12 Inches (A Secret Baby Dark Romance)(29)

“To our careers, then,” I say out loud, raising my glass. The girls all do the same, and that initial awkwardness fades away like it was never there in the first place.

“To our careers,” Abby repeats, and I notice Cheryl looking at her with a satisfied look on her face. No wonder—Abby has changed a lot since we met, and Cheryl has already realized that. No more man hating, and a new outlook on sex. If you wanna use an expensive fucking word to describe what this collaboration is doing to her, I’d use ‘catharsis’. Yeah, I might look like the reincarnation of Apollo himself, but I also have a brain and know how to use it, even though I mostly use it to think of Abby’s naked body, and all of the deliciously wicked things I want to do to her.

To be honest, writing is as tough as chewing nails; it seems that I can’t even write a paltry one hundred words without being distracted by the smooth curve of her hips. Maybe that’s why we fuck away most of our productive hours. It’s a wonder our first draft is almost done.

“By the way, I’ve booked a session with Mistress Strokes for you,” CJ tells me, devouring the sweet potatoes on her plate. She might be skinny, but she eats almost as much as I do. The wonders of metabolism, I guess.

“The photographer, right? When?”

“Next week,” she says, and then turns to Abby. “I think you should go with him, Abby. Since we’re going the self-publishing route, I think it’d be nice to have your input on all aspects of this production.”

“Makes sense,” she replies, looking at me with that irresistible smile of hers. Fuck, thank God Cheryl and CJ are here with us, or else I think I’d just get up grabbing Abby and bending her over the table.

“Well, I’m glad we’re all getting along,” CJ continues, but I notice a slight hesitation in her voice. No matter how great things are going, I guess she still can’t fucking shake off the feeling that everything’s going to implode sooner or later. I can’t really blame her, though; I’ve been wrecking every single connection in the publishing industry, and she has a hard time believing that trend is going to change. It’s my job to prove her wrong, and I’ll do it, trust me. “It’s going to take a few more weeks, but I figure we’ll be ready for launch in no time.”

I look at her, letting her words sink in. I’m actually publishing a book; can you believe this shit? I never asked for it; I was happy enough with my job, which was to get people to press Buy, but I’m actually glad I had the chance to do this. Writing is more enjoyable than I assumed it’d be and, more important than that, it was what made Abby and I cross paths.

The only drawback to all this? In a few weeks we’re going to be done with the novel, and then… Well, fuck me if I know, but I’m not looking forward to the moment when we go our separate ways.





13





Abby





“Your shirt, take it off,” Mistress Strokes says flatly, casually adjusting the lens in one of the dozens of cameras laid in a half-circle. Aidan walks in front of the large white canvas hanging from the wall and, grabbing his shirt, pulls it over his head.

The blue-haired woman goes to the wall, the one opposite to where I’m standing, and fumbles around with the electrical board, flipping up the switches. The overhead light projectors turn on, and Aidan’s ripped muscles gleam under the bright lights. He stretches lazily, his pectorals and washboard abs pushing against his skin and making my heart beat faster. It doesn’t matter how many times I see his naked body… I just can’t get enough.#p#分页标题#e#

I look at Mistress Strokes, the photographer, wondering why she isn’t paying any attention to Aidan. I mean, if it were me, I’d be ogling him like crazy. But she’s more concerned with her cameras than with Aidan’s body and, if you ask me that works just fine. I’m not the jealous type, but I prefer to have no competition.

“Alright, show time,” she tells Aidan, hunched behind a camera and peering through the lens. “Let’s do a trial run, you know how this goes,” she continues, this time snapping picture after picture.

My eyes are glued to Aidan now, watching every move of his. He flows from pose to pose gracefully, exposing his muscles from different angles. Even though there’s a serious, don’t-fuck-with-me expression on his face, I can tell he’s glad to be back in the studio. He took to writing pretty easily, but modeling was his bread-and-butter for a long time.

“Alright, good,” Mistress Strokes whispers to herself, going up to her feet and turning to me. “Abby, right?” She turns to me and offers me her hand, a kind smile dawning on her lips. I take her hand, shaking it, and nod. “Big fan,” she admits, her cheeks flushing slightly, and then she clears her throat. “Anyway, how do you want to handle this? Have you decided on a theme?”