on page fifty and the two main characters have already fucked twice.

"Why did you stop studying?" Dallas asks.

"I _am_ studying," I say. "Just for work now." When I sigh, I realize I've been sighing loudly for the past few minutes. "It's these books, man. I can't believe these books turn women on. Naïve virginal girls sucked into the schemes of rich playboys. Not knowing that they like being spanked until they _are_ spanked. It's total bullshit."

Dallas laughs. He laughs a lot. The baritone, husky sound of it is like music.

"You think it's funny? For fuck's sakes, the narrator in this book gets off by having her nipples played with."

Dallas's face falls very serious. "And _you_ don't get off when having _your_ nipples played with?"

"I can't even get off during sex." The words escape my mouth before I realize I've said too much. _Way_ too much. I bite down on my bottom lip as punishment and pray that he doesn't comprehend what I've just said.

I'm not so lucky.

"Wait," he says slowly. His eyes narrow and he leans in. "Are you telling me you've never had an orgasm during sex?"

"Shh!" I glance around to see if anyone's looking at us.

" _Are you telling me you've never had an orgasm during sex_?" he whispers.

Heat flushes my face, and I know I must be bright red. _Keep cool, Evan. You can talk about orgasms. You aren't twelve._ "I—no."

"Who the _hell_ are you fucking?"

"Dallas!" I hiss.

He actually looks angry, his eyes harboring the hottest kind of fire. "Are you telling me that no guy you've slept with has had the decency to get you off? Wait—are you a virgin?"

I sober up. "Dallas, I make porn for a living. Of course I'm not a virgin."

"Then what the hell is going on with your sex life?"

I open my mouth before I have the words to answer him. I hate to admit it, but EPE has _kept_ me from having a sex life. I can never let guys get too close to me, because the second that they know about my second life, I become an object. I date sweet guys long enough to have awkward sex with them and then grow afraid that they'll learn who I truly am. That they'll be mortified by the kind of girl they've shared a bed with.

When I first started modeling for EPE, my boyfriend found out. Luckily it was summer and he was on his way to California for law school, so it didn't matter much that he knew. He thought it was hot, but he also thought that I was into being humiliated in the bedroom—being called a whore and having my head pushed down to his cock because that was what girls like me enjoyed. He'd seen porn. He thought he knew.

I shake myself out of the memory. Dallas is still watching me, waiting for an answer. I finally respond with a shrug.

He smiles, and says lowly, "If you're not into spanking, then what _are_ you into?"

My heart begins to race, pleasure shooting deep into my abdomen. I can't believe this is turning me on—talking about sex in a public place with a taken man.

"I never said I wasn't into spanking," I say. Light dances in his eyes, like he's drinking in my every movement, my every word. "But I don't need some billionaire with a six-pack to tell me that. I can decide for myself if I like to be spanked or not."

"And your decision is..."

"Yeah, spanking is hot. Okay?"

"But you're obviously not the same kind of creature as the majority of these protagonists," he says amusedly, leaning back in his seat. "And if we're to visually recreate their deepest, darkest desires, then what do you suppose we do?" He looks down at his cup, tracing the coffee-stained lid with the tip of his finger.

I cross my legs to keep pressure from building and work to keep my breath as even as possible. "I guess you're going to have to dominate me."

His eyes shoot to mine again, wicked and playful and startling blue. Delicious pleasure shoots through my loins and I swear I'm closer to an orgasm now than I've ever been during sex. Just from Dallas _looking_ at me.

"I guess I'm going to have to dominate you," he echoes.
10

# Dallas

"I've been emailing your photographer," Tricia says.

We're both lying in bed naked. It's been over a month since I've had sex with Tricia, and I thought that would mean when we finally had the chance to sleep together, it would be like fireworks. Like it used to be.

I was wrong.

She seemed distracted the whole time, even when I went down on her. And after an hour of trying to get her off, she told me to stop.

I hate not getting a girl off. It isn't even a pride thing. Watching a girl come is one of the most beautiful things in the world—like an addiction—and I haven't had my fix in a long time.

I wrap my arms around Tricia, and she relaxes into me. "What about?" I'm wondering if her suggestion of wanting me to act single was just a test, and now she's trying to use Britain to spy on me.

"How much you'll make from your audition shoot."

I relax, but only a little. "You're worried about money?" Not about my fidelity. But about money.

She rolls over to face me. "I just know how hard you're working in school, and I didn't want you to be under any more strain if you didn't have to be."

"I'm fine," I tell her. "It's not really work. E—Rylan knows what she's doing and I kind of just follow her lead."

Tricia giggles. "That's right. Britain told me you got paired with the faux innocent one. The virgin skank."

I pull away from her. "Why would you call her that?"

"Because that's what she is."

"That's what her character is," I correct. "That's not who she really is."

She pushes against my chest. "Come on, she has to be a bit skanky to pose for that magazine."

I can't believe what she's actually suggesting. "Trish, _I_ pose for that magazine."

"Yeah, but that's different."

"Because I'm a guy?"

"Because... I don't know. Because it just is."

It's useless to get into an argument right now. I'm tired and irritated and have the worst case of blue balls. I can't be in this condition if I'm going to be shooting with Evan today. I say nothing, kissing Tricia on the cheek and rolling out of bed.

If I don't get myself off in the shower, I'm going to accidentally come during our shoot—if it's anything like our one last week.

The studio is as busy as it was on Wednesday, except a different kind of busy. As I walk in, several women sitting on the couches go quiet, all looking up at me. Instead of lingerie, they're dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Britain is among them. Papers scatter the coffee table.

"Dallas," Britain says. "Glad you're here." She gestures to a woman with dark skin and curly hair sitting next to her. "This is Andrea, one of our writers for this upcoming issue of EPE. She's going to be crafting yours and Rylan's story for the magazine."

Andrea stands. I walk to her and shake her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry," I turn to Britain. "Story?"

"Glad you asked. Rylan!" Britain yells.

" _WHAT_!" Evan screams from the dressing room. I bite back my grin.

"Get in here. We're talking marketing."

Evan saunters out of the dressing room dressed _as_ Evan—just as adorable as she was in the coffee shop. No makeup, hipster glasses on, hair up.

"I don't know what's going on," I tell Evan honestly.

"You and I are going to craft our love story." Evan says dryly. "Yippee."

"Love story?" I ask.

"With this issue, we're trying to attract a bigger audience," Britain explains. "That's why we hired you. We want to appeal to women. Research shows that the type of erotica women tend to go for is erotica with a storyline." She points to Andrea, and Andrea waves. "So I've hired Andrea here to write your story. Every issue, we'll have a shoot and an episode."

"Titled _The Seduction of Rylan Willow_ ," Evan drawls.

I snort.

"It's not a joke," Britain says seriously, looking at me.

"Oh," I mutter.

"Anyway," Britain continues. "We were hoping to gain a little inspiration from your ideas. Who these characters should be, how the shoots should be themed, etcetera. We could just make it easy. Billionaire CEO and his adorable little secretary." Britain nudges Evan with her shoulder.

Evan scowls. "That is _so_ overdone."

"Fine then, _Rylan_. What are your ideas?"

Evan shrugs dramatically. "Why don't you go all out if we're going the dom-sub route? Base it in a BDSM club or something."

Andrea makes a face. "Too hard to write a story for."

"And too expensive. Come on, Rylan, you know better," Britain says. "We need to work with what we have. Building a set for a BDSM club would be way too difficult. Plus, we'd have to buy a bunch of kinky toys."

"Work with what we have," I mutter. Everyone's eyes flicker to me. "That's easy. We run out of a university, for crying out loud. Student-Professor."

The women on the couches start to murmur excitedly. While Evan groans, Britain's eyes widen. "Dallas, you're a genius."

"Genius!" Evan cries. "This is the context of our _real lives_. He just taught me last week!"

I shake my head. "But I'm not your professor. I'm a grad student."

"Aren't you afraid of what this is going to do to your image? The next time you lecture, you're going to have undergrads falling all over you." If I'm not mistaken, there's bitterness in her tone beneath all that disgust.

"I told you," I say. "I'm done guest lecturing for this semester. And I'm done with teaching. Next year they're letting me dive fully into field research."

This obviously isn't what Evan wants to hear. She groans again and turns on her heel. "Well _fine_. Give me a minute, let me go throw on some skanky catholic schoolgirl outfit and perfect my lip biting."

Britain rolls her eyes as Evan stomps away and slams the door to the dressing room.

I sigh and push back my hair. "I should go talk to her."

"Don't bother," Britain says, but I ignore her.

When I enter the dressing room, Evan is already standing in her bra and panties, sifting through racks of clothing. It's hard for me to not stare at her delicious curves.

"Go away," she mutters, not taking her eyes off the clothes in front of her.

"Stop, Evan," I tell her. "Look at me."

Her shoulders slump, but her eyes still avoid me.

"You keep acting like this isn't awkward for me, too."

"It's different for you," she says, pulling a white button-up shirt off the rack and chucking it behind her.

"I have a girlfriend."

"Exactly," she says. "And I feel like the whore intruding on your relationship."

"Evan. Evan, look at me, _now_."

She blinks a few times, her eyes finding mine.

"Don't you ever call yourself that again, do you understand me? If anything, I'm the whore."

She traces a microscopic schoolgirl skirt on the rack, and I'm positive her ass won't fit into it. Maybe that's the idea.

"How does your girlfriend put up with this?"

"She loves it, actually," I tell her honestly. Evan raises an eyebrow, and I continue. "She loves that it's going to give us extra income. She even told me to act single on set."

Evan narrows her eyes skeptically. "She did _what_?"

"To relax me. Because I felt bad about it, you know?"

"You seem confident enough," she murmurs. "She must really trust you."

"That's what happens when you've been together forever," I say, but I don't think that's it. I think that too often, Tricia and I forget that we're supposed to be in love on top of school and bills and adulting.

I don't tell Evan this. Instead, I step toward her, take the skirt from her hands, and throw it over the clothing racks.

"What the hell," she cries.

"That's not what women want to see you in. They want to see you in something they would wear." I sift through the racks until I pull out a pair of low-rise jeans that look her size, and a pink rhinestone EPU hoodie. I hand them to her. "In this, you could be any female student on campus. That way, readers will be able to fantasize when they watch me undress you."
11

# Evan

I clench my teeth to keep my jaw from falling to the floor.

Dallas has a way of making me hate him for turning me on so much. For normal guys, this wouldn't be a problem. I'd just flirt back and go along for the ride. But Dallas—well, he's extraordinarily beautiful. And he just got done talking about his girlfriend. Of forever. Who trusts him.

What I need to do is just accept this and take advantage of the fact that his ever-so-trusting girlfriend wants him to act single on set. I can't have a boyfriend. This will be my only thrill for a while.

Dallas.

"It's going to be hard for me to get into the moment with this silly scenario," I tell him honestly. "I'm going to need a little bit of help."

"I'll make sure to do that," he responds huskily before leaving me alone to change.

When he's gone, I place my hand on my frantically beating heart. "Don't get too excited," I whisper to myself. "It's only instant gratification."

Britain is the bravest, most shameless girl I've ever met in my entire life. It's why we're friends. It's also why she was able to convince a university committee to approve _East Park Exposed_ as an official East Park University publication. Britain's argument: _Hell, Harvard did it._

And it worked.

There's a clause in the agreement stating that we can't shoot in any EPU building except for one—an abandoned gym that hosts a set of classrooms, offices, lockers, showers, and a drained swimming pool. We can't do much with it, but we should be able to find an office for this shoot.

The campus policeman gives Britain a wink when he drives up to unlock the building for us. We've used this building a couple times before, and he knows exactly what we're up to. I guess he thinks we need that extra wink in order to feel sexy or something.

Luckily for me, the only ones attending this off-site shoot are me, Dallas, Britain, and Andrea. Andrea's here in order to direct us toward the vision of the story she's conjuring up in her head. Delilah really wanted to watch, and so did Adam, but I think Britain can sense how tense my nerves are.

We walk down the deserted, grimy hall, and Britain leads us up the stairs. "I think the offices are on the second floor," she says.

I swallow. Why am I so nervous? I've done a million and a half shoots before and I've rocked all of them. I've even done one with Dallas. But the thought of being around him, of having him touch me for the camera again, is making me light-headed.

And sweaty. Which is the last thing I need to be.

Britain finds an office that looks like it could still be in use. There are books on the shelves and files scattered across the desk. Britain starts moving the files, and I begrudgingly find a soft piece of felt in one of the drawers to start wiping away dust.

Dallas smooths the front of his slacks and sits, crossing his legs. His nice dress shirt is tucked into his pants. He even wears a tie, his hair combed enough to make him seem older and professional without looking creepy. And he does look older. He looks like he could easily pull off early thirties—the perfect hot professor age.

Heat flushes my body.

I'm dressed in low-rise jeans, a revealing white cami, and a pink EPE zip-up sweatshirt. Exactly what Dallas told me to wear. As I mill about the room in an attempt to tidy up the place, he grabs my arm and pulls me to him. His light eyes express concern.

"What can I do to make this shoot as easy for you as possible?"

I want to reach out and touch his face—run my thumb along the smooth edge of his jaw, but I have to be patient.

"Modeling with someone else is just going to take some time getting used to."

The corner of his mouth turns up. "I'll try my best to make you forget about the camera."

Oh, god.

_You should try your best to make me forget you're not single_ , I want to tell him, but instead, I just nod.

After Britain sets up her lighting, she claps her hands together. "Okay, I think we're ready to shoot. Dallas, take a seat behind the desk."

My heart begins to pound relentlessly. I clutch my binder—which I've brought as a prop—to my chest.

Britain adjusts her camera. "Okay, Andrea, what's the scenario?"

Andrea inhales excitedly and clasps her hands in front of her. "Okay, Rylan. You come into the office looking for a way to make extra credit in Dallas's class, but he obviously has bigger plans for you."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, brother."

"Rylan," Dallas says sternly. Darkly. I turn to see him looking up at me from his desk, eyes fierce. His palms are pressed flat against the polished wood. "I've noticed that you're failing my class."

"You've got to be kidding me," I murmur.

"Yes!" Britain squeals, raising the camera and taking a few test shots of Dallas. "Come on, Rylan. Don't be a poor sport. Play into it."

I take a huge breath and slowly start walking toward Dallas, who is stone-still.

"Rylan, you are meek and innocent," Andrea instructs. "This professor is ruthless toward you. You've never done so horribly in a class before and the only thing you want in the whole world is for your GPA to stay a sparkling 4.0."

_Not too far from real life_ , I think.

"Give me dialog," Andrea instructs. "Inspire me."

Dallas grins wickedly. He's having way too much fun with this. "I don't think you can do it," he says.

Fire ignites inside me. A challenge.

I look down, scuffing my feet timidly. "Professor, I'd like to ask if you'd make an exception and offer extra credit for me. It's just, I'm a straight-A student and have never had such a difficult time in a class before."

"Yes," Britain hisses.

When I look up at Dallas, I can't tell if he's impressed by my acting. His expression lacks all amusement. He leans back in his chair. "The thing is, Rylan, I have girls coming into my office all the time asking for extra credit. And their excuses are quite creative. So why should I give it to you and not to them?"

"Please, Professor," I whimper. "I'll do anything."

Dallas can't keep a smile from rising on his face. "Unzip your sweatshirt," he orders me in a deep voice. "Slowly."

"Is this okay, Andrea?" Britain asks.

"Oh, I'm having the time of my life," Andrea responds. "Keep going."

Trying my hardest to keep my breathing under control, I slowly unzip my sweatshirt. Dallas's eyes don't leave mine.

"Take it off," he says. I let the garment fall to the floor.

He rolls his chair back and stands. With one foot purposefully in front of the other, he walks around to the edge of the desk and motions to it.

"Take a seat," he says, his serious expression unwavering.

I have to hop onto the desk, my feet dangling before him. Andrea remains silent, allowing Dallas the reigns.

"I don't think that you should pass the class without some sort of punishment for failing in the first place."

Oh. My. God.

My eyes widen. "What kind of punishment?"

His eyes never leave mine as he places his hand on his belt buckle and begins to unfasten it.

Britain giggles.

"I hate you, Britain," I breathe.

"Stay in character," she barks, continuing to snap photos.

When Dallas slides his belt off, he orders, "Raise your arms over your head."

"What are you going to do?" I whisper.

He only responds with darkening eyes that send a shiver through my whole body. Biting my bottom lip, I raise my arms over my head.

Gripping the bottom hem of my cami, he peels it upward and over my head, revealing my lace pushup bra. For a second, his eyes flicker to my chest as he drinks in the sight of me.

Warmth races to the inside of my thighs, and I squeeze them together.

I make to lower my arms. His hand shoots out and grabs one of my wrists, gripping me tightly.

"Did I say that you could put your hands down?"

"No, sir."

Dammit, I wish this was real. I wish Britain and Andrea weren't here and Dallas was role-playing this scenario with me solely for the sake of turning me on.

Because I am _oh_ so turned on.

"Keep your wrists pressed together."

I comply as he takes his belt and wraps it around my wrists, looping and fastening it.

"Lie back," he instructs.

As soon as I do so, keeping my arms raised above my head, he places his index finger at the center of my lower lip, pushing it forward slightly until I taste him. Then, he drags his finger down my chin, my neck, and between the valley of my breasts. When he reaches my navel, I buck my hips up, and he flattens his palm against my belly and pushes me back down. "You don't move until I say you can move. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." The words escape me in a whimper.

Dallas notices. I can tell by the way his lip twitches. Hooking his fingers beneath the hem of my jeans, he leans forward until his lips brush against my ear. "Are you as turned on as I am?"

A small gasp escapes me, but I don't have time to respond before Andrea instructs Dallas to take off my pants.
12

# Dallas

I order Evan to lift her hips so I can tug her jeans off. They land on the floor. My hands find her upper thighs and I squeeze. "Don't move unless I move you."

She squeezes her eyes shut and nods furiously. My cock is growing harder with every passing second.

I ease her legs apart and bite back my groan. I can tell how wet she is from here. If we were alone—if I was single—I wouldn't be able to contain myself. I'd rip those lace panties right off her and lick right up her center.

_Fuck_.

Her perfect tits rise and fall as she breathes shallowly.

I realize Britain's trying to instruct me.

"Jesus, Dallas. Yes, we all know Rylan's hot, now shut your jaw and stay in control."

I yank my mouth shut and take a deep breath through my nose. Remain in control. _Remain in control_.

"Tie up her feet," says Andrea.

Tie up her feet? "With what?"

I look over at Andrea, and she nods toward my chest.

_Of course, idiot._

I push Evan's knees together and reach up, undoing the knot of my tie as quickly as possible. Evan whimpers again, a noise I wish she'd stop making because I'm starting to lose my mind. When the tie is free from my neck, I wrap the fabric into a knot around her ankles. Her toes curl, and I pinch the big one on her left foot. She gasps.

"Don't move," I growl, more out of sexual frustration than anything else, "or this punishment will be much worse for you."

When I meet her eyes, she's giving me a strange look, as though she's thinking hard about something.

And then she curls her toes again.

I don't take the time to second guess my actions, my hands scooping up her back and legs. I flip her over to her stomach and she cries out in surprise.

Andrea wolf-whistles. Britain drops her camera. "You okay, Ry?"

"Shut up, Brit," Evan gasps. "Let the man work."

"Cup her ass," says Andrea. "And then bend forward, like your whispering into her ear."

I drag my fingers up her soft thigh, the perfect globe of her ass fitting right into my hand.

Britain instructs Evan to arch her hips and look at the camera. I lower my head to her ear. When her hair brushes against my lips, something inside me snaps. Dancing with her like this is a slow, torturous death, and I can't take it anymore. I open my mouth and catch her earlobe, scraping my teeth against her tender flesh. She moans my name softly and I almost lose it.

"This would be good for a final pose," says Andrea.

Britain's snapping a hundred photos a second. "Agreed," she finally says, letting the camera drop. "I think that's a wrap."

I straighten, trying to control my breath.

Britain fans herself with her hand. "Damn, is it hot in here or is it just you two?" She winks at me and Andrea opens the door. The two of them step out of the office to get some fresh air.

"Help," Evan pleads.

"Oh, shit." Gently, I unwind the belt from her hands, and she rolls over to her back. Her brown eyes are glassy, lips swollen like we just finished screwing each other. The sight of her only turns me on more.

"I can get that," she says.

"It's fine." I work at loosening the knot at her ankles. "It's the least I can do after that."

"Dallas Whitley." She says my name breathlessly, and I tear my eyes from her feet to watch her arch off the desk and stretch her arms out in front of her. Her tan body glistens with a sheen of sweat. "You are so lucky you aren't single right now."

My hands freeze on the loosened knot. "Why's that?"

Without breaking her gaze from me, she says, "Because if you were, after putting me through that little number, I'd _make_ you get me off."

She can't be serious.

"You can't be serious."

She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and releases a throaty laugh. "Oh my god," she says. "I can't believe I just said that. This shoot is making me delirious." She looks down at her feet. "You going to take all day on that knot, or what?"

When I'm back at my apartment, I throw my keys on the table and yell Tricia's name.

I've been hard since the shoot. I'm sure Britain and Andrea noticed it, but at this point, I really don't give a fuck.

I just need to get off. I need to get off _now_.

I yell Tricia's name again before I see her handwritten note on the fridge.

_Boss took me to dinner. Back at 11. OXOX_

I curse and stalk down the hall, ripping off my shirt before I make it to the bathroom. I think about taking a cold shower, but why torture myself any more than I've already been tortured today?

I pull off my slacks and make sure the water is steaming before stepping in. I groan when the burning hot jet engulfs me, and my mind jumps to Evan and the way she bought into the charade. The way she moaned my name. How soaked her panties were.

I take hold of my cock and begin to stroke. In a matter of moments, I have my release. But even after I'm finished, I can't get my mind off her.

But that's normal. It's normal to feel this way about a beautiful girl like Evan, right?

She's just a fantasy. Like if I were to stream porn while Tricia's gone. All guys do shit like that.

It's just my dick that's making me feel this way about Evan Cosette. It has to be.
13

# Evan

I arch my back off my bed, fingers working furiously at my clit until my third orgasm of the night washes over me.

Coming down from my high, I take deep gulps of air and wait to feel satisfied, but satisfaction never comes.

I groan and flip over to my stomach, burying my head beneath my pillow as I wait for my heart to stop hammering in my chest. It's normal for any girl to be this turned on by a gorgeous model. Especially a girl who has sworn off guys for a year.

For a whole year, it's been me and my fingers. Sometimes a vibrator when I feel like using one. I keep telling myself that it's less emotionally straining than a real live man in my bed, but now I'm starting to question that statement.

I haven't wanted anyone this bad in a long time.

_That's because you dry hump him for work, dipshit_.

It's true. It isn't Dallas Whitley that is turning me on. It is the generic male presence after being chaste for so long.

It has to be. I can't be feeling things for Dallas. He's in my department and is my coworker. He's too close to everything important in my life. Everything keeping me afloat.

And he has a girlfriend. I can't be feeling anything for Dallas because he has a girlfriend.

The next morning, things are in serious production mode in the studio. I make my banana protein shake and head over in my pjs, sitting in the corner as Britain organizes teams of writers and graphic designers—hell, even the web designer is here. It's so loud in the studio living room that everyone's yelling just to be heard, but even in the chaos, Britain still has a huge smile on her face.

She has gotten pre-production down to a science, that girl. The formatting and layout of the magazine are usually done in one work day, tops. Our rapid momentum is why we're capable of being bimonthly—well, that and our readers are willing to subscribe to two issues a month. It seems like they can't ever get their skin fix, which works in our favor.

Britain walks over and sits next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"You've been working really hard on this issue," I say.

She sighs. "Thanks for noticing, Evan. I need more people like you in my life."

I smile. My favorite thing about Britain and me is that we can be snarky to each other during shoots to let off steam, but that doesn't ever put a dent in our friendship. Unconventional, yes, but it's been working out for us.

"Evan—your shoot with Dallas. It's like the two of you are made to pose together. I mean, even though Adam's and Delilah's shoots are more risqué, the two of you are making me really hot and bothered."

I snort. "That's kind of disturbing."

"I'm sorry, it's the truth. Once you forget I'm there, you guys have crazy chemistry."

"Well, that's good. At least Dallas is doing what you hired him for."

"You like him?" she asks.

"Dallas? Well yeah, sure. He knows what he's doing."

She giggles. "That's not what I meant, Evan."

Oh. She's asking if I _like him_ , like him, as if we're in high school and talking about the cute band kid with braces. Good grief.

Before I can say anything, one of the writers calls her over to ask her a question, and I'm left alone.

Having the pool shoot and the desk shoot under our belts, Dallas and I are set for a while in terms of modeling. Britain wants to debut us with the desk shoot and use the pool shoot for the next issue, when _Rylan_ has some fun time with her professor in the gym shower.

Seriously—these shoots are so corny, I won't be surprised if they flop. If they do flop, I guess Britain will have to fire the boys.

An odd pang of disappointment settles in the pit of my stomach, but it's quickly replaced by anxiety as I leave my spot on the couch and head out toward the mailbox. I haven't received any letters regarding acceptance from the grad schools that I applied to. Something tells me news is right around the corner.

I open the mailbox only to have disappointment return to me. Nothing but advertisements and junk mail.

I chuck the papers in the trashcan and return to my room, where I spend the rest of the day studying for my biology test tonight. Dallas pointed me in the right direction, and with his guidance, I will only study what's needed for the test. Hopefully, he didn't screw me over.

An hour before class, Mom texts me. **So, this weekend... u busy?**

I sigh. I can't avoid her any longer. I hit the reply button.

**Sure. I'll come see your new place.**
14

# Dallas

Being a graduate intern means that mostly, you get to do a bunch of bitch work.

One of my peers and I distribute exams to the two-hundred undergrads in the lecture hall. Test A, Test B, Test C, and Test D. We make sure no two people sitting next to each other have the same letter.

Evan sits at the very back of the hall. She smiles at me when I hand her the test. I want to mouth _good luck_ to her, but I know how weird she is about people seeing us interact, and I want to respect that.

The next two hours are spent being the asshole who walks up and down the aisles, watching all students like hawks to make sure no one is cheating. A couple of times I catch Evan's eye. She bites her lower lip to hide a grin and glances back down at her test. I don't want to know how many guys she's won over with that move.

It's nine-pm when all the tests are finally in. I'm on my way to the office to begin the grading marathon when I pass Evan in the hall. To my surprise, she looks to her right and left to make sure we're alone, and then leans up against the wall. "Hey."

"How do you think you did?" I ask.

The corners of her lips perk up. "Nailed it," she says. "I think I might need you to tutor me every week."

Even though her makeup-less face, glasses, and sweats make her look young enough to be a teenager, she still has this wise aura about her.

"What about this weekend?" I offer. "We're done..." I glance around. "We're done shooting. I wouldn't mind getting out of town for a bit."

She frowns and pushes up her glasses with her fingertip. "I have to go visit my mom this weekend."

"Where does your mom live?"

"Portland."

"Good ol' PDX, huh? I miss visiting."

She cocks her head. "Are you hinting that you want to come with me to my mom's?"

"I didn't think I was hinting at anything, but if you're looking for company... Tricia's going on a weekend trip to visit one of her clients, anyway. It's not like I'd be doing much other than homework."

"You really want to come?" she asks, and then shrugs. "Well, I guess that would work well for me. If I have a guest, Mom won't pressure me into staying longer than a day. There are a million coffee shops downtown."

"Sounds like a plan." I sigh and scratch my head with the hand that's not holding all the tests. "So, the issue goes into production this week."

She nods. "Britain's really excited about it. You nervous?" Her eyes sparkle with adorable curiosity.

Before I can respond, voices sound from down the hall. The other grad students that are going to help grade tests tonight are here.

Evan pulls her books tight against her chest and pushes up her glasses one last time. "Talk to you later, Dallas," she says, and before I can tell her goodnight, she's already made her way down the hall and out of sight.

I'm about to send Evan's Scantron through the machine when Brad, another graduate intern, says, "So Dallas, you gotta let me know if the rumors are true."

I glance up at him. Brad and the three other interns are staring at me. All of them wear wicked grins—except for Abby, the only girl of the group, who just rolls her eyes.

"What rumors?" I ask nonchalantly and slide Evan's Scantron into the machine.

"The ones about you fucking those EPE girls on camera."

The machine spits out the Scantron. She missed three. Evan got a 97 percent on the multiple-choice part of the exam.

"I'm not fucking anyone on camera, Brad," I say. "Don't know where you heard that, but your source is wrong."

My answer doesn't satisfy him. "But you _are_ modeling for EPE, right?"

I flip open Evan's test and pull the answer key toward me, avoiding eye contact with Brad. "I am. What's it to you?"

"Fuck, dude. You are the luckiest motherfucker alive. What I wouldn't give to be able to dry hump those bitches. That Rylan chick has such a sweet ass I'd like to—"

"I swear to God, Brad, shut up before I beat the living shit out of you."

I'm not a violent person. But guys like Brad make me snap.

He holds his hands up. "Whoa, bro. Chill. I'm just kidding around."

_No, you aren't_ , I think. I look down, realizing I'm crumpling Evan's test in my hands. I smooth it out, take a few deep breaths, and start grading.

This girl isn't just some eye candy or fuck meat for assholes like Brad. She's brilliant. And I realize how brilliant she is when I finish grading all of her complicated drawings of proteins and cells—stuff that, even though I did give her direction on what she needed to study, she'd only know if she were really dedicated to her work.

Ninety-five. Evan got a ninety-five.

When I finish grading my portion of tests, I say nothing and leave the office, knowing that anything out of my mouth would be threateningly confrontational.

I don't realize that Abby is following me until I'm almost to my car.

"That was a really awesome thing you did," she says.

I turn to her. "What's that?"

"Standing up for those models." She scuffs her feet. Abby is the kind of girl who's painfully nerdy. I'm not sure I've even heard her speak before now.

"They're not just models to me," I say honestly. "They're my friends too. Of course I'm going to stand up for them."

"It's really cool to hear you say that," she says excitedly. "Can't wait for the next issue."

I take a step back. Abby, an EPE subscriber? I wouldn't have guessed in a million years.

"You get to pose with Rylan Willow?" she asks.

"Yeah, I do."

"She's my favorite. You're a lucky guy."

I smile, opening my car door. I guess I am.

The living room is dark when I get home, but I can see that, down the hall, the bedroom light is on. I throw my keys on the dining table and set a stack of papers on the couch, undressing as I make my way back to the bedroom. I freeze in undoing my tie when I see Tricia sprawled across the bed in nothing but a pair of black panties. She stretches her arms above her head and says, "I've been waiting for you."

About damn time.

"What's the occasion?" I ask, unbuckling my belt.

She arches her back, splaying her slender legs. "I've been evasive lately, and since I'm going to be gone this weekend and then leaving for a week next month, thought I'd give you a little treat."

When my clothes are off, I climb onto the bed and lie on my back. Just seeing her trying to turn me on instead of the opposite way around is enough to get me hard immediately.

When Tricia climbs on me, I slide her panties down her legs. She sinks down on me and I groan, savoring the feeling of being inside of her.

We don't speak.
15

# Evan

What the fuck am I doing?

I'm bringing Dallas to my mom's house, that's what I'm doing.

We were both much too polite to tell the other that this is a really dumb idea. I'm wondering if he feels the same way, that going to Portland is just getting our minds off the fact that EPE is in a publishing weekend. On Monday, our naughty schoolgirl and professor photo shoot will be readily available to anyone willing to pay ten bucks a month.

Dallas needs a distraction so much that he's willing to visit my mother in her crappy apartment.

As I drive up the freeway, I tell him, "My mom thinks that you are my coworker. As far as she knows, I do clerical work for a tech support office."

"So I'm supposed to be, like, part of the geek squad?"

"Sure," I say. "You fit the role."

"Har, har. Hey, just because I'm a grad student in biology doesn't mean that I can't also be hot. Britain seems to think so."

I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. "That she does."

"And so do you."

"Okay, Mr. Cocky. Way to assume."

"You don't think I'm hot?"

I open my mouth to respond, but is there really a reason for me to flat-out lie to him? I maneuver my way around the question instead. "Well, you were kind of forced on me, so I guess, given the circumstances, dealing with you hasn't been the hardest thing."

He scoffs. "Okay, Evan. Sure."

I feel my entire face flush. I remember how wet I was during our last shoot. How much I wanted Britain and Andrea to be gone and my lingerie to be gone and for him to just take me.

He had my legs spread apart. My panties were incredibly thin.

He had to have seen how much I ached for him.

Luckily, he veers from the subject. Maybe he sees how uncomfortable I am. "So, I'm the nerd that you work under."

"She'll assume we're together. Just be honest and tell her we're friends."

"Or I can tell her I had you bent over a desk in your panties yesterday."

"God, you're an asshole." I take in a deep, shuddering breath, less because I'm angry and more because the way he said it sounded so fucking hot.

"Chill, Evan. I'm kidding, of course." And then he's back to his goofy self, his dark, sexual aura suddenly absent. It's incredible how quickly he can change like that. Must be the model side of him. The ability to reflect whatever character he must. "I think it's unfair that our scenarios have me continuously dominating you."

"Well, we've put on the professor-and-naughty-student pants. What more can you expect?"

"But it's unfair. I feel like we have to make it even somehow."

"Like have a shoot where I'm whipping your ass with a riding crop or something?"

He bursts into laughter. "Ouch. Is that supposed to be sexy?"

"To some people."

"How about something a little gentler?"

Suddenly I'm imagining myself straddling him as we both sit, pinning his hands above his head and grinding my hips into his groin.

Stop it, Evan. _Stop it._

"You convince Britain, and I'm down," I reply.

"You got it," he pulls out his phone.

"Seriously? Well, alright." I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye as he texts Britain. When he slides his phone back into his pocket, I ask, "What did you say to her?"

"I asked if you could pin me down and spank me with a riding crop."

"Shut up."

A grin creeps across his face, but he says nothing.

An hour and a half later, I pull into my mom's complex. I told her I was bringing a friend from work and we were going to be studying at the coffee shop later. Only thing is, she doesn't know he's a gorgeous grad student that's two years older than me.

The apartment complex is a dump of peeling paint and foggy windows. There's even a shopping cart full of trash bags parked on the curb. I park my car in front of her number—105. Dallas and I get out of the car and he follows me up to her apartment.

My mother—God bless her soul—looks like a crazy cat lady. Today she wears a long gauze skirt, frizzy hair pulled into a bun on top of her head. Her eyes are magnified into huge orbs by her thick wire-rimmed glasses. Standing in the doorway, she spots me, blinks, and then her eyes expand even more when they rest on Dallas.

" _Oh my_ ," she says, entirely unabashed.

"Mom," I mumble, pointing to Dallas. "This is..."

Dallas steps forward, stretching out his hand. "I'm Dallas Whitley, Evan's boss."

I try my hardest not to roll my eyes.

"Well, Mr. Whitley," Mom says, brushing her hands over her skirt. "I hope you don't mind a vegan dinner."

"Not at all. I'm fully aware of Evan's eating habits."

I shoot him an icy glare. Way to make us sound casual.

"I hope you don't mind me bringing him," I tell Mom. "We're in the same major. He's a grad student, and he's been helping me study."

"Study. Sure," she says. "Won't you come in?"

I nod and wait for Mom to re-enter her apartment before I turn back to Dallas. "Please stop trying to charm the pants off of her," I beg. "She's been waiting for me to _find a man_ for ages and I don't want her to get her hopes up with you."

The corners of his mouth perk up as he leans against the door frame. "Why ever would I do that?" he asks.

"Because you're evil, that's why."

He chuckles and follows me into the apartment.

Mom has really outdone herself. I'm impressed.

I've been living a semi-vegan lifestyle since I was a teen, mainly having Mom as guidance. We did our best with what we could afford, making the most with our patio garden and practically living off of lentils. But tonight, she's conjured a sweet and sour tempeh dish with stir-fried vegetables and rice. I'm half expecting Dallas to be completely grossed out and not eat anything, but to my surprise, when we're all sitting around Mom's meager dining room table, he digs in.

"This is amazing," he says between swallows. "I don't miss the meat one bit."

I catch his eyes, trying my best to convey a look that suggests he's full of shit. I'm not sure if it comes across.

But Mom seems happy and unfazed. "I'm quite glad," she says. "I've been cooking without meat since Evan was in middle school. I've got to tell you, I have more energy in my fifties than I ever did in my twenties."

Dallas stirs the contents of his plate with his fork. "Evan tells me that she was quite the photogenic child."

He did _not_.

I look at my mother. It's like Christmas came early. "Did she now?"

I groan and hang my head in shame. But then a thought comes to me, a thought that could get me out of this mess. I shoot a look of contempt at Dallas before responding, "Actually, Mom, Dallas and I were stopping for dinner. I have a huge test next week and—"

Mom scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Evan. I haven't seen you in weeks." She glances at Dallas and grins. "If this is about bringing your boyfriend over..."

"He's not—"

"I'm not entirely old school. I mean, I know I pulled that whole _touching a boy will get you pregnant_ thing when you were younger, but do you honestly think I'm naïve enough to believe the two of you aren't sleeping together?"

"Mom—"

"Forget it, Evan. You're not leaving tonight. I turned the second bedroom into a guest room just for you—for the two of you—and I'll be damned if you don't use it."

My mouth hangs unhinged.

"If that's okay with you, of course," she adds, nodding at Dallas.

Dallas leans back in his seat, a stupid, arrogant smirk growing on his face. He crosses his arms. "Perfectly fine with me."

" _What is your problem?_ " I hiss when the bedroom door is shut and Dallas and I are alone together. It's only ten. First, I had to endure dinner after Dallas agreed to stay the night, and then what felt like endless hours as my mother pulled the most cliché move ever and showed my _not_ -boyfriend old baby photos of me. And he said _nothing_ that would indicate that we are not—in any way, shape, or form—dating.

"Chill out, Cosette." He casually sits on the bed. The _one_ bed. "We only get to spend time together in the studio."

"There was that one time, at that one coffee shop."

"Oh, okay," he says sarcastically. "That one time at that one coffee shop."

"If you want to spend _time_ with me to get to know your fake fuck buddy, fine. But how the hell is this not weird? Please, enlighten me."

He gives me that goddamned crooked smile of his. "It's only weird if you make it weird."

"So how does this work? You want me to snuggle up next to you so you can _get to know me better_?"

"Use your brain, Evan." He nods toward my backpack in the corner of the room. "We're going to study, so when you get accepted into UC Berkeley and they want your official transcripts, you'll blow them away with all of those sparkling As."

Studying? Really? Why do I feel so disappointed?

_Focus_ , Evan.

I huff and pick up my backpack, plopping myself on the bed next to him. "Fine."

He grins. "Perfect. Can't think of a more distraction-free space."

Distraction-free space. Dallas thinks this is a distraction-free space. That might be the funniest thing I've ever heard.

But surprisingly, he's very adamant on getting me to study. He races through drills with me and walks me through the protein structures I'm unfamiliar with. Before long, I've practically memorized chapter fourteen. Perfect timing, too. My phone starts to buzz. It's Britain. I slide the lock and raise the phone to my ear.

"Yo."

"Evan. Have you seen the interview?"

"Interview?" I suddenly remember that Britain's interview with an erotic journal was posted a couple of hours ago. "Shit, no."

I direct Dallas to look it up on his phone. When he finds the article, his eyes go wide. He holds the phone out for me to see. "I'm not really familiar with the erotic blogging scene, but is this normal?"

I squint at the screen, and when I spot the numbers, my mouth falls open.

"Four-hundred-and-fifty-nine shares."

" _I know, right?"_ Britain squeals.

"In two hours?"

"I KNOW, RIGHT? Evan, the issue hasn't even been released yet and people are going nuts over the thought of co-ed shoots."

I swallow. If the excitement on the article is any indication of what the sales are going to be like, then Adam and Dallas will be sticking around for a while.

"And have you read the comments?" She chuckles. "Girlfriend, just about everyone can't wait for Rylan to get laid."

I gape at Dallas. He raises an eyebrow, and I can't tell if he overheard Britain or not.

"We're just going to be _simulating_ that in the final shoot of the series, right?"

She laughs again. "I guess. I mean, unless you guys actually _want_ to fuck for the camera. You know me. I'm open-minded."

"Can you hear what she's saying?" I ask Dallas.

He shakes his head, even though a coy smile grows ever-so-subtly on his face. I can't believe him.

"Get to the studio as early as you can tomorrow. If the new subscription sales are as big as I think they'll be, I'm going to want to start brainstorming and shooting immediately for the rest of the spring series. Also, Delilah says she misses you and you need to stop being such a biology-obsessed twat."

"Yeah, yeah," I respond before hanging up.

"Don't look so devastated," Dallas drawls, leaning back on his hands. He looks far too amused for my tastes. "I'm a good fuck. I promise."

"I thought you said you couldn't hear."

He ignores my statement. "I'll show you." Gathering the books scattered over the bed, he drops them off the side and says, "Take off your clothes."

My jaw drops, fire suddenly racing through my body. "For fuck's sakes, Dallas."

He rolls his eyes. "Cool it, Cosette. I'm not actually going to fuck you. I'm just going to show you how to simulate it."

I cross my arms over my chest. I know how to dry hump. If he has half a brain, he's _aware_ that I know how to dry hump. And I could just point that out to him. But something inside of me aches to grasp the hem of my t-shirt and lift it over my head.

I glance at the door.

"Your mom already thinks we're screwing," he says.

Dammit, he's right.

When I walk to the door and lock it, his expression is victorious.

He takes off his shirt and pants as I take off mine. "You're not seeing my tits tonight," I tell him, keeping my underwear on.

"Suit yourself." He smirks. "But eventually I will. You know it's inevitable."

Wetness pools between my legs. Fuck him and his brazenness for turning me on so much.

He kneels on the mattress. "You just going to stand there, or are you going to get under me?"

I take a deep breath to calm my pounding heart and sit on the bed.

"Lie down," he instructs.

"This feels awfully familiar," I drawl, but continue to do as he says.

He rolls on top of me, propping himself up on his elbows. Even in the dim light of the lamp, his blue eyes are petrifying. "Don't tell me you weren't turned on in that office," he murmurs. "I saw how wet you were."

I try to keep my cool. "Focus, Dallas. You're supposed to be showing me how to simulate sex, not trying to embarrass me."

"Suit yourself," he rumbles, sitting up. "Assuming EPE isn't willing to shoot penetration..."

"Hah. Hah."

"I'll just have to act like I'm thrusting into you, and you'll have to pretend like you're feeling it."

"So in order to calculate the ecstasy that I _should_ be feeling, roughly how large is your dick?"

He cocks his head. "You've felt it. You tell me."

A small shiver ripples through me as I remember grinding on his erection during the pool shoot. God, if he were actually in me...

"Where'd you go just now?" he asks, his eyes wicked.

"Just do your thing," I whisper.

He points to the wall to the right of him, "If the camera were over there," he grabs my ankle and throws my leg around his hips. "This would be a good pose to hide the fact that we weren't really having sex."

"But that's a boring angle," I argue.

"But far from a boring image," he says. As he pushes his hips forward, I feel how hard he already is. "When I push against you, arch your back and close your eyes. Pretend it's the best fuck of your life."

Blood pulses in my ears. The best fuck of my life... I've never had a best fuck of my life. All my experiences have been mediocre at best. How am I supposed to simulate this?

But then he thrusts his hips against me, and I forget that I'm simulating. I shut my eyes, a small moan escaping my lips.

"There you go." He thrusts again, and I can feel every inch of him rub against me, nothing separating us but the thin fabric of our underwear.

"Oh, god," I murmur.

He lowers his lips to my ear. "Relax," he whispers, grinding into me again. My hands find their way to his back, nails slowly dragging across his skin. His breath hitches.

My eyes flutter open, and I realize that his face is right above mine. I could raise my head and catch his lips if I wanted to. I could reach back and unsnap my bra or drag the fabric of my panties to the side and order him to stop teasing me, because that's all this really is. Teasing.

But then that would make me the other woman. The whore.

"You should take a shower," I say.

He swallows and nods, but says nothing, rolling from me and leaving the bed. When the door to the joining bathroom shuts, I exhale.

Holy Mother of God.

I've never wanted someone so badly in my life. And I've never wanted someone that I couldn't have.

When he returns to the room, I pretend to be asleep, though I can't be fooling him. But he doesn't call for me. Instead, he slides into bed, shirtless and smelling of soap, and I wonder what his skin feels like fresh out of the shower.

What it tastes like.

After a vegan breakfast of carob chip pancakes and maple syrup, Mom won't let me go. In the doorway, she clings to me tightly and says, "You're amazing, Evan. You know that, right? I haven't been able to help you at all and yet here you are, managing your money perfectly, getting scholarships, not even in debt."

I cringe. Managing my money perfectly? More like managing my lies perfectly. Scholarships are my excuse for staying afloat, when in reality the only aid I've received for school is one measly state grant. _East Park Exposed_ is my savior. And I hope Mom never finds out. That would be an awkward dinner conversation.

"Are you sure you don't need money?" I ask softly.

"Evan!" She finally pulls back. "Don't you ever offer again. I mean it. I'm perfectly fine. The new place suits me. I really like my new neighbors."

She's lying through her teeth. It must run in the family.

"Alright." I kiss her on the cheek. "Love you."

As Dallas and I pull away from Mom's unit, I wonder if her answer to the money question would be the same if she knew I had over thirty grand saved up. If not telling her—if letting her live here thinking that I'm barely scraping by—makes me a terrible daughter.
16

# Dallas

Evan says nothing about last night on our way back to the studio. Even worse, she keeps yammering on about the most mundane shit ever—biology. The thing is, Evan doesn't yammer, so I can only assume that this is some kind of coping mechanism to avoid awkward conversation.

I should have never _practiced_ posing with her last night. I got ahead of myself. But even if I told Tricia, she would probably just brush it off and tell me that practicing with Evan is just part of the job. That's why I have to be even more careful. The only person who can hold me accountable is myself.

Which is becoming harder to do. The more Evan blabs on about this article she read on the internet about mutating genes in kittens, the more I want to order her to pull the car over, push her against the window, and shut her up with my mouth.

My fantasies are getting out of control.

Luckily, I don't have to listen to any more biology crap when we roll up to the studio. The cul-de-sac is packed with cars. Evan opens the front door and we enter a space buzzing with models, makeup artists, writers, and photographers. Britain runs up to us, her eyes bright with excitement.

"The numbers are already rolling in for e-issues. _Huffington Post_ mentioned my blog interview in an article today. Can you believe that? The Huffington-fucking-Post."

"The _Huffington Post_ covers porn?" I say dumbly.

"Apparently renovating the issues to be more gender-inclusive and reach a wider market caught their attention. And it did. I mean, it worked." She's babbling a million miles a minute and is almost as bad as Evan was in the car. "Our agenda worked, too. Have you been looking at the website?"

"No, I haven't been looking at the website," Evan says with a huff. "We literally just got back from my mom's."

"Well, fuck you. Wait." Britain raises an eyebrow. "We, as in _both of you_ , just got back from your mom's?"

"Long story," I answer. "You were saying?"

"Right. Well, our feedback on the issue over all realms of social media is positive. Almost everyone wants more."

"More what?" Evan asks.

"More sexual tension. And more skin." Britain waggles her eyebrows and Evan rolls her eyes. But her eye rolling is a poor mask. She looks nervous.

"I hope the two of you are ready. We're gonna promote the hell out of the second issue in the series. I want to shoot today if that's cool with the two of you. Can you be in hair and makeup in five? And it doesn't matter what you wear." She winks and saunters away before either of us can respond.

Evan sighs loudly and pushes back her chocolate hair. I grasp her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. "Hey. You okay?"

She performs the adorable gesture of pushing up the middle of her glasses with her finger. She's not wearing makeup, just like how she was last night. Arching beneath me. A guttural moan escaping her throat. I blink the image away before I get hard.

"Peachy," she says with a weak grin.

"If I ever do anything to make you uncomfortable, in front of the camera or not, you'd tell me, right?"

She blinks slowly before saying, "You're not the problem, Dallas."

I have no idea what she means, but I'm quickly distracted by the giggling coming from the corner of the room. A gaggle of models are watching us. A gorgeous blonde smiles at me and winks. She holds up a printed version of the current issue of EPE.

Evan rests her hand on my arm. She's looking over at the girls with disdain. Is she being protective of me?

"You want to look at the issue?" I ask her.

"Hell no," she replies quickly. "Especially not the shoot with you. I wish Britain would stop with the small print runs. It's easier when all of this is digital. Feels less real." In the same breath, she says, "I need to get my makeup done."

Evan stalks away.

I walk up to the blonde and her friends. All of them are dressed in bikinis or lingerie. "Can I borrow that?" I ask.

She pops her hip. "Sure." She hands me the magazine and bats her eyelashes. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I would pay money to shoot with you. Maybe we could do a private session later?"

Oh, _give me a break_.

"I can't tell if you're being literal, or if, by private session, you're hitting on me. I'm a science dork. I'm not that great with reading women."

She and her posse laugh. "You silly boy." She leans in and whispers, her hot breath tickling my ear. "I meant that, later tonight, I'd like to get you alone and fuck your brains out." She takes a step back. "Offer's on the table."

What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I not feel turned on at all by this beautiful girl offering herself to me? "Sorry," I tell her. "I have a girlfriend."

She sneers. "Rylan?"

"No, actually. But Rylan is a friend. Look, I gotta..."

"Pretty-boy!" Someone hollers from across the room. On instinct I turn. A pissed, goth-looking girl is glaring right at me. "You done flirting?"

I don't argue, using this as an excuse to dodge any more advances from blondie.

When the makeup artist and I are alone in the dressing room, she orders me to sit. "Luckily, because you have balls, I don't have to do a lot to you," she says as she mixes two neutral colors together. "You wouldn't believe the shit these girls have to put on day after day before they shoot."

I open the magazine I'm still holding, landing on a page of the office shoot. I'm standing over Evan, cupping her ass. At least she _looks_ like she's having a good time. I quickly close it again. Now I know why Evan never looks at issues. I looked... well, I looked creepy. I have no idea how women find this professor-student role-play stuff attractive.

Granted, it was fun as hell to shoot.

I glance over at the artist's makeup kit as she starts wiping stuff on my face. It reads NORA. "Nora, why do the models hate Rylan?"

She chuckles. "Why do you ask?"

I shrug.

"Not all of them do. Delilah loves Evan."

I notice her use of Evan's real name. "So are the temp models just jealous of her?"

Nora shakes her head. "I don't think it's that. If you haven't noticed, Evan has a fuck-it-all attitude that makes her come off as nonchalant. Like she doesn't care about modeling and just does it for the money. And to be honest, it's the truth. She's gorgeous and knows how to work the camera and uses it to her advantage. The other girls see that she doesn't really want it. They hate her for it."

I think about this as Britain drives me over to the abandoned gym where we're going to be shooting today.

"Evan said that she wanted to go over with the scouts and get ready at the site," she explains. "I guess she's hoping to get in character before you arrive."

I study her. "Why do you look so smug?"

She obviously tries to play it cool as we pull into the parking lot. "It's just funny to me."

"Yeah, a lot of things are funny to me, too."

"How you guys are both totally into each other, and to hide it, you're playing up the whole _coworker_ thing."

What right does Britain think she has to make these assumptions? "I have a girlfriend, how many times do I have to—"

"Dallas." She opens her door and slides out of the car. "Now is the time to acknowledge your feelings for Evan before you do something stupid. Yeah?" She slams the door.

I get out of the car to follow her and ask her what the fuck she means by _before I do something stupid_ , but she's walking way too fast, probably because she doesn't want my confrontation. By the time I start jogging to her, we're already inside, rounding the bend to the women's locker room and showers.

Evan sits on top of one of the low shower walls as the scouting team sets up the surrounding lighting. She's soaking wet and topless.

Completely topless.

"Hurry up, you're late," Evan says. Water drips over her chest. I can tell from here that her pink nipples couldn't be harder.

Waiting.

She's waiting for me.

Last night, I was the deviant. But today, I'm putty in her hands.

Britain snorts. "Go on. Go join your _coworker_."
17

# Evan

Dallas isn't leaving. He's now a permanent member of EPE.

And the only way I can deal with him is by giving in completely. To treat him as a sex object on set. To fully get used to him.

Plus, dumbfounded looks like the one he's giving me now are _priceless_.

"You heard the lady," Britain says, shaking her head at me. She looks very entertained. Very. "Hurry up and strip."

"Wait. All the way?" Dallas stutters. I love seeing him caught off guard like this.

"Unless you have a problem with that," Britain says bluntly, squatting and unzipping her camera case.

"No, I don't. Have a problem. I'm fine."

Britain and I exchange looks, and I smirk, sliding down from the wall. The shower head is old, so when I turn it on again, the stream fans in a lighter spray instead of a jet. Luckily for shooting, it catches the light perfectly.

I gasp as the cold splashes against me, quickly turning the gauge to hot. Dallas looks confused. Which I'm pretty sure has to do with my tits. My tits are befuddling him. Poor guy. At least he's got his shirt off. Stacked abs on top of those jeans just waiting to get wet....

"Actually, Brit," I walk toward Dallas. "I think the jeans might work for this shoot. You said you want me more vulnerable than him anyway, right?" As I speak, I keep my eyes glued to Dallas's. Slowly, the fierceness that existed in his eyes last night returns, and he lowers his head. "What am I going to do with you?" he murmurs so only I can hear.

"Faux fuck me up against the shower wall," I return quietly. "Just like how we practiced."

"You two love birds ready?" Britain calls. "Let's get this party started."

She doesn't have to direct us at all. Dallas has regained his ferocity. He pushes on my shoulders until I stumble back through the stream. I gasp as my back hits the cold tile of the shower wall. His hands are clenching my thighs before I've even regained my balance, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist. Britain is dancing around us in an attempt to not get her camera wet, but this is the last time any of my focus rests on her.

Dallas's hair is getting soaked. Water drips from his nose, his lips. I want to taste him, but for some reason, a kiss seems more intimate than what we are doing now.

A kiss on the lips seems real.

He doesn't let me debate for long, lowering his head to my shoulder and licking the water from my skin. One hand snakes between us and finds my breast. His finger circles my nipple until it's painfully hard, and then, when I don't think feeling any more pleasure in that area of my body is possible, he pinches and tugs.

My head rolls back and I murmur a curse in ecstasy. _Real_ ecstasy.

We repeat these moves for fifteen minutes or so before Britain finally calls it quits. Catching my breath, I wait for Dallas to let me down. But before he does, he dips his head, tongue darting out and swirling around my nipple.

I release a surprised moan.

As quick as it began, it's over. My feet hit the ground, my body pressed tightly against his. His doesn't step backward when I tilt my head up, our quick breaths mingling, his deviant eyes hooded. He knows that he licked me when the camera was off.

He did it because he wanted to, not for the shoot.

"I want you so badly," I whisper.

It takes me about half a second before I realize what I uttered out loud.

I push away from him and hurry around the corner, slipping into the restroom section of the locker room. Shutting myself inside the nearest stall, I wrap my arms around my body and shiver away this feeling.

This feeling that Dallas Whitley isn't just a sex object to me.

That he can never be.
18

# Dallas

I finally get why public disguises are so important to Evan. Unfortunately for me, I'm a guy and not super capable of dressing down in order to hide my slutty EPE image. Which makes being at school really. Fucking. Awkward.

The worst was when a freshman girl wanted an autograph as I was on my way to the grad office, pulling the latest issue of EPE out and waving it around like it was nothing more than an issue of _Seventeen_. She folded open the pages to Evan sitting on the desk, her bare legs tangled around my waist.

"Yeah, I can't do this," I said out loud, handing the magazine back to her.

But the five seconds of fame aren't over. The office is worse.

"Nice power-play, Whitley," Brad drawls. I look up from the research report I'm typing up to see his toothy-fucking-grin. He flashes his EPE copy.

Dammit Britain, how big are your print runs?

"Is this how you win over all your women?"

I slam my laptop shut and slide it into the sleeve, needing to get out of here before someone loses an eye.

"Come on, bro. I'm messing around."

I can't even see straight through all my rage, let alone respond. When I'm out of the office and hurrying to my car, I realize I don't even know why I'm so pissed off. This is what the shoot was designed to do, wasn't it? Show off my power-play over Rylan Willow. Derogatory thoughts from bastards like Brad are a typical reaction.

The stares from people I pass are enough to drive me crazy. I really thought I had little shame. I thought that the effects of posing for EPE wouldn't bother me so much.

When I get into my car and shut the door, I exhale. Maybe it's because, when people ask for my autograph, when they stare at me, when they make stupid remarks, I imagine Evan having to deal with the same thing. Evan, who's trying desperately to hide her Rylan side every second she's outside the studio.

I haven't spoken to her in four days—not since the shower. We're supposed to shoot again tomorrow. Britain wants a variety of images to choose from for the series, so she wants to shoot as much as possible over the next few weeks. I want to continue becoming more comfortable with Evan, but that's kind of impossible with the way she's avoiding me.

When I handed back her test during bio lecture, she wouldn't even look at me. I don't know if she's making sure that no one who sees us interact puts two and two together, or if this has something to do with what she said back at the showers.

_I want you so badly._

Those were the last words she uttered to me, and now she refuses to look at me, even when I pass her in the halls.

Maybe she feels guilty. Maybe it's my fault, because of what I did with her when she was wet and clinging to me. With her beautiful tits right in my face.

I needed to lick her. And it made her want me.

But the way she acts toward me now is like she despises me. Along with the reactions from people on campus, I'm starting to hate being an EPE model. Even if Britain is promising me a huge paycheck.

I'm not under contract. Technically, I could quit.

No, I can't. I need this money. And something else inside me really doesn't want to disappoint Britain.

I get home and Tricia has packed her bags. Two weeks in Seattle to work with one of her clients—a corporate office she's doing web work for.

"Don't get too naughty while I'm gone," she says with a wry smile, kissing me on the mouth. "Saw the latest EPE issue. Damn, boy. Makes me want to jump you for a quickie right here."

Well, that's a first.

"It doesn't make you uncomfortable?"

She shrugs. "Why would it? She's just some meaningless model."

Right. Meaningless model.

Glancing out the window, she says, "My cab's here," and kisses me again. "Love you. I'll call when I get to Seattle."

And before I can say goodbye, she's out the door.

Two weeks without Tricia. I wish I could say that this is some kind of victory, but being by myself in this apartment gets lonely. Even if she's always working while she's here, at least she's a presence.

I text Evan before heading to the gym to ask if she's okay. I guess it's the least I can do considering I haven't talked to her in a week and she's refusing to make eye contact with me at school. But after two hours of weights and cardio, she still hasn't responded. At home, I order in Chinese food and study. I call her. No response.

I decide not to heckle her. If, for some reason, I've pissed her off, she's going to have to deal with me tomorrow.

Britain wants to shoot outdoors today. Some ultra-sexy picnic shoot, she says. When I arrive at the studio, she's out by the pool with Adam and Delilah. Correction, she's _in_ the pool with Adam and Delilah, who are naked and treading in the deep end. Dressed in a bikini and standing in the shallow end, Britain holds her camera that's been boxed in by waterproof equipment.

"Sizzling underwater aerobics," Britain tells me when I take a seat on one of the pool chairs and watch.

Delilah is giggling, pushing down on Adam's shoulders to dunk him beneath the surface. Flirting.

It's normal for hot, naked models to flirt with each other.

"Okay, okay, stop screwing around. On my count in three, two, one."

Britain, Delilah, and Adam sink below the surface at the same time. I can't really tell what they're doing underwater. It's probably some rendition of what Britain said—sizzling underwater aerobics. No props other than their skin.

I'm jealous that Adam and Delilah have advanced to this while Evan and I are messing around wearing articles of clothing. Why? Because Britain wants to play up the image of Rylan being this slowly tainted virginal character.

When the three of them emerge again, Britain wipes the water from her eyes and turns to me. "You can get into makeup. Rylan should be there."

Great.

Will it be awkward seeing her? She's acting like she's pissed at me, and I don't even know why.

Making my way back to the studio, I stop in my tracks. I think back to the showers, when I couldn't contain myself anymore. When, after I knew Britain had stopped shooting, I leaned forward and tasted her.

And she told me how badly she wanted me.

Is she _only_ avoiding me because she's sexually frustrated?

She suggested it even more blatantly during the office shoot— _You're so lucky you aren't single right now. I'd_ make _you get me off._

Like that makes me lucky. I _don't_ get to make a beautiful model come, instead receiving the wrath of her sexual frustration.

Yay for me.

Still, it's not enough for her to ignore me, especially after texting her and calling her to see if she was okay.

I walk into the makeup room. She's dressed in a white bathrobe and hunched over the counter, staring at herself in the mirror. I can't tell if it's the lighting, but she looks pale. She glares at me for a split second before her eyes revert to her own face.

"Great to see you too." I say.

She does something I'm totally not expecting. She looks up and blinks. And then her face scrunches up and she starts to cry.

"I'm sorry." She covers her mouth with her hands to stifle a sob. "I can't—I can't do this today."

She runs past me and out of the room, the door slamming shut. And I'm left alone and feeling like a dick. I'm wondering if I should go after her or if that will make things worse when Britain walks in, camera in hand and a towel wrapped around her waist.

I stand. "Did you see Ev—"

She holds her hand out. "Take a seat, hot stuff."

I listen to her, confused.

She walks toward the counter and sets her camera down. "Evan's having a rough time. We're gonna cancel the shoot today."

"What'd I do?" I ask.

She furrows her eyebrows. "You? Well, nothing. I don't think."

"Wait, what?"

"Evan. She can't shoot today."

"Why?"

"She didn't get into Berkeley."

I gape at her. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Evan didn't get into Berkeley?"

"That's impossible."

Britain shrugs. "She got the letter yesterday."

Yesterday—probably right around the time I texted her asking if she was okay. She was anything but okay.

"Said she could handle the shoot today," she continues. "She acted fine last night."

Fine. If I've learned one thing about Evan, she can internalize everything if she wants to. Hell, she internalizes an entire side of herself every time she walks on campus—every time she's with her mom.

"So, we're not shooting today?" I ask.

"I don't think we can," Britain says.

"Great," I say, and head for the door. "I have shit to do."
19

# Evan

"You gotta come out sooner or later," Delilah hollers from outside my door. "Come on, Evan. I want to show you my shoot from today. I'm really proud of it."

After my shower, I pulled on sweats and burrowed myself beneath my covers. I plan on staying like this for the next seventy-two hours or so.

"Try back in three days," I tell her.

"Evan...."

I don't respond to her whining, and she doesn't try again.

My life is over. Four years believing that I was destined to get into UC Berkeley—four years working my ass off—for nothing. Without it, I'm nothing more than an undergraduate degree and a stack of erotic magazines.

If I didn't get into Berkeley, who's to say that I'll get into anywhere else I applied for? Who's to say that I'll, at the very least, make it into East Park's program? If I don't make it into East Park's program, then I can't even be an EPE model.

I'm done for. Everything I'm good at will be gone. I can't do shit with a bachelor's in Biology.

I might as well try and get into the porn industry.

Someone knocks on the door. Again.

"Go the fuck away."

"Evan," Dallas calls. "Open up."

What the hell is he doing here? "Especially you. Go away."

"You could make this easy or I could climb through your bedroom window."

"You couldn't."

" _Try me_."

"Fuck off," I say, shutting my eyes tight. Maybe he's like a monster under the bed. If I pretend he isn't here, he'll just go away.

I fall asleep. I don't know for how long, but when I wake up, it's dark. My mouth is dry and I really have to pee. I slide out of bed and trudge across the room, opening the door.

Dallas sits before me with his back against the hallway wall. In his lap, he holds a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. "I had to put the beer in the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer because you were being such a stubborn bitch," he says.

I burst into tears.

The spoon that Dallas brought from the kitchen is, I swear to god, the size of my face. Both of us sit cross-legged on top of my bed. I let him use the spoon for the ice cream because I'm dipping Cheetos straight into the melty goodness and chasing it with beer.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life," he says.

"You say that when you've been vegan for five months straight with no cheating," I counter.

He laughs, a noise I can't help but love. "Touché."

"I'm going to need to shit all of my insides out in about fifteen minutes." I dip another Cheeto into the pint of ice cream.

"Christ, Evan."

"That statement too unlady-like for you?"

"Totally turns me on. I'm getting a _huge_ boner just thinking about it."

"I can tell from that _massive_ bulge in your pants."

"Having a battle of sarcasm with someone as stubborn as I am is the most fun I've had in _years_."

I can't help it—I crack a smile.

Then his face falls serious, and not the sarcastic kind of serious either. "This isn't the end of the world, you know."

I shake my head. "You don't get it."

"I do get it," he says. "East Park wasn't my first choice. I mean, it's not a bad school. And I still have my PhD. What I'm trying to say is that you have options, Evan. Tons of them."

"If posing for _Hot Skanks R Us_ is what you call options."

He narrows his eyes. "How many schools have you heard back from?"

"Berkeley. It's enough."

"What about Harvard?"

"HA. HA," I say obnoxiously.

"You applied, right?" he asks. "You'd be an idiot if you didn't. It has the best biochem program in the nation."

I take a huge gulp of my IPA. Somehow, Dallas knew my favorite brand. I haven't had beer in what feels like ages, and it's the best thing I've ever tasted.

I snap back to attention. "Of course I applied to Harvard. As a joke. I'm not even counting it as a real application."

"Well, you should." He twirls a Cheeto between his fingers. "I've graded enough of your work to know that you're destined for grad school. So what, you didn't get into Berkeley. You're brilliant and beautiful and healthy. You can't have a perfect life, Evan. That wouldn't be fair for the rest of us."

I grin. "Well thanks for making me feel like a dick."

"You're welcome. And to knock you down a few more pegs, all of that crying has given you sad raccoon eyes."

Damn mascara. Won't come off with a shower, but so help me if I cry a little....

"Raccoon eyes are totally in fashion," I say. "I'm going to sport them for the next shoot."

"Yeah, sure," he says, reaching forward. His knuckles brush against the side of my face, and my heart flutters in my chest. He opens his hand to rest his palm against my cheek, and I willingly lean into it. The pad of his thumb brushes beneath my eye, which starts to burn.

"Fuck, Dallas." I squint. "Cheeto dust."

"Oh, _shit_." He hops off the bed. "Fuck. Shit, fuck. Are you okay? Wait here."

Before I can argue, he has already bolted out of the room. All I have to do is blink a few times and rub at my eye with my clean hand and the burning stops, but by that time, Dallas has already returned carrying a wet towel. He hops on the bed again and scoots close, cupping the back of my neck and gently pressing the towel to my eye.

I giggle. "Stop it. I'm fine, I swear."

"Shut up and let me play Prince Charming, okay?"

He dabs the towel to my eye a few more times and puts it down. When my vision focuses, I notice how close he is. Close enough for me to study every curve of his beautifully-sculpted lips. I bite my own, waiting for him to pull away. But he doesn't. He just waits stoically, his breath against my skin, icy eyes penetrating mine.

Britain clears her throat.

I jump back from Dallas and turn toward where she stands in the doorway. Her arms are crossed, an eyebrow raised. "I take it you're ready for tomorrow, then?" she asks me. "Not going to hide in your dark cave for the rest of the week?"

I open my mouth, but not before Dallas responds, "She's ready." I glance at him and he winks at me.

"Good, because you guys aren't shooting tomorrow." She breaks into a grin.

I cock my head. "Not following."

"I just got off the phone with A.J. Harrison, CEO of Amora Acquisitions. He wants to take us out to dinner tomorrow night."

My mouth drops. "Holy shit."

"I'm lost," Dallas says.

"Amora Acquisitions is a small branch of the CHLOE media conglomerate. They've been buying up school-run erotica magazines across the country," I explain. "If they're interested in us..."

"It means we'd go national," Britain continues. "It means that your modeling careers would be set in stone, and you'd have more money than you knew what to do with."
20

# Dallas

A half-hour before the big dinner, I'm on the phone with Tricia. I just broke the news to her.

"Oh, babe, that sounds _amazing_!" she squeals. "This could be huge for us. We could put a down payment on a house!"

I smile. Settling down is what both of us have always wanted. We'd be stable. Happy.

Happy. Tricia and I would be together and happy. And that's all I really need from life, right?

I straighten my tie in the mirror, hearing the voice of a man in the background.

"Listen, Dallas, I'm about to start a meeting with my client. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Love yah."

"Love you, Trish."

She hangs up.

I put down the phone and inhale deeply, staring at myself in the mirror. My stomach clenches. It isn't the dinner that's making me nervous. I've made great first impressions. It's Britain's text I received an hour ago.

**Listen, I know you have a gf, but A.J.'s gonna want to see chemistry between you and Evan. So act like you're together. That cool?**

**Not a problem** , I texted back, because at that moment, I thought playing it up for A.J. would be the same as playing it up for the camera. A charade.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize how fluid tonight's charade will have to be. I'm not worried because I can't do it.

I can do it too well. I _want_ to.

I brush the thought away when there's a knock on the door. I throw my jacket over my shoulder and head out into the living room. I open the door, suddenly face-to-face with Evan. My eyes start at the ground—her stiletto heels—and slowly rise up her bare legs. Her black lace minidress hugs every curve of her. Her hair is twisted up, eye makeup dark and dangerously enticing, just like the rest of her.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi."

"You ready?"

I nod, and she turns to walk toward the car, her hips swaying with every step. Her dress is backless, and I wonder what it'd be like to have her face-down beneath me as I licked all the way up her spine.

Calm the _fuck_ down, Dallas.

Britain waits for us in a white Escalade, a rental she got washed and waxed. It's like she is trying to make us look as important as possible. Andrea sits in the passenger seat, so I slide in back with Evan.

Britain doesn't say hi but instead goes straight into the list of rules she's made up for us. "Okay, so remember, do your best to act like a couple, or at least act like you're not afraid to be intimate with each other wherever you are. Be polite, chew with your mouth closed, and for the love of God, please don't embarrass me."

"Yes, ma'am."

I glance at Evan. She looks how I feel—nervous. Not very talkative either. Doesn't say a single word the entire ride which drives me crazy. I wish she'd crack a stupid joke. I wish she'd say anything.

We pull into the parking lot at Blue Water Bistro, which is by far the best steakhouse on this side of town. Britain and Andrea get out of the car. Evan opens her door, but I slide across the seat, reaching over her lap and pulling her to me.

"What the hell, Dallas."

I push against her shoulder until her back is flat against the seat.

"We're supposed to be acting like a couple."

Her smoky eyes widen. "Okay. So let's act like a couple."

"Don't be evasive, then."

"Don't lecture me."

"Jesus, have you been single for so long that you've forgotten how to act on a date?"

Her lip pulls up in a sneer. "I know how to date, asshole."

_Someone's_ a bit sensitive. "Good, because we're going to have to speed this process up a bit."

"What the hell does that mean?"

I lean in and press my lips against hers.
21

# Evan

Dallas is kissing me.

_Really_ kissing me.

Not some sloppy, exhibitionist kiss we might have to do for EPE one day. A real kiss. A chaste, Disney kiss. His lips are soft and warm and I let out a whimper because I can't help it. I part my lips, hoping he'll take the hint. But instead he pulls away. "You ready?" he asks huskily.

"Y-yes," I stutter. My entire body is shaking.

He pushes the door open and steps out, his eyes locked on me the entire time. I grab my clutch and take his hand. He helps me out, his fingers running up my bare back. He has to notice the goosebumps flaring over my skin. I lean into him as we quicken our pace to catch up with Britain and Andrea. Adam and Delilah join us from Adam's parked BMW, Delilah stunning in her slinky red dress.

"I love this," I tell her, reaching out and touching the fabric. "I've never seen it before."

"That's because I went shopping without you," she says bitterly, pulling away.

I clap my hand over my mouth. She texted me earlier today when she was at school and asked if I wanted to come shopping with her. I got caught up in work and never responded. "I totally forgot."

"Yeah, yeah," she says as we walk inside.

She's mad, and I know I need to make it up to her. Before I can think of how, the ambience of the restaurant distracts me.

The décor is modern, large parties seated in oval booths at the back. Three people are already sitting at our table. I can safely assume the older man with lighter hair is A.J. He slides from the booth and stands, smiling.

"Welcome, welcome," he says, extending his hand toward Britain, who leads us. "You must be Britain."

Britain introduces each of us to Mr. Harrison, and he shakes everyone's hand.

"I recognize all of you from the magazine," he says as he takes my hand, cunning eyes lingering on me for a second too long before he moves to Dallas. "Ah, yes. The two power couples. I'm glad you brought them with you, Britain. Please, take a seat."

Dallas and I sit at the edge of the booth. A.J. introduces the man and woman as his CFO and producer. They smile but say nothing, tablets in front of them as they type away. They must be A.J.'s note-takers for the evening.

Conversation doesn't really begin until our water glasses are full and we've all ordered. I try the most vegetable-heavy item on the menu, and Dallas whispers, "You would."

I grin. His fingers find the base of my neck, gently pressing into my skin as he massages my spine. I try my damnedest to keep my eyes open as he continues his ministrations, attempting to focus on the conversation at hand. I wonder if he intimately touches Tricia like this when they're having a night out.

Adam and Delilah are pretty good at playing couple, too. Adam brushes Delilah's curtain of hair back, whispering in her ear. Her eyes widen, and she blushes.

Britain and A.J. are conversing on the other side of the table. It's hard to concentrate on what they're saying with Dallas touching me the way he is. Britain slides over a manila folder. When A.J. flips it open, I see a brief flash of our prints from the shower shoot, and then beneath them, Delilah's and Adam's underwater shoot. My attention is really caught when Andrea begins to explain the story line that she has created for both the couples, beginning with Adam's and Delilah's—two young friends-with-benefits on a sex-in-strange-places mission. And then mine and Dallas's—Rylan Willow's deflowering by her young, sexy professor.

Of all the people at this table, A.J. points his finger at _me_. "I'm quite intrigued by you, Miss Willow."

Dallas lowers the hand massaging my neck and rests it on my thigh.

I smile politely. "Is that so?"

He raises his wine glass, and says before taking a sip, "The last issue had me wondering if Britain here was hanging death threats over your head to get you to shoot. You played victim so well."

In the middle of drinking from his water glass, Dallas chokes. Adam does a poor job at hiding his laughter.

"Ah," A.J. says. "I see what's going on here. Maybe I should be directing this question toward your gentleman. You and Mr. Whitley seem to be quite friendly outside the studio. Am I correct with that assumption?" His eyes flicker to Dallas.

By the grace of God, the waiter walks by. I motion her to lean close. "Double vodka tonic, stat," I whisper, returning my attention to A.J.

"You don't have to direct your queries toward Dallas." I manage a stiff grin. "I'm perfectly capable of answering."

Britain's eyes widen. She has a stunningly accurate Evan Snark Meter inside her brain.

A.J. raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Rylan?"

"I've perfected a naïve victim persona simply because I can be whoever you want me to be. I'm a model, Mr. Harrison, not a captive virgin. I'm sure you understand. Dallas here does."

I feel Dallas stiffen next to me. I keep my eyes hooded and locked on A.J.

A.J. chuckles. "Very well then, Miss Willow."

My drink arrives. I down half of it in one gulp. "And as for Dallas," I begin, my own hand resting on the inside of his thigh. "A lady never reveals her battle strategy for bedding a gentleman."

Delilah gasps, and Britain shoots me a thumbs up beneath the table.

"Your wit is seducing me," says A.J. with a wink. "Very well. I'll just have to add that factor in when I'm considering the acquisition."

Two double vodka tonics later, I really can't follow the conversation at all. Dallas's hand has, over the course of the evening, crawled higher and higher up my thigh. This, along with the alcohol, has left me in no mood for concentrating on the serious business talk. The only fact I bring away from the table, other than the food being amazing, is that this storyline series with me, Dallas, Delilah, and Adam will last five issues. By that time, Mr. Harrison will have an answer for us one way or another.

We stand to leave. "I really look forward to seeing how these _stories_ play out," he says, winking at me again.

Does he know that's creepy? Because it's totally creepy. Or maybe that's just my buzzed brain talking.

I cling to Dallas for dear life just to make it out to the parking lot. Vodka and stilettos don't mix well. He asks me how many I've had.

"Oh, for the love of God," I respond. "I'm not that drunk. You try taking shots and walking in these shoes and see how well you do."

He chuckles deeply, sending a shiver racing up my spine. "Alright, alright."

As we pile into Britain's car, I catch her babbling about setting up the rest of the series. "We haven't even printed the second issue yet, so you guys are ahead of schedule. Let's keep it that way. We still have the pool shoot and the shower shoot to use, and of course the last shoot will be bedding Rylan, so we're just missing one." She starts the engine, then quickly shuts the car off again.

"What is it?" Andrea asks.

"Here," Britain says, turning back to Dallas and me with a huge grin on her face. "We'll do the shoot here."

_"Here?"_ I cry.

"Yup," she responds. "Here. Andrea, grab my camera case. It's in the back."

"But..." I try to think up an excuse as Andrea gets out of the car and opens the back. "We don't have a story."

"Rylan and her professor are at a department mixer. He seduces her in the back of his car upon leaving. Bam. Story. Go."

"That works!" Andrea yells.

"But my hair and makeup isn't right. It's not typical Rylan."

"What is your deal? You need to relax about this whole people-recognizing-you thing."

Dallas puts his arm around my shoulder as Andrea returns with the case. I lock onto his concerned gaze.

"It's not that," I say meekly. "I'm just caught off guard. I need a few moments to—you know—get in character."

"Let me help," Dallas says throatily, lowering his head. His lips catch my neck, and I release a gasp.

"Yes, please get her in the mood so we can shoot this thing before a security guard comes around," I hear Britain say. "That would be awkward." She directs Andrea to hold up the mobile lighting at an angle.

Dallas's tongue darts out and swipes at my throat. The crook of his finger finds my jaw, and he forces me to look at those stunning eyes of his, rendering me utterly useless.

"What do you want me to do to her?" he asks Britain without freeing me from his grip.

"Slide your hand beneath her dress so it looks like you're fingering her. And kiss her."

I hold my breath as I wait for him to position me. He pushes me against the corner of the car door and the seat. "Spread your legs," he murmurs. I follow his orders, his hand slipping up the inside of my thigh. The alcohol pulsing through my veins heightens every sensation. I'm not expecting him to go as far as swiping his thumb along the crotch of my panties, so when I tense, he smirks and bends forward, lips brushing against my ear.

"You're wet," he whispers.

A strangled whimper escapes my throat. Is Britain directing us? I hear nothing over my own thrumming pulse and Dallas's hot breath.

"Forget about Britain," he urges me secretly, pushing my panties to the side. "Forget she's here. Pretend it's just you and me, Evan. Pretend this is real."

"Please," I whimper.

He drags his fingers all the way up my slit until the pad of his thumb brushes against my clit. He circles it slowly, capturing my gasp with his mouth. I part my lips for him, and this time, he accepts greedily, tongue flicking across my lower lip and delving to meet my own. He increases the pressure of his hand until I'm mewing softly into his mouth, my entire body on fire.

I don't know if Britain's instructing him, but I feel his free hand dance along the collar of my dress. He pulls the left sleeve all the way down until my breast is exposed. Cupping it, he roughly pinches my nipple, a powerful wave of ecstasy ripping through my body. I buck against his lower hand. A dark chuckle bubbles from his throat, and he pulls away from my mouth just long enough to whisper, "Patient," before kissing me again. He slides two fingers into my pussy, curling them upward as he increases the speed of his thumb against my clit.

Pressure begins to build deep inside of me. I murmur _please_ over and over against his lips, and it isn't until I'm on the brink of my release do I realize that I'm going to have an orgasm for the first time in front of a camera.

And for the first time because of a man.
22

# Dallas

When Evan comes, she hides it well. I only notice because I can feel it—her tight, wet pussy clenching around my fingers, the way she shudders and quietly whispers _"fuck"_ against my lips.

She contains herself and her eyes widen, suddenly aware of what just happened.

What I just did to her.

"Holy shit," Britain breathes. "That was intense. And now I'm really hot and bothered."

I keep my eyes on Evan as I remove my hand from her, wiping it on the inside of her thigh. If we were alone—if this were real—I'd lick her off my fingers.

But it's not real. And I was only supposed to simulate fingering her, because I have a girlfriend.

What the fuck have I done?

Evan sits up, her entire body still shaking. She tucks a wild strand of hair behind her ear and straightens out her dress.

I made her come.

Evan told me that she's never gotten off during sex. And if she wasn't lying, then I'm the first guy to make her come. I wasn't even fucking her. Her clothes never came off.

"We should go," I tell Britain.

"You got it, lover boy." Britain puts the cap back on her lens and hands the camera to Andrea, who continues to gape at Evan and me. "You want me to drop you off at home?"

"Please," I say, staring out the window and attempting to control my breathing. Britain pulls out of the parking spot and turns onto the highway.

_Trish doesn't care_.

The fact that I have to keep reminding myself of this isn't making the situation any better. I'm losing control. Every second I spend with Evan drags me closer to the edge of falling for her.

_Yeah right, you idiot. You've already fallen for her_.

I glance over at Evan. Her legs are crossed as she stares out the window, her body completely still. I can't help but wonder what she's thinking. If this is just a job to her—if coming at the hand of her coworker is only another day at work. Or if any part of her feels the same way about me as I do about her.

_It doesn't matter what she feels. You have a_ girlfriend.

I have to get away from Evan. Now.

Andrea's phone rings, and she picks up. "Evan, it's Delilah. She wants to go dancing. Want to come?"

"If there will be a bar," Evan says dryly, "count me in."

Britain scoffs. "We're close to home. What about your persona?"

"What about it?" Evan keeps her eyes glued to the window.

Britain says nothing in response.

"Dallas?" Andrea asks.

"Got homework," I answer briefly. Truth is, I don't have any homework. Truth is, I want nothing more than to grind up against Evan on a dark dance floor.

She is poison. She will ruin me.

Britain pulls up to my complex. "Thanks for everything, Dallas. One more shoot and you'll have the rest of the summer off. Should have your first paycheck tomorrow by the way, if you want to stop by the studio."

"Thanks." I open the door and look toward Evan. Her head is still turned away as she stares out the window.

She says nothing.

I shut the door, and Britain drives away.
23

# Evan

The bartender slides me my second tequila shot rimmed with salt and a lime wedge. Without a second's hesitation, I down it, slamming the glass on the counter and biting into the sour fruit.

My shoes are off and hiding by the door. The bass thrums to the pulsing array of lights. Andrea, Delilah, Britain, and Adam are somewhere on the dance floor, or so I think. When a hand presses against the small of my back, I start and spin around.

"Calm down, stranger." In the darkness, I can barely make out Adam's grin. "Just me."

I turn back to the bar to try and flag down service, my body warm and aching for more booze. "What's up?"

"I came over to join you. Looks like you need to let go of something."

I release a wry chuckle. "What could have possibly given that away?"

I finally catch the bartender's attention, and he slides me another shot. I throw it back.

"You want to talk about it before you drink yourself stupid?" he asks.

I scoff. "With you? Unlikely."

"It's Dallas, isn't it?" When I shake my head, he continues. "Come on, Rylan. It's obvious."

Rylan. I forgot that Adam doesn't know my real name. I'm just a façade of a girl to him.

I brush off my feelings for Dallas like they are nothing. "I _guess_ you could say I'm into him," I yell over the music. "Come on, Adam. My shoots make me sexually frustrated. That's all I am. I just want to fuck his brains out, and I can't because he has a motherfucking girlfriend."

"Is your mouth always this filthy, or is this the alcohol talking?"

"Fuck you, asshole."

He takes a step toward me, and I'm sandwiched between his hips and the bar. "Do you want to fuck Dallas because you find him particularly attractive, or just because he's _your_ model?"

My lips part, but I fumble for words. Is he coming on to me, or am I just drunk? I study his physique. Tan, broad, blond. "Are you like, a surfer or something?"

Oh my god, did I really just say that? Way to sound like the dumbest valley girl ever, Evan.

He grins, "Used to be. Why do you ask?"

"I'd just like to watch you ride a wave is all." Wow. Runaway mouth. At least I'm being honest.

"Do you want to dance with me or not?"

"Fuck it." Another shot from the bartender and I slam my third glass down. I hold out my hand, which he uses to pull me to the dance floor. God, I haven't danced in years. Maybe since prom, sadly enough. Evan doesn't dance. Evan sacrificed her freedom to get dolled up and go out a long time ago. Which was a stupid idea, considering how dark it is in this club. No one would recognize Rylan Willow in a place like this.

Adam pulls me to him, and I find a rhythm to the beat. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and soak in the sensation of him grinding against me, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and sex and cigarettes.

I want to lose myself.

I pull on his neck until he drops his head and I capture his lips with mine. When he breaks away, I ask him if he wants to get out of here.

Britain watches me from the bar as she gulps down water. She shrugs her shoulders, as if to ask where I'm going.

I wave goodbye to her and take Adam's hand.

We decide to take a cab to my place since Adam has to be at the studio tomorrow, anyway.

He shuts the door to my room and throws me on my bed. I don't even have time to react before he's on top of me, pulling my dress up and over my head and my panties to my ankles. The boy wastes no time, retrieving a condom from his pocket and stripping. He tears open the package and rolls it on, pries open my legs, and slams his cock into me.

I cry out and grip the headboard. Before he sets a steady pace, he bends forward and bites down on my nipple. I drown myself in the rough, thrilling pain of it, begging him to fuck me.

He flips me over, digs his fingers into the flesh of my ass, and complies.
24

# Dallas

I've already run six miles this morning and could run another ten. It's a healthy way to channel sexual frustration, but I decide to give myself a break and grab coffee after my shower. I text Britain to see if she's up so I can get my paycheck. She texts back and tells me to come over, so I get in my car and head to the studio.

"In here," she calls from the dressing room when I walk inside. She's sitting on the makeup counter, watching Delilah get her hair done.

"Good morning," I say, setting my coffee down.

Delilah glares at me.

I cock my head. "Bad morning?"

Before Delilah can respond, Britain holds out an envelope.

"Thanks," I say, taking it from her.

"Evan won't be up for a few hours," Britain says. Delilah scoffs.

"That's okay. I can study."

"Great." Britain holds up her finger. "Actually, before you do, you mind running an errand for me? We're out of hairspray, and there are a couple bottles in the bathroom next to the bedrooms. You know where that is, right?"

Evan's bedroom door is shut when I pass it. Ten o'clock and she's still out—I guess the club was fun. I shuffle through a bunch of girlie crap in the bathroom before finding a two pack of hairspray.

When I'm back in the hall, Evan's door opens, but she isn't the one to walk out. I freeze in my steps.

Adam yawns and pushes back his hair, turning my way. He spots me and nods, walking around me and into the bathroom.

What the _fuck_?

I creep to Evan's open door. She stands with her back to me wearing nothing but sleep shorts, pulling a tank top over her head and shaking out her hair. She turns around, her face falling to shock.

"Dallas?"

She fucked Adam. Evan _fucked_ Adam.

"What are you doing here?"

I hold up the hairspray. "Running an errand." Before she can respond, I bolt down the hall as fast I can because if I don't, I'm going to punch a hole in the wall.

_She's not yours to be angry over. She's not yours to be angry over._

_She fucked Adam._

I storm back into the dressing room and slam the hairsprays down on the counter. Britain jumps. She lifts one of the crumpled plastic bottles, liquid seeping from the cap. "Whoa there, Super Hulk. You were supposed to get the aerosol cans."

"The _what_?"

"Aerosol. You know, the hairspray in the metal cans?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Calm down."

"I'm not going back up there."

Her eyes widen. "Oh, shit. You saw..." her mouth snaps shut, and she nods rapidly before she says, "Why don't you go take a swim? It'll cool you down."

"Cool me down from _what_?"

"I'm your boss. Just do what I say and don't argue with me, okay?"

I growl and spin, punching open the dressing room door. I listen to Britain because I can't think of what else to do other than take another run. But I know running won't help.

_She fucked Adam_.

Maybe I should wait for him to shower and enter the studio, and then what? Start a fight with him—over Evan? I can't do that, because she isn't mine.

She isn't mine.

At the pool, I strip to my boxers. I don't know for how long I'm swimming laps, but when I finally rest at the edge of the pool, it's sprinkling.

I pick up my phone that's resting on the concrete. No missed calls from Tricia. No texts.

"I need her," I say out loud to the rain, because out loud is the only way I can convince myself that I really feel this way.

I need Evan Cosette.
25

# Evan

Adam acts like there is nothing different between us when I see him in the dressing room an hour after he left my bed.

Thank god.

Not that last night was a mistake, because it wasn't. I mean, it would have been nice if Adam had been courteous enough to get me off....

"You." Britain points to me and snaps her fingers. "My office. Now."

Britain looks pretty serious. The gossip must be juicy.

She ushers me out of the dressing room and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and locking it. She spins toward me, and to my surprise, looks pissed. "What the fuck were you thinking, sleeping with Adam?"

"I... _what_? Did you hear us or something?"

"Oh Christ, Evan. Everyone knows!" she spits.

I sit on the toilet. "I'm confused. Are you mad that I slept with a coworker? Because I don't remember us ever establishing that rule."

"No, you moron. This has to do with Delilah liking Adam."

My jaw drops. "Excuse me?"

"But you wouldn't know that, because you've been incredibly self-centered lately."

I stand. "What the _fuck_ , Brit? I'm sorry that wanting to get into a good grad school has made me self-centered. I can't be hanging out with you guys every freaking second."

She steps toward me, her face solemn. "Face the facts, Evan. You didn't know that one of your best friends had feelings for a guy you chose to sleep with, grad school or no grad school." And with that, she spins on her heel and leaves me alone in the bathroom.

I'm the biggest tool in the universe.

I had no idea that Delilah is into Adam, and he obviously doesn't either. I mean, how could he, with all the faux flirting and sexual tension?

How can he separate what's real and what isn't?

I think of Dallas.

No, Dallas is different. Dallas isn't single. I know that nothing between us is real. I know it.

_I know it._

Heading to the dressing room, I pass Delilah in the hall, who's all made up for today's shoot. She sneers at me and stomps away. I call her name, but she doesn't stop.

Dammit. Dammit, I fucked up.

I head to my own set—the bedroom. Today, it's made up with a frilly white and pink duvet, the walls decorated in posters of heart throbs and boy bands.

This is supposed to be Rylan's room. The sight of it makes me gag.

Dallas sits in the plush armchair in the corner of the room. He's wearing nothing but boxers. His arms are crossed as he glares at me.

I'm getting sick of seeing this look from everyone today.

"And what the hell is wrong with _you_?" I snarl.

"Oh, nothing, just that we were supposed to be shooting—" he looks at his bare wrist dramatically, "I don't know, an hour ago, but someone was too busy screwing all night that she couldn't get out of bed in time."

Heat rips through me, broiling my insides. "You know what, Dallas? You can go fuck yourself. My sex life is none of your business, and even if it were, it's _an hour_. If your day is so packed with interesting shit to do, then why don't you just leave?"

He jumps to his feet, hands balled into fists. For a second, he acts like he's actually going to listen before Britain enters the room and shuts the door.

Dallas opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but she cuts him off. "Okay, so today's shoot is going to be private for obvious reasons." She walks around the room and turns on the umbrella lighting, throwing a box of condoms on the nightstand.

Dallas nods toward the condoms and crosses his arms. "What are those for?"

"This shoot could get a little intense." Britain shrugs. "Adam and Delilah needed them."

"Of course, Adam needed one," Dallas spits.

"Go suck a dick, Dallas."

Britain snorts. "Okay, I don't want to guess what the hell is going on with you two, but are the both of you going to be able to manage this?"

Dallas glares at me, bright eyes boring into mine, and finally says, "I'm good."

I untie my bathrobe and let it fall to the floor. I'm wearing nothing but a lacy pink pushup bra and matching thong. Even in the heat of being pissed for whatever reason, Dallas's eyes still rake over my body. Thrill courses through me.

"Okay, then. Get on the bed."

The first part of the shoot is painful. Dallas moves like a robot and playing sexy with him is less fun than chewing on nails.

Britain can tell.

"Come the fuck on," she says, dropping her camera. "Can the two of you do this, or not? You're wasting my time."

I'm lying beneath Dallas. He's supposed to be licking up my body like he's done in _every other shoot_. But instead it's like he's dragging his face over my chest against his will.

I push him away and sit up. "I can't perform when he's not even _trying_ to turn me on."

Dallas crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. "You want _me_ to turn _you_ on?"

I shrug. "That's how this has always worked, Dallas."

"If you guys don't figure it out in thirty seconds, I'm calling it quits," Britain threatens.

"You think I'm supposed to magically conjure up a way to turn you on every time we work together?" he seethes through gritted teeth.

It's my turn to cross my arms. "Something like that."

Britain sighs. "Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen..."

"I've never fucked you before, Evan. I don't know what your kinks are."

"You're telling me that, after shooting with me for two months, you have absolutely no idea what turns me on? That's total bullshit."

"Six, five, four..."

The muscles in his jaw ripple, his eyes burning with what can only be loathing. For a second, I think it's over. We're going to have to come back to this a different time because for some reason, Dallas thinks he owns my every movement. He thinks he owns my—

He grabs my shoulders, pushing me down and over his lap. And then he smacks my ass.

Hard.

I scream, more out of surprise than pain. But it makes Britain drop her camera none-the-less.

"Jesus, Evan! Are you okay?"

I take a few deep, shaking breaths. "Y-yes. He just shocked me."

"Err... is _this_ okay?" she then asks.

Dallas gently kneads the area where he smacked, but says nothing. I can already feel wetness soaking the apex of my thighs. Soon, he's going to see it. He's going to _feel_ it.

"Just shoot the fucking pictures," I tell her.

Taking the cue, Dallas raises his hand and smacks me again, and again—every connection stinging more than the last until my ass is on fire. The fingers of his other hand twist through my hair. He massages me again and I groan in relief.

Bending forward, he whispers to me, "You are mine until this is over."

He smacks me again, the sharp crack filling the air. I cry out, balling the frilly fabric of the comforter in my fists.

He loops his finger beneath the band of my thong and tugs downward until it slides off my legs and onto the floor. He kneads my ass again, fingers sinking into the flesh of my abused cheek. I relax every tense muscle in my body, my head resting on the mattress, and allow my eyes to flutter shut. Not a single part of me is acting. Every emotion racing through me—all of them are real.

Dallas drags his fingers up the inside of my thigh, grazing the lips of my pussy, and he lowers his head to mine. "So fucking wet," he whispers. His hand slides back over my ass again and up my back, unhooking my bra. I lift my shoulders to shimmy out of it, and he flips me over, catching the hand towel that Britain tosses to him. It's supposed separate our bodies during our fake fuck.

I lie on my back. Dallas stands and drops his boxers, and I do my best to keep my jaw from dropping at my first glimpse of his erection. He drapes the cloth over my hips, and I gasp as he drags me to the edge of the bed.

His expression is furious and lustful and gorgeous.

He grasps my knees and pulls my legs apart, situating himself in between them. "Just like at your mom's place."

_"What?"_ Britain cries.

He glances at her. "Hey, you over there with the camera—don't ruin the moment."

I giggle and his eyes fall to me again—sea foam on fire. "Just like we practiced," he rumbles, and rocks forward.

I lift my hands over my head and arch my back, my lips parting in ecstasy.

"Fucking perfect," Britain says. "Don't move."

We remain like this for a handful of seconds until Britain gives the go-ahead, and Dallas ducks his head, tongue darting out to swirl around my nipple. I gasp when he bites down softly, rocking my hips into his. His erection rubs against my soaking slit, driving me mad.

"Please," I whisper when his face is right above mine.

"What?"

"I want you."

He inhales deeply through his nose and shuts his eyes, like he's about to lose control. And I want him to. I _need_ him to. When he opens his eyes again, he raises his hand to trace my lips. I suck his index finger into my mouth and drag my tongue along it, eyes fluttering shut like it's the best thing I've ever tasted. Because it is.

He groans, breath rapid, and when he pulls his hand from me, his finger slides from my mouth with a pop.

I reach up and cup his face, and his expression flickers with sadness. And then fear.

"That's a wrap," Britain says softly.

When Dallas dresses and leaves, I return to the house and take a shower. As I wash the makeup, sweat, and stickiness from my skin, I close my eyes and meditate on what it felt like to be with Dallas, as pissed as he made me. The two of us won't be shooting together again for a while. Hell, who knows? After the way we acted today, maybe _The Seduction of Rylan Willow_ will be our last and only photoset.

If that's the case, then it's for the best.

After an eternity beneath the scalding jet, I turn the shower off and step out of the tub, wrapping myself in a towel. I open the door and enter the hall, surprised to see Britain standing by my bedroom door. She stares blankly at the adjacent wall, slowly turning her phone over and over in her hand.

"Brit?"

She blinks and glances at me. "Dallas quit."
26

# Dallas

Britain promised that she'd mail me all my checks from here on out. I can't go back to that studio again.

I can't see Evan.

Granted, this is impossible with Evan being in my department. I practically see her every day of my life, if not only from a distance. She hasn't texted me or called me. When she passes me in the halls, she looks away. When I hand an assignment back to her during class, she takes it without a word.

She must know why I left. That every second I'm with her, I crave her. I ache for her. And I have to stop doing this to myself.

To us.

Because it's turning me into a cheater, and a terrible person.

The second issue in the EPE series releases the day that Tricia comes home. When she walks in the door, she squeals and races to me, jumping into my arms. "Missed you," she says between kisses.

I show her my first check for eight grand, more money than I've ever made in a pay period. I also show her, with reluctance, the new issue. She scans my pool shoot with Evan as if she were shopping for socks. "This is your calling," she tells me. "Screw biology."

"I quit."

She drops the magazine and gapes at me, and I pull her to my chest, wrapping her in my arms. "Trust me, it's for the better."

She pushes away from me. "How can you say that, Dallas? You're obviously talented. This could be it!"

"Because I love you and don't want to be tempted by beautiful women every day of my life."

"I already told you, Dallas. I trust you." She's practically begging me with her eyes.

I shake my head. How do I break it to her that I don't trust myself? "We'll talk about this another time." Solid save. "I have paychecks from EPE that'll be coming in until the end of summer, most likely. If it's money you're worried about..."

"I'm not," she says with a small sigh. "I want you to be happy, and if this decision makes you happy, then so be it."

"Thank you," I take her face in my hands and plant a kiss on her lips.

Now that I've quit EPE, my fame has become bearable.

I still get the looks and the whistles and students asking me to sign their EPE copies, but somehow, it's okay. Maybe because I know now that this isn't going to last forever—that this is only a phase in my life. I'm willing to accept it. Maybe that's why Evan isn't. Maybe she thinks that she'll forever embody Rylan, and she's not ready to merge her lives permanently.

But that's only speculation.

Three weeks after I quit, I'm grading papers in my office with the usual team of grad students when the door opens. I look up to the last face in the world that I'm expecting.

"Evan?"

All heads in the office turn toward her. She bites her bottom lip and hugs her binder to her chest. She's dressed in her usual school attire—sweats and glasses, no makeup, her hair pulled up—but somehow she looks different. Smaller.

"I just... I, umm... wanted to let you know that you were right."

I furrow my eyebrows, confused.

"I got into Harvard," she says with a ghost of a smile.

My mouth falls open. "Oh my god. Evan..."

She swallows, her eyes glistening. "Yeah, I know." Suddenly it's like she realizes that we're not the only two in the room. She glances around at the other students. They don't even know her and are all gawking at her success. Even Brad.

"I gotta go," she says. "Good to see you."

Before I can respond, she slips from the office and leaves.

"Damn, Harvard," says someone. "Who was that?"

"A friend," I murmur.

"She's a babe," Brad says, swiveling in his chair and tossing a Dorito in his mouth. "Kind of looks like Rylan Willow."

And then he freezes, his eyes popping out of his head.

Mother. Fucker.

"Dude. _Dude_. Was that Rylan Willow?"

I slap on the straightest goddamn face I can manage. "You think that was Rylan Willow?"

Brad turns to the rest of the grad students. "Did that _not_ look like Rylan Willow?"

There's some murmuring, but no firm consensus.

"I can assure you, _Brad_ , Rylan wouldn't come visit me in the middle of the day. She likes her privacy."

"What did you say her name was? Evan?"

My pulse pounds in my ears. Brad grins idiotically. I say nothing and he drops it, but I know he hasn't, not really. He has her name. He knows what she looks like. If he hunts her down and studies her face...

"Rylan Willow," he whispers with a chuckle.

I pull my phone from my pocket and text beneath the desk, **I think I just blew your cover.**
27

# Evan

Whether or not the origin of my blown identity stemmed from my meeting with Dallas, I'll never know. I knew it would happen eventually. I guess it's best that it happened now, considering I'm leaving this place in two months.

No one has confronted me directly. I've heard _Rylan_ called from a distance as I've walked across campus. I've been catcalled a few times, but no one has big enough balls to approach me. I'm sure it will happen before I graduate. The only way I can try and prevent it is to be on campus as little as possible. Which means I never see Dallas anymore.

I haven't seen him in two weeks.

Mom screamed over the phone for a solid three minutes when I told her that I got into Harvard. And then she started to cry. "I can give you nothing," she told me. "Nothing to help you. I'm worthless."

"Mother, listen to me," I begged. "I'm already getting aid. And I'll apply for more grants. I'm fine. I promise."

What she doesn't know and won't ever find out is that, by the end of summer, I'll have enough money from erotic modeling to pay for an entire semester at Harvard.

It's a start.

Now that Dallas is gone, it's easier to look at the first two released issues in the series and the remainder of the photosets without breaking into a hot, embarrassed sweat. I even help Britain choose the best images over a six-pack of beer. Now that I'm done modeling, I'm a hell of a lot more liberal with my diet.

"I like the one where he's biting your nipple," she says nonchalantly as we're browsing through images of shoot number five.

"It's not as badass as the spanking one."

She snorts. "Bad _ass_. I see what you did there. We'll use both, dummy. I just think the nipple pic has merit."

"Fine, fine," I say, polishing off my beer when Delilah walks in the front door. She doesn't look our way, walking up the stairs and to her bedroom.

Britain sighs audibly.

"I need to fix this, don't I?" I ask.

"You already know my response," she says.

I make my way up the stairs semi-reluctantly and knock on Delilah's door. She cracks it and scowls upon seeing that it's me. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in? Please?"

She rolls her eyes and walks to her bed, flopping on top of her comforter and picking up her phone.

I push open her door, stepping gently into her room like I'm walking on glass. She doesn't look at me.

I take a seat at her computer chair. "I don't want your forgiveness."

Her fingers freeze on her phone, and she glances at me.

"I don't deserve it. I did a horrible, inconsiderate thing, and as sorry as I can be, it won't ever be enough." I shrug my shoulders. "I fucked up, Delilah."

Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes watering. "You don't even want to hang out with me anymore. I don't get it. I don't get why you suddenly decided to hate me so much and take him from me."

I bury my face in my hands. "Shit." When I look up, I move from the chair to the bed and wrap my arms around her. "I could never, ever hate you. I've been self-absorbed lately. So self-absorbed that I didn't even realize you _liked_ Adam. What happened between us was nothing. It was less than nothing. I was feeling lonely and vulnerable and drunk and horny and he was there. And I know that excuse will never fix things, but I need you to know the truth."

She gives a weak smile and nods, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Thanks, Evan."

I nod and stand, walking toward the door. I pause and look back at her. "Can I give you a bit of advice from experience?"

She sniffs. "I guess."

"Things get confusing in this business. Tell him how you really feel to his face. Even if it terrifies you. Even if you're worried that it'll make things awkward."
28

# Dallas

It's one of those Fridays that blows no matter how you try and dress it up. I'm pretty sure I bombed my anatomy test this morning. The Scantron machine broke so I have to grade everything by hand. There's also a huge storm rolling in, and I parked on the other side of campus.

_All_ the way on the other side.

I'm not expecting it to get any shittier. I should have known better.

Sitting in my office with the door cracked, someone in the lobby shouts _Rylan_.

"Rylan... Rylan Willow!"

I stand up so fast that I almost knock my desk over.

"Come on, baby. Show me some lovin'. How about a little skin?"

I sprint out of the office. The tables and couches in the lobby are packed with students, all attention trained on Brad. He approaches Evan with a swagger—Evan, who stands near the double doors with her binder clutched to her chest. Her eyes dart to me, and she shakes her head rapidly.

But it's too late. Rage controls me now.

I'm not even conscious of how fast I'm moving, how hard I yank him back. When he spins around, I ram my fist into his nose, and he falls backward.

Some students gasp behind me, and then everyone falls silent, until Brad screams, "You motherfucker!" He clutches his face, blood pouring between his fingers.

I hope I broke it.

Evan gapes at me in terror. Then she turns and runs, punching open the doors and escaping.

"Dammit," I mutter, chasing after her.

The sidewalks are already slick with rain, and it's difficult to follow her. I reach her car right when she slams the door shut and hits the locks. She starts the car and rolls the window down.

She's crying.

"How could you?" she sobs. "How could you do that to me? I warned you. You _knew_ hitting him would only make things worse. All those people... they saw _everything_."

I shake my head. "I couldn't let him talk to you like that. I couldn't bear to listen to him."

"Like you give a fuck, Dallas." Tears stream down her face, breaking me. "You don't give a shit about me."

Every one of her words slices through my chest. "Why would you say that?"

"You left. You left after kissing me, after touching me. After spending the night at my mother's house, you left like it was _nothing_."

"That wasn't what it was like!"

"Then what _was_ it like?"

"I can't be a model for EPE. Not anymore."

"Why?"

"I have to stay away from you!"

_"WHY?"_

_"Because I'm falling for you, Evan!"_

Oh, shit.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Her mouth snaps shut, her eyes growing wide. Confused. Slowly she shakes her head, another tear streaking her face. "I have to go, Dallas."

"Evan, wait..."

She rolls up her window, and I back away as she pulls out of the parking spot.

I wait until I can no longer see her car before trudging to the other side of campus. To my car. There's no way I can go back up to my office now.

I have to go home.
29

# Evan

I lie on my bed as Britain brushes through my hair with her fingers. Rain patters against my window. It's so appropriate for this moment that I feel like it makes my entire life a fucking cliché.

"The slut never gets the boy."

Britain scoffs. "You? A slut? Give me a break. And besides, that means Dallas is of equal sluttage, if not more-so because of Tricia. The two of you are a match made in heaven."

"But he left," I say.

"Because he was having feelings for you!"

I roll to my back. "That just means he chose her over me." I shake my head and rub my forehead with my fingers. "It's better this way," I say. "I'll be in Cambridge come September. Long distance wouldn't work."

"You're falling for him too, aren't you?"

I stare at the ceiling, at anywhere but her face, blinking as tears flood my eyes yet again.

"I knew it," she says. "I knew it from your very first shoot that you were into him."

"It was lust, Brit. I had to pose naked with him."

"It was more than that."

I shut my eyes, rubbing my temples. "Fuck."

"You should sleep it off. You'll feel better in the morning." She kisses my forehead.

"Promise?"

"No, but we can do shots and maybe that'll help you feel better."

"Ugh. No, thanks."

"Love you, kid."

"I love you too, Brit."
30

# Dallas

**W hy did you ask me to get those hairsprays for you? Don't lie.**

**New Message from Britain: You know why.**

**I need to hear it from you.**

**New Message from Britain: I was hoping you'd see Adam.**

**Why?**

**New Message from Britain: So you'd finally grow a pair of balls.**

The front door opens. Tricia shakes her umbrella off and walks inside. "Good God, it is a mess out there!" Hanging up her coat, Tricia sets her purse and umbrella by the door. She unzips both of her boots and steps out of them, walking to the kitchen counter and picking up the mail.

She flips through bills.

"Tricia."

She glances at me, and when she sees my face, her eyebrows furrow with concern.

"We need to talk."
31

# Evan

I awaken to a lightning crash. Rubbing my eyes, I pick up my phone and glance at the screen.

It's 3:28am

I have eight new text messages.

And thirteen missed calls.

**New Message from Dallas: Don't freak. I'm coming over.**

**New Message from Dallas: Why aren't you picking up your phone?**

**New Message from Dallas: My car totally broke down two miles from your house. I just ran here in the rain. And now no one's answering the door. FML.**

**New Message from Dallas: It's really cold out here**

**New Message from Dallas: If I die from hypothermia, I want to make sure you know it's your fault.**

**New Message from Dallas: I totally understand if you're up and reading these and just want to torture me. Probs deserve it but kind of wishing you'd be backhanded by mercy right about... now.**

**New Message from Dallas: Can't feel my toes lol.**

"Shit!" I hiss, jumping out of bed and proceeding to fall directly onto my face. My foot fell asleep. Of all the nights for my foot to fall asleep.

I stand up and hobble down the hall and to the stairs, limping down every step until I gain enough feeling to run. I skid across the living room floor and fling open the door.

Lightning floods the sky. Dallas's bulky silhouette leans against the porch railing.

"H-hi," he says between chattering teeth.

"Holy _shit_ , Dallas!" I cry, pulling him inside and shutting the door. "Oh my God, we have to get you out of these clothes. Are you okay? Can you make it upstairs?"

"M-maybe."

I grab his hand. His skin is ice-cold. I lead him up the stairs as delicately as possible and to the bathroom, where I fling on the vent and start the shower.

"Evan, I'm f-fine."

"I have to get you out of these clothes. Why the hell are you here, Dallas? Lift up your arms."

He complies, and I help get him out of his wet t-shirt.

"I h-had nowhere else t-to go."

"I don't know what that means." But as the room fills with steam, it dawns on me. I cover my mouth.

Finally, his body relaxes, and he stops shaking. "I was with Tricia because I've always been with Tricia. Because she's safe." He shakes his head. "But I can't live with being safe knowing you're out there. Even if you don't want me. And I'm sorry it took me so long to realize this."

After I come to terms with the fact that he's really telling me what I think he's telling me, my hands fall to his belt. I work at the slick cord with my fingers, unbuttoning his pants and zipping down his fly.

"Say something," he begs.

I glance up at his pained face. "I'm trying to get you naked. Isn't that saying enough?"

He shakes his head.

"I'm falling for you too, Dallas. And I've _been_ falling for you for longer than I'm comfortable admitting. I think you already know that."

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He turns from me and pulls back the shower curtain, shutting off the water.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm fine now." He closes the distance between us. "And I want the first time I take you to be in your bed. Not the bathroom."

My heart races. I press my palms against his hard chest, looking into his eyes. Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"Go to your room. Sit on your bed, facing the window." He shakes his head slowly. Dangerously. "Don't turn around for anything."

I grin and slink out of the bathroom, hurrying to my bedroom and jumping on the bed. I kneel in the center, waiting and waiting until the door creaks open and his footsteps sound across the floor.

"Take off your shirt," he orders.

I don't waste a second, grabbing the hem of my tank top and lifting it over my head. The mattress moves as he climbs onto it, his chest brushing against my bare back. A shiver races through me.

Wrapping his arms around me, he takes my tank top out of my hands and folds it long ways, lifting it to my face. He uses it as a blindfold, tying it at the back of my head.

"Dallas...."

"Trust me. Lie back."

I listen to him, resting my head on a pillow. His thighs brush mine as he straddles me. He's naked.

"Promise me you want this," his voice rumbles from somewhere in the dark.

"I want you, Dallas," I breathe.

His mouth crushes mine, stifling my moan. I open my mouth for him, his tongue slipping past my lips and finding my own as his hands wander my chest, cupping my breasts.

"No more teasing," I beg when we part. "I've had to endure months of your teasing. I fucking need you now."

He chuckles into my ear. "As you wish." His hands find my shorts, tugging them off. When I'm completely naked, he kisses his way to my navel, gripping my thighs so I remain spread for him.

"I've wanted to taste you since the office shoot. I imagined plunging my tongue into your perfect pussy." He groans. "I can't believe this is finally happening."

I squirm beneath him. " _Please_ , Dallas!"

I can feel his breath on me. He blows a trail down my slit and whispers, "God, Evan. So fucking wet."

I moan as the tip of his tongue traces my clit.

"I hate you so much right now," I mutter.

"I don't think that's true." His tongue flicks against the tip of my clit. I moan his name, my toes curling.

Suddenly, his tongue plunges into me, and I almost scream. He drags his mouth back up to my clit and sucks it into his mouth, pushing two of his fingers deep into my pussy. I cry out as he works me, pressure building and building, and I finally lose it when he curls his fingers upward and scrapes his teeth against my clit. I clutch his hair through my release, falling limp as the wave washes over me.

He crawls up to me when I'm finished and removes my blindfold, kissing me deeply. I taste myself on him. "You're the most delicious thing I've ever licked."

"You're not done with me, are you?" I breathe.

"You're kidding me, right?" He strokes himself, picking up a condom from the sheets that he must have brought with him from the bathroom. "I've been waiting too long to have you."

"Hurry," I moan. "I can't wait another second."

He rolls the condom on and leans in to kiss me, needy and wonderful. His lips move to my neck. Slowly, he pushes himself into me.

He's different from every guy I've been with. The way he moves inside of me is like every thrust is deliberate. "Fuck, Evan. You're tight."

"I don't do this a lot." My breath catches in my throat as he quickens his pace and kisses my breasts. Before I even realize what's happening, he flips onto his back so I'm riding him. I gyrate my hips, reveling in the friction of him moving in and out of me. When his thumb finds my clit, I feel the edge approaching again.

"Kiss me," he orders. "I want to feel you come."

I lean forward and find his lips. He increases the pressure of his hand. I cry his name into his mouth. When I'm finished, he flips me again and throws my legs over his shoulders, his fingernails digging into my hips. Every thrust is deeper than the last and I'm so sensitive—it's almost too much. Finally, he groans his release and collapses on top of me.

Our breath dances together until we've each caught our own. I run my fingers through his hair and start to laugh.

"Was I that bad?"

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

"I came twice." And then I giggle again.

He chuckles and presses his lips to the cleft of my ribcage. "Damn straight, you came twice. That's the new norm. Get used to it."

I sigh happily. He rolls from me, and I snuggle up against his chest.

"I need to go back to the apartment and get my stuff tomorrow. That's going to be awkward."

"How'd she take it?"

He shrugs, staring at the dark ceiling. "Better than I did, even though I was the one doing the breaking up. I think that, after a while, you become so content with remembering how it used to be that you're not ready to let go." He pushes the hair from my face and looks into my eyes—my soul. "Promise me, Evan. We'll never turn into that."

I grin. "Are you asking me to be your _giiirrrlllfrienndd_?"

"Check yes, no, or maybe."

I faux ponder for a moment, and then I grow serious when I remember what my future holds. "Dallas, I'm leaving in the fall. I'm moving across the country."

He shrugs. "So what?"

"So what? It's a big deal, so what."

"I only have one year of school left, and half of that time will be in Costa Rica working on my project. So yeah, it might suck for a while. But then I'll come for you."

"You'd move across the entire country just for me? Even if you have a great job by then? Even if there's no field work in Boston or anywhere close to Harvard?"

"Evan—I can't live without you. I realized this when I was sitting on your porch and thinking that I was going to die."

I play-punch him.

"Seriously." The back of his knuckles caress my jaw, and he kisses my forehead. "I'd move anywhere for you."

The first thing I wonder when I wake is that maybe I dreamed everything. I sit up and put on my glasses, sliding out of bed and trudging to the hall. The bathroom is vacant.

Did Dallas leave to get his stuff already?

Did he change his mind?

Did he realize he made a mistake leaving Tricia?

And then I smell something delicious from downstairs, which is very strange, considering I don't think Britain or Delilah have cooked a day in their lives. I make my way down to the kitchen and see Dallas by the stove, flipping a pancake in a skillet. He sees me and grins. "Sleeping Beauty's finally arrived."

"Ha, ha. What are you making?"

"Maple, oat, and carob chip pancakes, recipe courtesy of your mom."

" _My_ mom? You've been talking to my mom?"

"Didn't I tell you?" He slides the pancake onto a plate. "She asked for my phone number back at her place and has been texting me ever since."

I groan. "I'm going to _kill_ her."

"She just wanted to get to know her daughter's boyfriend better. And now she has reason to." He leans forward and kisses me.

"About damn time," Britain says from the stairs. "I hope you made me food too, lover boy." She slides onto an island stool. "Not only do you have to convince Mom that you're worthy, but roommates are just as important, considering that now we're going to have to see your ugly face around these parts."

Dallas narrows his eyes and turns off the stove. "You've been seeing my ugly face around here for the past two months."

"Missing the point," Britain says, and yawns.

"Well, luckily for you, I made enough for both you and Delilah. Delilah!" he yells.

"Yay, rabbit food!" Delilah cheers from somewhere upstairs, and I snort.

But it doesn't matter if the pancakes are rabbit food or not. They melt in my mouth. "Where the hell did you learn to cook like this?" I ask as I dig into my third one.

"Just because we've dry humped a bunch doesn't mean you know everything about me," Dallas says, and Britain chokes on her orange juice.

"So, what are you guys going to do for the rest of the semester?" Delilah asks. "I mean, if people see you together, they'll figure out who Evan is."

I clear my throat. "I think I'm giving up the disguise."

Delilah's jaw drops and Dallas's eyes brighten.

"Every girl should lavish in the fame of being a porn star once in her life."
32

# Dallas

Evan looks amazing.

Today, both of her personas are melded together. Her makeup is light but existent, and her dark hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders. She wears a modest t-shirt and not-so-modest miniskirt.

She's said nothing on the way to school. I'm hitching a ride with her because my car's still in the shop.

I wonder if she's nervous.

"You look amazing," I offer.

"Dallas," she says my name weakly. "Do you think this is safe?"

"What do you mean?"

She pulls into a parking spot. "I mean, the entire campus has seen me naked. I feel—I don't know—vulnerable."

I lean toward her. "If anyone lays a finger on you, I'll rip them in half. You know that, right?"

Her shoulders relax, and she smirks. "You big manly man, you."

We get out of the car and I wrap my arm around her as we walk toward the science building. "First of all, you're incredibly intimidating. I'm pretty sure there aren't many idiots who'd be willing to start something. Brad was just an anomaly."

"Very funny."

"Secondly, I'd bet that we're both playing this out of proportion, and no one's going to recognize you today. I mean, this campus is huge. Not everyone can be familiar with the magazine."

I'm wrong. So, so wrong.

Classes end as we walk through the hall of the science building. Heads turn. Students cup their hands around their mouths as they whisper frantically to their friends. Her stage name bounces back and forth like a pinball.

_"Holy shit, is that Rylan Willow?"_

"I knew it," someone hisses. It's Brad, sporting two nasty black eyes. "I fucking knew it. Can't fool me."

To my surprise, Evan flashes him a huge smile. And then she lifts her hand and flips him off.

A group of guys near us chortle with laugher.

"See, this isn't so bad." I tell her.

"No, it's not."

A few girls part their lips in surprise as they pass us. One even waves at Evan. She waves back.

"Actually, it's kind of fun," she says.

"Rylan," says some guy that I've never seen before in my life. "Nice to see you out and about today."

"Jesus," I mutter. "You're like a unicorn or something."

Evan ignores me, flashing the stranger a smile. "I have some errands to run—transcripts to request. Professors to meet."

"They order special services from you or something?" He winks at me.

My hands clench automatically. Several others have stopped to listen. Evan has an audience now. They've all seen her on their phone, but this is likely the first time they've ever heard her speak.

And, as I should have guessed, she handles herself like a fucking champ.

Evan laughs and flips back her hair. "Of course not, silly. I'm here to tell them the news. I just got into Harvard."

As the group digests that their beloved pin-up girl is going to Harvard, her phone rings. She pulls it from her skirt pocket and presses it to her ear. "Britain?"

She listens for a bit, and then her eyes widen. She glances at me.

"Dallas," she whispers excitedly. I can hear Britain's frantic voice on the other end.

"What is it?"

"We did it. EPE is going national."

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East Park Magazine
Turn the page to sample _Call Backs_ , the next steamy installment in the East Park Universe...

# Call Backs: Evan

I was a diva for thinking my life would dramatically change when I came out of the gigantic closet-o-porn.

Much is the same, other than the fact that I get to dress like a real live person and wear a bit of lip gloss and mascara when I go to class. There's also the whole every-person-glancing-at-my-tits-real-quick-when-they-pass-me-in-the-halls deal, but I got used to that fast, maybe because more girls are willing to openly gawk than guys.

It's a bit empowering, to say the least.

But most importantly, Dallas isn't distracting me to the point of my grades dropping. Especially now, with my last final looming. I'm so close to a summer of freedom that I can taste it—and it tastes a hell of a lot like an ice-cold IPA and a hot dog piled high with mayonnaise and grilled onions.

That's the other thing—I haven't exactly told Britain I'm quitting EPE.

I mean, she automatically figured I was giving up my spot as a lead model, considering I'm moving across the country. But she still thinks I'll be game for shooting during breaks and summer for the newly national _East Park Exposed_. I mean, what kind of idiot would give up that fame?

But the thing is, I never wanted fame. I wanted money. And a seasonal EPE model—even if the magazine is national—will make nothing.

Does that make me superficial? I don't know—it _is_ porn.

When I get home from the last day of school before my final, I throw my purse on the couch and call for Britain and Delilah. No one answers. Perfect—a few hours of quiet time is exactly what I need to get some studying out of the way.

I make my way upstairs and hear the shower turn on. Glancing into my room, I spot the t-shirt and jeans thrown onto my bed before walking to the bathroom and opening the door. Steam wafts across my face, and I pull back the shower curtain to a very naked Dallas pushing back his wet, shaggy hair and blinking at me. He isn't surprised—that much is obvious. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he attempts to feign innocence.

I raise an eyebrow and try to remain calm, but it's impossible with all that hot water dripping down his perfectly cut chest, and abs, and everything else. Keeping my expression straight, I say, "What happened to packing?"

He cocks his head and smiles. "Forget packing. I get to be with my girlfriend for only a few more days. I'll wear Costa Rican leaves if I have to."

I huff. "Damn you."

He reaches out and toys with the button of my shirt with his wet hand. "That was a rude response."

"I need you gone today," I plead. "You are the biggest distraction known to mankind and I have to ace this final. You _know_ I do."

He lowers his head just a bit, his blue eyes begging me. "Evan Cosette. What is your current GPA?"

I cross my arms over my chest and jut my chin. "You know what it is."

"For the sake of my point..."

"Four-point-oh, okay?"

"And what's the lowest grade you've gotten on a bio test this year?"

"Eighty-nine-point-five. Almost a B plus!"

He plucks the fabric overlay from my button, shirt falling apart to reveal my cleavage.

"I think you can sacrifice a half-hour of studying to take a shower with me."

Another button bites the dust.

"I hate you so much, Dallas Whitley."

I'm undressed in a matter of seconds. Dallas whips the shower curtain back and pulls me into the tub. His hands find my ass to hold me up as I wrap my legs around his waist. He growls lowly. I feel him grow hard against my leg as he pushes me against the tile of the shower wall.

"Baby," I murmur as his tongue glides across my jaw. The stubble on his face electrifies my slick skin and suddenly I don't give a flying fuck if I study at all for my final.

His mouth continues to travel south, teeth clamping around my nipple. I cry out and lace my fingers through his hair, grinding my hips against his.

"I need you now," I breathe.

He lifts his head, his eyes finding mine. Water drips from his chin and he's absolutely the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"I have no idea what I'm going to do without you for seven whole months." His fingers clench around my thighs.

I open my mouth to respond, but he's too quick. He silences me by biting down on my lower lip, and as his teeth drag across the sensitive flesh, he thrusts into me.

I'm caught off guard, screaming into his shoulder.

His fingernails dig into my ass as he picks up his pace. I love it when he has his way with me, when the sex is wild and reckless and completely unstaged. We're alone and only doing this for ourselves.

"Hold on," he breathes, and lets me down. He pulls the shower head from the wall.

My heart hammers dangerously in my chest, and I bite the corner of my lip. I know what he wants to do.

We maneuver around until he's lying on the floor of the bathtub, the shower head in his hand. I kneel over him, my knees on either side of his hips, and slowly sink down onto his cock, reveling in the way he fills me. I love how helpless he looks when I grind myself against him. I'm convinced I have all the power until he shifts the shower head, the jet blasting my clit.

I scream at the pressure. Nothing in the universe has ever felt this blissful. My eyes flutter open for a second to rest on his deviant smile. I bounce quickly on top of him, desperate for release, the stream brushing back and forth against my clit.

"Come for me, Evan," he orders.

It's too much. My fingernails sink into his shoulders and I shudder my orgasm. He presses the shower head even tighter against me, holding my lower back and refusing to let me escape the mind-blowing pleasure. It isn't until his body grows rigid and he comes does he let me go. I collapse on top of him.

"Holy shit," I breathe.

He wraps his arms around me and chuckles darkly. "There's nothing like a good orgasm to kick off a study session."

Four hours later, I'm in my pjs and cross-legged on top of my bed, a handful of flashcards in one hand and an unwrapped Snickers bar in the other. Dallas enters our room with an extra-huge cup of tea for me.

"You're sure taking this anti-diet thing seriously, aren't you?" he says, nodding to the candy.

"Hey, fuck you," I reply, taking the tea.

"You're welcome. And I'm not judging."

"Just... keep quiet about it. Britain still doesn't know."

Dallas sits on the bed and raises his eyebrows. "Seriously, Evan? You need to tell her. She's your best friend and if you tell her your reasoning, she's going to agree with you."

"Listen, Britain _is_ my best friend. I know her better than anyone. She's not going to be pissed that I don't want to model anymore. She's going to be pissed that we aren't collaborating. Britain and I are a team."

Dallas shrugs. "So be an advisor."

I scowl at him. "Stop thinking of everything, will you?"

He grins and pushes away my books. "That's enough studying for tonight."

"But—"

"I'm serious, Evan. You're going to get an A, so chill out, okay? I've never seen anyone so addicted to studying." He pushes me back and onto the pillows. "No, wait—I've never seen someone so addicted to studying and so disgustingly beautiful at the same time."

"Uhh, thanks?"

"I mean, I've had to kick nerds out of the bio computer lab before. They definitely get a bigger hard on for studying than you."

"Doubtful," I say dryly. "Mmm... studying. Just thinking about it." I accentuate my breathing for the act and my eyes flutter shut. I bite my lower lip, my fingers caressing my neck and trailing downward. "Yeah..." I cup my breasts and let my hands fall to my navel. "Studying," I pant. "Yes. Oh, god." When I slide a hand beneath the waistband of my yoga pants, I open one eye to spy on Dallas. His mouth is wide open in shock.

I bust up laughing before he asks, "Is this what you do locked up in your room for all those hours?"

I snort. "Totally."

"Oh, Evan." He lies down on the pillow and wraps his arms around me. "I have no idea what I'm going to do without your warped sense of humor."

I snuggle against his chest. "I'd rather not talk about it." He's leaving at the end of the week for Costa Rica with Laina, his field partner. Obviously, Laina isn't the worst part of the situation. Dallas leaving is. But I can't help adding Laina into the equation, mainly because she's so awesome. She has this adorable girl-next-door look with mousy brown hair and huge green eyes. She giggles a lot, but she's also really funny. And smart. She's super smart.

I'm not jealous of Laina. Why would I be jealous of a girl who gets to spend seven months with my boyfriend in the secluded Costa Rican rainforest? Okay, I am jealous. I'm super jealous. But I trust Dallas.

Right?

My gut clenches. He tilts my chin up so I'm looking right at him, and his eyebrows furrow. "Everything alright?"

I swallow and nod. "Just going to miss you is all."

His lips press gently against mine. "I'm not ready to leave you for so long. It's too soon."

"I know." We've only been together for a couple of months, and now we have to be apart for seven. Not only that, but when he's back in the states, he's flying out to Boston and staying with me for only a week before he has to head back to East Park and finish his semester.

Not fair.

I study his face, his unshaven jaw a mark of his own manic study sessions during finals week. I kind of like it. The corners of his icy eyes crinkle as he smiles at me.

It's the last thing I see before drifting off.

I can't sleep.

While Dallas is snoring, I head downstairs and make myself another cup of tea. As it steeps, I pull up the East Park school newspaper site on my phone. On their homepage is the headlining article for the end-of-the-semester issue. It's a photo of Dallas, Adam, and all the part-time models. The article is about East Park's national expansion after the inclusion of male models.

Britain and the newspaper photographers didn't want Delilah and me to take part in the shoot. While we were partnered up with Dallas and Adam for the last issue of EPE, Britain didn't want us to be portrayed as their token women.

_Sorry, Evan,_ she said. _I want readers to see the men as accessible, and they won't if they're never with other women._

_But Dallas is leaving EPE, anyway!_ I argued.

She told me that wasn't the point. Dallas had to set the stage for all male models following him.

I hadn't thought of him posing with another woman until that point, but I brushed off the idea of the shoot like it wasn't a big deal. It was Dallas's job. He had to do what he had to do.

I watched the shoot with Britain and Delilah. It took place on the EPE football field, and it was like the three of us were benched. Adam and Dallas were in shorts, the girls topless and in tiny black underwear. It was raining. I watched beneath an umbrella as Kayden, a tiny blonde number, was instructed to grind against the side of Dallas as he wrapped his arms around her. Kayden played it up, smiling and giggling and flirting, getting in Dallas's face as he was instructed to grab her ass. Their lips were brushing, bodies wet and tight and, of course, stunning. She nipped him on the neck once, and that's when I thought I was going to puke. "I don't think I can do this," I whispered to Britain.

"Don't be a drama queen," she told me. "You know he cares about you more than anyone in the world."

I did know that. Of course I knew that, but in that moment, a different universe threatened to reveal itself. What if I had never been paired with Dallas? Would Britain have stuck him with another girl, and would he have grown lusty enough over her to break up with Trish, anyway?

I stare at the picture on my phone. All the models sit in the mud on the field: Dallas, Adam, and eight part-time female models. Kayden clings to Dallas's side, his arm snuggly wrapped around her ass, their lips brushing in a faux kiss.

His eyes are closed.

His eyes are fucking closed.

I shove my phone in my pocket and run my fingers through my hair, tugging until my scalp hurts.

_Trust him, trust him, trust him_ , I chant in my head.

He was with Trish for three years when he fell out of love with her.

He's only been with me for two months. And now he's leaving for seven.
Continue the story with Call Backs (East Park #2)

* * *

Thank you for reading _Exposure_!

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# Contents

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Contents
  5. Magazine
  6. 1. Evan
  7. 2. Dallas
  8. 3. Evan
  9. 4. Dallas
  10. 5. Evan
  11. 6. Dallas
  12. 7. Evan
  13. 8. Dallas
  14. 9. Evan
  15. 10. Dallas
  16. 11. Evan
  17. 12. Dallas
  18. 13. Evan
  19. 14. Dallas
  20. 15. Evan
  21. 16. Dallas
  22. 17. Evan
  23. 18. Dallas
  24. 19. Evan
  25. 20. Dallas
  26. 21. Evan
  27. 22. Dallas
  28. 23. Evan
  29. 24. Dallas
  30. 25. Evan
  31. 26. Dallas
  32. 27. Evan
  33. 28. Dallas
  34. 29. Evan
  35. 30. Dallas
  36. 31. Evan
  37. 32. Dallas
  38. Turn the Page
  39. Call Backs: Evan
  40. Keep Reading

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Contents
  5. Beginning

