“There’s a lot to be said about these sexy shoots that people don’t understand,” Lawrence says. “It’s not about sex appeal. It’s about finding comfort in your own body and gaining confidence in that.”
“Exactly why I chose to get into this profession,” I agree.
Lawrence smiles. “You want your sandwich now?”
I shake my head, ejecting the card from the reader to bring it to my desk and add it to the back of the queue for editing. “I think that’s our last shoot for the day, so if you want to clean up the studio, I’m going to work on some editing.”
“Sure.”
I’m barely in my seat, just focusing on Larson’s pictures in front of me again, when I hear, “Dylan?”
I look up from where I’m focused on the lighting of one of Larson’s images. Kyanne stands in the doorway with her hand on her hip.
“That man right there.” She points at the screen. “He’s in the waiting room. You had an opening, and he asked for a solo walk-in appointment. He’s ready when you are.”
My heart nearly stops. Oh… holy fuck-my-life shit.
Chapter Four
LARSON
I haveno idea what I’m doing here. This is stupid. I should have gone to the gallery with Tomy. It’s not a lie that I’m less than interested in art, even if the exhibition is on queer art throughout history. Yes, the exhibition sounds interesting, but when an opportunity to see Dylan again is waved in front of me?
Nope. I’m not interested in art.
It’s not like I had to make an excuse either. When we were planning this trip together, I said I wasn’t interested in art, and Tomy said we didn’t have to spend every single second together. We’re grown-ass men and can do things on our own throughout the trip if we like.
I agreed. I agreed two months ago when we booked the trip. I was never going to the gallery with him.
However, standing in front of the Booty Boudoir Studio for the second time in as many days? Yeah, I’m crossing a line.
What am I even doing here? Can I pull off that I’m just anxious to see our pictures? Is that even believable?
The idea that I wouldn’t see Dylan today at all had me practically running to the ferry to come back to the island of Ceto to do just that. At his place of work. The island chain isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that the idea of running into him twice is slim. It’s filled with people, so there’s a huge chance that he could walk by and be mixed in with the crowds. I’d not see him.
Kyanne recognizes me when I step inside. She offers me a smile. “Hello again,” she greets.
“Hi,” I say, feeling awkward. “Uh… do you have any openings?”
“For another shoot?” she asks.
I nod. It’s the only reasonable thing I can say to have just dropped in, right? “Just me this time.”
Her fingers clack against the keyboard, and she looks up. “We have an opening in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, please.” I reach across the counter, offering her my ID bracelet to scan.
There are a lot of reasons why these shouldn’t be widespread in the world, like how it’s such a ridiculous amount of control over your life, and it has access to so fucking much personal information that could easily enough be stolen by some random person walking by with the right technology. However, the convenience can’t be beat. I have to carry literally nothing at all on my body. All I need is this simple rubber bracelet.
She scans it with a little black box. The computer beeps, and I pull my hand back. “Alright, Mr. Faulkner. Have a seat and take a look through the books so you have an idea of what you’d like out of today’s appointment.” She stands and looks me over. “You didn’t bring anything with you today.”
“It was an impulse appointment,” I admit.
“Very well. You’ll be limited to the clothes on your body and whatever fabric we have available.”
“I understand.”
Kyanne nods, and I take a seat. There’s an open book on the table, and the image it’s open to is fucking sexy. I can see under-balls. You know, like under-boob, but we’re talking balls. It’s hot. I wipe my palms along my shorts, trying to scrub away the nerves.
