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I finish my coffee, keeping my eyes trained on the ocean, smiling as Natalie and her little family walk past. She doesn't see me in my secluded little spot, and I don't call out a greeting. It's so sweet to just watch them together, living life, enjoying each other's company. The men walk around her like she's the center of their universe. The kids run and laugh, with three dads who are eager to play with them. I'm a career girl right now, but I want the life that Natalie has. I want the security that comes with love, and the joy that comes with children.
I should focus my attention on the article, but instead my mind wanders, conjuring little faces of children I'll never have with the men still sleeping upstairs. Little boys with pretty light eyes and blond curls. Little girls with serious brows, round faces and straight noses. I imagine them snuggled against the muscular chests of their daddies, or tossed high into the air while they squeal with laughter. I imagine Russell reading them stories at bedtime and Jonas tickling them until they can't breathe. Clay would sort out their disagreements, and Stefan and Oliver would teach them impeccable manners. Tom and Gabe would soothe their cut knees and Jimmy would forge their love of sport. Carson would color with them, drawing fierce dragons and pretty princesses. Theron would build them tree houses and little wooden cars to ride around in.
Together, they would create the perfect family.
And me?
That's where it all falls down because I might dream about staying with all of them and forging an unconventional but happy life like Dawn and Natalie, and all the other women who find love that way. But that's me wanting to have my cake and eat it too. A ten to one ratio is great for the one but not so great for the ten. All these men have their own lives and their own dreams. I cannot become a deluded woman pining for something that just cannot be.
All I can do is keep my heart trained on what can be. I have three days left to enjoy being with these men. I can live out every fantasy I'll ever have and fill my memory bank with so much happiness and fulfillment to warm the colder days ahead.
Focus, I tell my wandering brain. I'll write whatever I need to keep Kirsty off my back. And then I'll enjoy, because the clock is ticking.
33
ALLIE
"Check out these photos," I say to Jonas and Jimmy, who are sprawled out on the low tan leather couches in matching poses like sexy bookends, focused on their phones. I step over Jimmy's outstretched legs and flop onto the seat between them, resting my open laptop on my knees. The men, who both smell amazing, and are permanently disarmingly gorgeous, lean in to view the screen more clearly.
"That's us!" Jonas shifts closer, pressing his thigh against the full length of mine, and I’m immediately flustered. "Damn. We look hot."
"We do. Like a poster for Hot Boys Down Under, or whatever that male stripper group is called."
"I think you know too much about male strippers for a heterosexual man."
Jimmy shoots his friend a look laced with daggers and uses his middle finger to ease the mouse down, filling me with all kinds of filthy thoughts about other places his capable finger could stroke.
"They're all hot," I say. "But I need to pick one for the magazine cover, and at least four for the internal spread."
"This one. This one is fire." Jonas jabs his finger at the screen, choosing the one that is my favorite. Jonathan, the photographer, captured a cute shot of all the men sitting with their legs dangling into the pool, some on one side, some on the other and me at the center of the group.
"What are you looking at?" Oliver carries his cup of coffee, taking up residence behind us. I twist to stare up at him and from this angle, he looks like a roman general with his tan skin, neat beard and straight nose. He sips the coffee, his eyes fixed on the pictures as though he’s assessing war strategy. When I twist back to look at the photo, I suddenly notice he's missing from the shot we were talking about.
"How are you not in this picture?” I take over the mouse pad, skimming through the others.
"I must have been taking a call."
"This one could work." Jonas taps his finger on the screen.
"Which one?" Oliver leans over the back of the couch, his forearm brushing against my neck. "I'm not in that one either, but that’s okay. I don’t mind not being in the pictures."
"How am I supposed to choose a photo reflecting an article about ten men talking about their ten inches if all the group pictures only have nine men in them?"
"The wonders of Photoshop." Jonas sounds so blasé, like it’s an easy process to add a man to five pictures in different settings with varied lighting.
"But I don't get it. Kirsty was here. She clearly briefed Jonathan. How could he go ahead and shoot so many images and not feature Oliver in…?" I scan more of the pictures. The only time Oliver has been captured in a picture is with his back to the camera and he's fully clothed. There's no way that would work for photoshop.
"...most of these shots. Shit. I'm going to need you to sit on the edge of the pool," I say. "And I'll take a picture and send it to Kirsty. I think that's the only way we can rectify this disaster before she becomes apoplectic. She must not have noticed the omission either."
"It's not your fault." Jimmy rests his hand on my knee.
"That doesn't ever seem to make much difference."
"Get in your Speedos then." Jonas nods in Oliver's direction, but Mr.Evasive’sattention has moved to his phone screen.
"Sorry. I have to deal with this." Pressing his phone to his ear, Oliver finds a corner near the front door to have a very long conversation in hushed tones. I twist my ear in that direction to try to overhear, but Jimmy and Jonas are too interested in assessing which of the images makes them look sexier, and I can't hear anything over their hilarious banter. In the end, I give up and we pick images that will work for inside the magazine including an artsy still life of the purple dildos next to a bowl of fruit. Throughout the process, the other men in the group come and go, leaving their comments and preferences for me to take into consideration.
Later, after I email Kirsty to explain the issues and suggest the pictures that might work, I find Oliver swimming lengths in the pool. Russell, Theron, Tom, and Gabe are all stretched out in the sun. I slowly lower myself down the stairs and into the water, waiting for Oliver to surface so that I can talk to him. When he sees me, he brushes his hands over his wet hair and over his face.
