Finally, his eyes meet mine. For a split second, he stares at me like he’s going to tear my clothes off. Then he blinks and his expression is back to normal.
“Let’s try this, Skye. You tell me what you don’t like about porn, and I’ll find you a nice, ordinary video.”
“Why?”
“It’s been a while for you too.”
Ahem. I hang my dress in his closet, between two plain black t-shirts. “I prefer reality.”
Jealousy streaks his expression. “With who?”
“No one… just…”
“Is there someone you want?”
I clear my throat. “That’s not important.”
“There is.”
Shit. I need a good lie. Something believable. “He’s interested in someone else.”
“And you—what? You’re just waiting?”
“No, I… I’m not doing anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?” he asks.
“You always tell me to stay away from love. That it only ends in pain.”
His eyes soften. “Well, yeah, but… if it’s what you want—”
“I can’t have what I want.”
“Who is this guy?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How can he not see how amazing you are?”
“Forest, it doesn’t matter.”
His brow knits. “It does.”
“Can we just…”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
I shake my head. “I’m not pursuing it. That’s all you need to know.”
His frown deepens. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”
Because it’s him. But it’s not like I can say that. “Let’s just… what were we talking about?”
“Is it someone from school?”
I clear my throat.
“Someone at the shop?”
“Forest—”
“Is he the strong, silent type?”
“Porn? It was porn, right?”
He moves a little closer. “You’d rather discuss porn than—”
“Yes.”
Understanding spreads over his expression. “Okay. Then let’s shake on it.” He extends his hand.
“On what?”
“Your new entertainment.”
Jesus Christ, he’s trying to kill me. “My what?”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then trust me.” He motions to his hand. “I’ll find exactly what you like.”
He’s not talking about fucking me, but, God, it feels good believing that.
Chapter Sixteen
Skye
I dream about Forest forcing me to watch porn—classy, beautiful, French film quality adult entertainment.
Wake sweaty and wanting.
Everything is different.
But everything is the same too.
His bed, his shirt, his music.
His favorite album. Of course. He plays it all the time.
Our taste in music overlaps to a large degree. I like more 90s in my rock—riot grrls, grunge, ska—but I enjoy his miserable punk-pop musicians too.
These guys—this guy in particular—are so maladjusted. They make me feel normal.
Sure, I’m not a millionaire with a multi-platinum album.
But I don’t wish my ex would die in a car crash. Or a fire. Or…
It’s mostly car crashes with this guy.
He’s got some issues with automobiles.
And women.
The dude is basically the poster child for toxic masculinity. The guy’s ex broke his heart, but he can’t admit that, even to himself.
The poor guy doesn’t see it. He insists he doesn’t even think about his ex, even though every song is about her.
He’s so intent on avoiding vulnerability his pain turns to hate.
Though… really, I’m not being fair.
The guy calms down a lot in his next album. (As Holden would say, a hundred dollars says that’s next in the queue). He lets his guard down. Lets the vulnerability in.
It’s kind of… appealing actually. The way he pushes you away then pulls you in. The way he finally admits how lost and alone he is.
Not that I stare at Forest every time he plays it thinking do you see what’s happening here? Are you going to follow in his footsteps? Are you finally going to let me in?
I’m asking too much.
He’s good to me. He takes care of me.
So what if he won’t let me in? It’s not like it consumes me.
It’s not like my heart screams please, tell me where you hurt, tell me how to fix it.
Not at all.
I move to the bathroom. Go through my routine. Seek distraction in my cell.
Form response to a job application. Updates on three plus-sized blogs I follow.
Several dozen pictures of women in clothes.
Three Instagram PMs.
One oh my God, I love your stuff.
One are you single, baby. (That earns a block).
And one inquiry from a lingerie company.
Huh.
It’s not like the usual requests—free clothes for consideration.
It’s more.
Dear Princess Skye,
We love your style—the photos and the clothes. And the sex appeal too. Who is that gorgeous male model? Is he available for a second shoot?
We want more pictures like that. It doesn’t have to be him, but it simply must be you.
We’re looking for influencers with a big following and a whole lot of style. Your photos are amazing. Sexy, classy, teasing. Give us more of that.
We’re offering five thousand dollars for a series of five photos.
Let us know if you’re interested, and we’ll send a contract.
Sincerely.
Foxy Lace Lingerie
No. That’s not possible.
I’m reading this wrong.
There’s some bizarre spelling mistake.
Someone wrote thousand when they meant to write nothing.
Only that’s completely implausible.
And the lingerie company has a completely legitimate footprint. It’s new and small, but it’s real.
They’re really offering me five grand.
Five grand to post pictures in my underwear.
Their underwear.
Pictures like the ones I took with Forest.