00:01.
Tomorrow.
“Who even uses military time, Trev?”
The high-pitched sound gets stuck in his throat as he follows me past the lockers and up the few steps that lead us to backstage.
“Um,veterans. Like me. Your roommate. And it’s not even a military thing. It’s aworldthing.” I can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up as I swat him back when he goes to peek through the thick curtain blocking us from view. “And quit changing the subject.”
Sighing, the bass of the song drops, matching the vibration of two hundred pounds hitting the stage we’re standing on, and I can feel both flutter over my exposed skin.
“I said I was going.”
“You obsessed over it for weeks.”
“Well, it took forever to get a response back.”
Trev can tell I’m lying but I don’t back down. Even when he looks me dead in the eye and raises one dark brow.
Asshole knows too much about what I like. It’s quickly becoming a problem considering we spend most waking moments together.
Wearen’t together. We’re incompatible. But he knows too much to be safe.
I should probably plan his demise after the photoshoot tomorrow—
Today.
What the fuck ever.
Palming his whole face, I push him out of my way when my song kicks on and step out onto the stage.
The floor rattles below my feet and the spotlight makes my skin feel as warm as the eyes that land on me when I emerge.
It makes me feel good to be watched. To be salivated over. To know that each set of peepers tracking my every move would absolutely love to have their way with me, though none of them will.
It feels powerful.
Admittedly, though, it’s losing its luster.
And as I take the cool metal in my palm and begin my routine, I find that all I can think about istomorrow.
When I get to be under the scrutiny of a different lens with a complete stranger.
I think that a blind boudoir date is exactly what I need.
CHAPTER 02: MARLO
I fucking trip.
I do not trip.
I am a graceful motherfucker with bendy joints and an ease that moves me. Not the other way around. But this fuggin’ rug just reached up and snatched my foot right as I’m spinning to look.
This is a fucking blind date and everything! Or, well, a blind photoshoot thing that I signed up for back in March.
Sadie, the photographer, tries to hide her snort behind her camera as I collide with my partner for the evening but it’s useless. I hear it. He hears it.
And now I’m face first in a stranger's chest with my hands alllll over his stomach like a real creep, and, Jesus Christ, she’s still taking pics. The shutter is capturing my every move and goddammit, I missed my mark.
