“Thanks again, Shane,” Janice said, giving me another one of her hugs. It was impossible for me to hide what was going on under my pants, and boy did she notice. Her eyes lit up and a smile crossed her lips.
“Why don’t me and you hang out after work sometime? Send me a DM. I stay up late.”
And with that, they were both gone, out the door and down the elevator back to wherever it was they lived, leaving me with my head spinning and a hard dick.
This was a predicament. Janice wanted me, but I didn’t want her; I wanted her friend.
Jane…I’d gotten my hands on her once, and I wasn’t going to stop until she was all mine. I didn’t care if it cost me everything I had.
Chapter Two
Jane
“Four hundred and twelve thousand followers!” Janice exclaimed from beside me on the couch in our basement Brooklyn apartment. “In less than a year! Can you believe that?!”
Yes, I can, I thought. That’s what happens when you post cleavage like that online for everyone to see. I’d never been one for putting all my business out there on the web. I had an Instagram of course, but I was one of “those girls” who only posted pictures of sunsets or their coffee and dinner but never revealing photos that really got the likes. As such, I only had forty-five followers. But I didn’t care. Janice was the hot one, not me…
…At least, that’s what I’d thought until this morning…
The world still seemed upside down, or like I was living in a mirror world after what had happened back at the studio.
“You should come along!” Janice had told me. “Be my assistant for the day!”
“Isn’t that what I already am basically?” I’d replied.
It was true. Janice was always running here and there for shoots, and she was a train wreck when it came to remembering things, so I always ended up picking up the slack for her. So, I’d gone along for the shoot. But I’d never expected it to go that way…
Shane Mason. He was one of New York’s hottest fashion photographers. Janice had told me how good looking he was before showing up, but nothing could have prepared me for the truth.
He was gorgeous.
“He’s not one of those old grey haired pervs,” she’d explained on our way up the elevator to the studio. “He’s like, young and stuff, and looks like he works out too. I think he likes me too. If I could fuck him—I mean—you don’t even know the things he could do for my career.”
I’d almost felt bad when he’d moved right in like that after the shoot when Janice was in the bathroom, but what was I supposed to do? I was powerless against those eyes, that jaw, that incredible physique that was more than obvious beneath his sheer t-shirt and jeans.
And I was not used to that. At all.
Janice was the hot one. I was the frumpy friend that walked behind her like a puppy. Everywhere we went she was getting hit on. Free drinks, VIP, car service, photographers and rich guys hitting on her. She played the game and she played it well, while I sat in the background doing Soduku on my phone.
I’d moved to New York with Janice from New Hampshire when I was 18. We’d known each other in high school, and I’d basically watched as she had the most incredible social life imaginable, while I got to get a glimpse of it from the sideline. The boys had gone for her, she’d had all the fun, while I’d gone the opposite direction.
No boys. None.
In fact, the most I’d ever done was make out with Bobby Jacobson when I was 17. I’d thought he liked me, but he was just using me to get to Janice to see if he could work a threesome with us. Bastard.
So to say I was inexperienced when Shane had moved in on me like that was the understatement of the century. And when his strong hand had grabbed my breast…
I hadn’t even known I’d wanted it until he took the initiative. Now that was a man.
He knew what I wanted before I did, and I couldn’t imagine what else he was capable of. But I guess I’d never know. This was a cover shoot for High Style, which meant Janice wouldn’t be going back any time soon, and even if she did, she’d be the one to get him—not me.
He was probably just horny and sick of getting all the models and thought he’d try his hand at a “regular girl.” Janice would do the same thing she always did when I saw a guy I thought was cute; swoop in with her low cut top and giggles and steal him away, fuck him for a week or two (at most) and then toss him aside like a carton of mac n’ cheese. If they weren’t of some kind of use to her, she didn’t want them.
“Make sure you like my most recent photo!” Janice told me. I groaned.
“Can’t one of your four hundred thousand followers do that?”
“Seriously, Jane! I’m an influencer! I need as many likes as possible!”