“Kind of. It was more of a social media website for people who really liked feet, and they could talk to the models for a fee.”
He squirmed and furrowed his brow. “Um, what?”
“It’s all through the app, all anonymous. They don’t even see my face. I’m basically a character: Nyx.” I showed him my profile. “See?”
He frowned at my gallery. “It’s all…feet?”
“Yes, mostly.” I smiled and bumped his knee. “There’s a little bit of leg in there, but it’s pretty PG.”
“What about the conversations?” He locked eyes with me. “Are those PG?”
I hung my head and darkened the screen. “Kind of.”
“What does that mean?” The edge in his voice scraped icy shame across my gut.
“It means that sometimes they can be flirty.”
My heartbeat throbbed in my ears. His silence was deafening.
I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “We get paid per message, so we try to keep them talking. For example, if a guy says what he’d like to do to me or my feet, I might say, ‘What else?’ with a wink emoji. Most of the time, the guys just say I’m beautiful and tell me about their days.”
“So, they pay you to act like their girlfriend,” he said quietly. “And get off to pictures of your feet.”
“I’m not really…” Girlfriend material, I almost said, but that only applied to Nyx, not me. “I don’t care what they’re doing. It’s not my kink. It’s just a side gig. It helps me afford my life. It’s not like I could live off my Fancee’s salary.”
He frowned at my socked feet. “Do you do any real modeling?”
My jaw hung open, and I blinked. This was modeling. People paid for my pictures, even if they were of my feet.
He raised his shoulders to his ears. “Do you do porn? Do you post pictures of yourself in lingerie or eating bananas or—”
“No,” I snapped. “I post my feet. Technically, my main account is spicier because it shows me in a bikini.”
“It’s not about showing your body.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “You’re engaging with other guys. I mean, I brought a sex worker home to meet my family.”
He might as well have kicked me in the chest. Stilettos would’ve hurt less.
I recoiled to my side of the couch. “That’s how you see me now? A sex worker? Not a hard worker, not a coworker? I’m just some slut who posts feet pics?”
“That’s not what I said,” he growled. “I’d never talk about you like that.”
“You kind of just did.”
"I'm sorry." He flung his hand out in exasperation. “You provide goods and services so people can get off to your presence. That’s the term I know for that. I’m sorry if it’s not politically correct. Some strippers might prefer the term ‘exotic dancer,’ but it’s all kind of semantics when I’m grappling with the fact that you’ve been talking to other guys behind my back.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned away to press my nose in a feeble attempt to mask my sniffles. “It’s not like that,” I said.
“I know. No, I don’t know. I’m lost, Nic.” He leaned over and braced his head in his hands. “Of all the things you could’ve said, I didn’t expect this.”
No one ever did. Models were supposed to walk runways and work for brands, not peddle feet pics, even if it was better cash.
Was I supposed to be ashamed? Or proud? It was a job. I did well at it.
Zack could barely raise his gaze to my shoulders. “Would you stop doing it if I asked you to?”
I sniffed and rubbed my screen on my leg. “I can, but it’d cut my income by over half. So, I can’t. I’d have to leave this apartment, my independence, my whole…brand. The one for Nyx.” We were still working on mine as a real person. I tapped my phone on my thigh. “I don’t want to give up everything I’ve worked for on the off-chance we could be together. You don’t sound thrilled about my past. What if you dump me because of it? Right now, I’m financially independent. I don’t want to work on the app or at Fancee’s forever. With this job, I’m saving for retirement. I don’t have a family. I don’t have a backup plan or a business. I have Nyx. And I was hoping I could have you too.”
For real. Forever.
