Adam:Oooh! Damon and Kendra sitting in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G!
I snort again as I swipe my thumbs over my phone’s keyboard.
Council of Bros
Adam, grow up, LOL.
Noah, yes, I’ll take you up onthose tickets.
I hurry to put my phone away before any of my brothers can make an obnoxious comment.
They’re right. It isn’t a secret that I’mhigh-keyinto Kendra, as the kids say. Not only was I not being subtle the night we met, but thanks to Noah’s endless supply of tickets to the hottest events in the city, I’ve been going to all her shows since then. I lurk in the back where she can’t see me, but I damn sure can see her. I tell myself I’m not being creepy because I’m just another fan, but I doubt that excuse would hold up if she ever found out.
That’s all the more reason to ace this job interview. I landed a sweet apartment. Once I get a job, I’ll finally be ready to shoot my shot.
Chapter three
Kendra
“Kendra!” the backstage coordinator calls in my direction. “Come behind Lynn, here.” She gestures to a ginger wearing a green sequined jumpsuit with long sleeves and a wrap waist.
“Amanda twisted her ankle, so Ms. Mercedes said you’re going to kick off the printed pieces.”
I move behind Lynn, unfazed by the last-minute change. It’s part of the job. I just hope I can leverage this show to work with Melissa Mercedes directly in the future. Her full-length gowns are the stuff dreams are made of.
I inch forward in line with the other models, stylists and makeup artists buzzing around us. They smooth stray hairs, touch up lipstick, and double-check that all straps are buckled and collars are down.
I’m not always a fan of the clothes I have to wear as a plus-size model. It’s painfully obvious when a designer is trying to hide us in billowing sleeves, wide pant legs, and boxy shoulders, offering extended sizes to avoid potential backlash rather than accommodate diversity of the physical form. Thankfully, Eloquii collaborates with designers like Melissa Mercedes, who want to accentuate our bodies with bold colors, on-trend styles, and ruching to give garments shape. Denise, too, is a designer seeking to highlight our attributes, not downplay them. Once her new line is realized, she’s going to take the extended sizes scene by storm.
Before I know it, it’s my turn. I carefully walk up the platform stairs—don’t want to end up like Amanda—and step onto the stage, striking my first pose. The cameras flash like the sun glinting off a lake, and I soak up the light as I stride purposefully down the catwalk.
With each turn, I catch glimpses of the audience. Celebrities hoping to be snapped at the event by the paparazzi. Other designers checking out the competition. Reporters broadcasting the show live or whispering into handheld recorders.
And, of course,him. Damon. He’s become my shadow since we met months ago, attending every show, every pop-up shop opening, every panel appearance. I think I even saw him outside 787 Coffee when I picked up my daily oat milk chai latte.
He lurks in the back, probably assuming I can’t see him. But how could I miss someone nearly a head taller than the rest of the crowd? How could I not sense those dark, piercing eyesfollowing my every step? How could I not feel the electricity that sparks between us every time we’re in the same room?
I went home after that first night we met, still buzzing with the energy of the show, but melancholy that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome hadn’t come home with me. I assumed it was a run-of-the-mill brushoff until he showed up at my next event, decked out in full athletic apparel and slightly sweaty, like he’d run there. He didn’t try to come over. He didn’t wave or force eye contact. I thought he might wait to run into me after the show, but I came from backstage to a deserted venue. That’s how it’s been at every event since then. I’ve played along, pretending I don’t notice him, but no more.
With my final turn at the end of the runway, I lock eyes with him and give him my best smolder. I add a wink, so there’s no way he can pretend I’m looking at anyone but him. His eyes widen.Yeah, Damon. I see you.In the next blink, I break the connection, then make my way back down the runway.
I drop my keys on the entryway table, forego my kitchen for a post-show snack, and walk directly to my bedroom. Between all the events in the city, and the Los Angeles and Dallas fashion weeks last month, I’m beat. There’s no rest for the weary, though; I promised I’d call Denise once things calmed down for the season.
I’m just about to shoot her a text when my phone rings.
Dad
I roll up to sitting and swipe to answer, pressing the receiver to my ear.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, baby girl.” His rich baritone comes across the line. “How was your show tonight?”
Shocked, I pull the phone back and double-check the caller. Dad never asks about my job.Ever.He always said it was a waste of my degree.
“Uh, it was fine, Dad. H-how did you know I had a show?” I sputter. His frown is practically audible.
“I suppose I deserve that,” he mutters with a sigh. “Debbie told me. She showed me your spread inEssence, too.”
