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“Probably because you’re a sweetheart,” Tom says, matter-of-factly, and Truly blushes hot pink down to her skeleton. My bones turn neon green. That’s one thing I’ll never be: a sweetheart. How is it so easy for these two?
“I don’t deserve candy,” he says, pouring the rest of the bag into his mouth. “I’ve been such an asshole lately. I deserve a bad word on my butt.”
Truly blinks. “Are you psychic? That’s what I’ve come to butter up Darcy about. The brand consultant wants a men’s sample included in the lookbook.”
“Dudes don’t wear funny underwear,” I scoff.
“I just said I’d wear some.” Tom folds his empty candy packet.
Truly nods, glad of his support. “I think there might be a market, too. I’ve been working on a pair for a while now, so I had a pattern. This is the first-ever men’s pair. You know what I’m going to need now, Darcy.”
She sidles up to me, opening another bag of candy. I open my mouth like a baby bird and she stuffs some chewy pineapples into my beak.
“Don’t make me.” I make crying noises through the sugar. “Don’t.”
“What’s the issue?” Tom walks up to the door. “Yeah, give me one minute,” he calls up to the house. There are a million things up at the house he needs to do, but he’s getting tangled up.
“Quit being nosy.” There’s no point in wasting time with me. “Go back to work.”
“Casting male models is her worst nightmare,” Truly tells him. “Whenever she’s put calls out for male models in the past, she’s gotten photos of dicks in response.”
“It’s true. Just dick after dick.” I look at my computer, my watch, and then her face. I ignore Tom’s crossed arms. “Do I get any more time?”
“No,” she says regretfully.
“Can I do a flatlay?” Even as I say it, I shake my head. “No, they’ll look crap beside the model shots. Okay, leave it with me. I’ll sort it out.”
“Are you sure you’re not tiring yourself out?” Again, Tom’s fingers are on my shoulder. Again my tank disobeys and slips off. “I think you’re on less sleep than me at the moment.”
“If only you had someone on-site here who could do it,” Truly says to me, slowly and speculatively. She turns and looks at Tom. “Someone really close by. Someone in good shape, who wears an XL.” She narrows her eyes at his waist.
Tom is never going to buy into this nonsense. I save him the embarrassment of saying no. “He’s too busy for this.”
“Tom . . . ,” Truly starts in a sweetheart voice.
He doesn’t know what to say. He’s coloring up. “My butt is very flattered to be considered for this, Truly. I’m not sure it’s up to your standards.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say in disbelief. Seriously. Has the man never reached back and felt what he has there? “We’ll let you get back to work. I’ll just trigger the dick tsunami.”
Truly rushes to reassure him. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re really the best man for this job. Please, just let Darcy take one photo of your butt and I’ll buy you a steak dinner.”
“Hmmm,” Tom says. “Steak.” I think he’s trying to not laugh. I probably look like I’m about to start screaming. “What do I have to do?”
“It’s easy,” Truly jumps in. “Just stand there. Don’t even suck your stomach in. My site is only real bodies. The models we use aren’t tiny sample sizes. And Darce only uses minimal Photoshop. Real bodies,” she repeats emphatically, looking at his groin.
“I don’t think this classifies as a real body.” My voice sounds very faint. Tom smiles like he is utterly charmed. I know my face is blood red, because he’s biting his lip to stop laughing. “Hey, are you messing with me?”
“A little. I like it.” He hears another bleat outside.
Truly decides to betray me. “Darcy was the butt for a few of the collections last year when we couldn’t get models at a reasonable rate.”
Tom’s little Valeska ears prick up. “Darcy’s an underwear model?” He’s positively sparkling with humor and fun now. I’m flushing red, my heart erupting in my chest and sending liquid lava through my veins.
“I forbid you to look.”
“She’s got a great backside for underwear. You two could be the Underswears power couple, if you’d just put them on, Tom. What do you say? Steak dinner?”
“I never got a steak dinner,” I complain.
