“Yeah? About what?”
I keep my eyes on my phone. “Just a client thing.”
“Oh.” He throws off the covers, stands, and stretches for the ceiling. Dark hair curls from under the hem of his t-shirt. “Need the shower?”
“Go ahead.”
When he’s in the bathroom and the water’s running, I return to my phone. I check Finn’s profile again, and there I am, forty-seven seconds old. At 7:01 A.M., he posted the first photo. Right underneath my coffee-soaked fingers and curled lip are my words.
Rough me up, dark as coffee.
Burrow deep, make me drip with it, get me so high,
I forget how it feels
to crash.
It has no likes. No comments. Only sixty-one people follow Finn, so that shouldn’t bother me. Still, my disappointment surprises me.
I go into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee before heading to the bathroom. Rich holds open the shower door for me, and we switch places. I scrub and shave while he dresses in a suit and tie.
I wrap a towel around my hair and body and return to the kitchen for what’s usually the best part of my morning—my first cup of coffee. Today, though, I’m more eager about the photo. Outside of a few speeches and performances in middle school, I’ve never put myself on display this way. For people to judge. What if they think I’m unattractive? Or my caption is lame? I don’t know the first thing about real poetry. I just write what feels right. Somebody could easily call me out for that, and they’d have a point.
Still, even though it makes my stomach churn, I grab my phone and type in my passcode. I can’t not check. Finn believes in me. Maybe he’s right, and I do have talent. Either way, I have to know.
Before I check, I pour coffee to the brim. Just the smell, the warmth, settles my nerves a bit.
“No e-mail yet?” Rich asks, drying his empty mug.
“Mhm.” I refresh Finn’s profile. Twenty-four likes and two comments. In forty minutes. It’s not a ton, but for the small number of followers he has, it’s something. His other photos have much less, even the ones of pretty women.
I hold my breath and read the comments.
Fucking hottt
What’s this quote from?
My face warms. Strangers. They’re looking at my body and reading my words. My journal entries have always been provocative, butprivate. I’m someone’s art. Will Finn post all three? The last photo he took included part of my face.
He has the power to expose me.
A man I met only a week ago.
Goosebumps rise over my skin. Would he do that? Last night I trusted him not to, but things aren’t as cut and dry in the light of morning. I should be worried. I’m just tense, though, anticipating, wondering what he’ll do next.
“Earth to Halston.”
I look up. Rich has his briefcase in hand. His chestnut-colored hair is neatly trimmed and styled. I can never tell when he gets it cut, because it always looks the same. “Sorry. Did you say something?” I ask.
“Did I leave the water too warm? Your face is red.”
I’m hot, and I’ve been hot since I left Finn’s last night. Since I arrived there, actually. I touch my throat. “A little.”
“Sorry.” He checks his watch. The gold glints under the kitchen lights. “When will you be in today?”
“Soon. I’m not ready yet.”
“That’s okay. I’m a little early, so I’ll just see you at the office. Anyway, I was just asking if you’re staying here tonight?”
