“Like, don’t take this the wrong way,” she finally says, coming good on her promise and adjusting a tripod stand with my new camera grasped in its clutches. “But are you sure you want to do this?”
“One hundred percent.”
She slides a glance my way, then jerks it back to what she’s doing. “Only, you don’t seem keen on the—”
“One hundred and twenty percent. This is happening. It’s the most happening thing that ever happened.”
Finley holds up her hands in surrender. “Okay. Do you want some help?”
My brain swings from one answer to the other, then back again. “Sure,” I say, deciding that someone directing operations can only help my new pet project. “But”—I hold up a warning finger—“I don’t want any more questions. I’m nervous enough as it is.”
With that, I take off my sweatshirt and stand awkwardly by the bed, feeling like I’m composed entirely of elbows and knees. “Where d’you want me?”
My flatmate twists her lips as she stares at the phone screen, adjusting the legs to get me in the frame. “Stand back a little,” she says, then shrugs. “Actually, get into the pose you want, and I’ll work around you. That makes more sense.”
I scour my mind for any helpful images of half-naked ladies that it’s kept over the years. I kneel on the floor, reaching behind me for a pillow when my joints immediately protest.
“What about this?” I put my hands behind my head, back arched, wondering if I’m carving out a special room in hell just for me or if there’ll be lots of company.
“Hold it right there,” Finley orders and scurries from the room, returning a minute later with an ice tray. “Just for effects,” she says to my confused expression.
When she plucks out one cube and rubs it across my nipples, I want to punch her. “It doesn’t have to be the best porn in the world,” I scold, as goosebumps march across my exposed flesh like a conquering army. “Quicker is better.”
“If you’ve gone to this much trouble, why not create the best image you can?” Finley lines up the shot and I hear the clicker go off a half dozen times in quick succession. When my eyes shoot to hers, awaiting the verdict, she’s biting her bottom lip.
“What?”
“You don’t look happy.”
“Didn’t know that was the goal.”
“Here.” She throws my sweatshirt back at me. “Put this on. I’ll be back in a minute.”
When she returns, she also has a throw blanket made of some mink-like fabric that’s simultaneously cosy and warm. I gratefully snuggle into its folds while she wrangles a laptop into submission, ticking her tongue when I try to peek at the screen.
“Hold your horses.”
Any confidence I had in the process has evaporated. I stare at the stack of empty wrappers beside my table and realise I didn’t even use a toy.
This is doomed.
“Here you go.” Finley shoves the computer into my lap, the base already buzzing with warmth. “These are the pictures I like the best.”
“Thanks for the invite to your personal porn collection, but I’ll pass.”
I try to shove the laptop back towards her, but she doesn’t let me. “You want my help? This is it.”
With reluctance, I look at the screen, wriggling uncomfortably with the array of naked females flashing before my eyes. “They’re pretty.”
“So are you. That’s not what I’m trying to show you.” She pops the phone out of its cradle and shows me my image. I blanch at the amount of skin on display, barely able to flick my eyes at the screen.
“They’re happy.” Finley points at the computer. “You’re miserable.”
“Yeah, well, they’re probably getting paid a shit ton.”
She snorts and squats beside me. “Because nobody gets exploited in the porn industry. Can’t you manage a smile?”
I try one on for size, but it’s been a minute. “I’m too uncomfortable,” I admit. “This isn’t what I expected to spend my afternoon doing.”
