I thought a virtual morning coffee date with my best friend would be a good idea. Sassiness aside, I miss her. She’s more family than friend, and this is the longest we’ve gone without talking in at least a decade. But the problem with very long-term friendships is that sometimes you’ve excused the bad behavior for so long, you almost don’t recognize it.
“Palmer,” I say, staring at the side of her face, her eyes clearly on her phone off screen as she’s texting. “Do you need to go?”
“One sec,” she mumbles and I hear her pecking away at her phone. Whomever she’s messaging must be getting an earful.
“Because I can call you back.” She’s been ignoring me for at least five minutes now. I thought a face-to-face conversation might help us connect.
“Just one sec.”
Over the past month, I’ve been spending all my free time with Finn—okay, under Finn—and with Lennox. It’s never this complicated with them. I never have to beg for eye contact or their attention. Why does Palmer treat me this way when it’d be so easy to be decent to me? Why do we trample on the ones we love? I’m almost bothered that my new friends are unintentionally pointing out the glaring issues in my oldest friendship.
I wait another two minutes before I inform her, “Okay then. I’ll try and catch you another time when you’re—”
“There,” she grumbles. She puts her phone down and faces me head-on. She adjusts her iPad, realizing she was only in half of the frame this entire time. “So sensitive. It was a work thing. Sorry, there’s drama going on and it’s stressing me the fuck out. Some girl is trying to get me fired.”
And here is the quintessential problem with my relationship with Palmer. Instinctively, I’m too protective and overly concerned. I can complain about her obnoxious nuances, but I’m the only one who can. Because I love her. Because I always have her best intentions at heart. And while I have to gently remind her, almost daily, how not to be a shit friend, nobody threatens Palmer. I become a bulldog with a big bark when it comes to my best friend.
“Who? And why?”
“The director’s assistant. It’s fucking ridiculous. Jealous bitch. I think she wanted to be considered for my role, but instead, she’s basically a glorified stagehand.” Palmer twists open a bottle of water and takes a hurried sip. “She even asked me for acting advice once. Can you believe that? Then she wants to stab me in the back by whining to the director when I’m late—I mean once. I was late once. Well, twice, but the other time I was sick, so that’s not my fault.”
I wrap my hands tightly around my jumbo novelty mug, which was a gag gift from Finn. It must be for soup because I’m certain it holds at least twenty-four ounces. He proudly showed up at my door one morning with this giant black mug with hot pink writing that reads: I had great sex in Las Vegas. He told me it made him think of me while he was at the store and he left with a snicker.
Needless to say, it’s now my favorite mug in the world. I smile into my cup as I ask Palmer, “Why would she be so devious after you helped her?”
“Helped her what?” Palmer snaps.
I swallow my sip of over-the-top sweet coffee. “You said you gave her advice…”
Palmer snorts. “No, I said she asked for advice. What I told her was to lose twenty pounds, save up ten grand, and buy herself a set of tits.”
I inhale and blow out a breath, debating whether this is even my battle to fight. “Should you say that kind of thing to people? You probably pissed her off and now she’s out to get you. Not everyone understands your humor.”
She raises one brow at me. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
Oh for the love of God. “I seriously doubt one grudge can get you fired from a role. How many episodes have you filmed now?”
“Five. And rumor has it, we’re about to be picked up by a big streaming network. I’m not technically allowed to say who, but if you can read between the lines, it’s Net—” She silently flicks the air in front of the screen.
Clever. “Really? That’s amazing.” I drop my jaw and force my eyes into wide, enthusiastic circles. “Why aren’t you more excited?” I click my manicured nails against the side of my mug and it apparently captures Palmer’s attention. She leans closer to the screen, peering at my nails.
“Are you wearing acrylic? You hate acrylics.”
“No, it’s actually this hybrid dip thing. My friend Lennox recommended it.” That’s quite literally my best description. Lennox and I went to the salon and all I know is this is somewhere between gel polish and acrylic, except it’s vegan, cruelty-free, and smells like pears. I examine my mint green nails, which are the color Finn suggested when he saw me off to my day date with Lennox a couple of days ago. And by suggested I mean he pulled me into his chest and whispered in my ear that my hand decorated in green would look beautiful wrapped around his cock.
“Who the hell is Lennox?”
“Finn’s cousin…and employee…and best friend…and sort of roommate, I’m not sure. She’s just always around.”
Palmer’s eyes narrow at the smile on my face. “Who’s Finn?”
Setting my mug aside, I then press my fingers against my eyelids. “The guy I’m sleeping with, Palmer. The guy I’ve told you about countless times now.”
“Hot tattoo guy? Your sex coach thing is still going on?” She tsks her tongue in a way that screams condescending. “That’s adorable.”
My smile instantly dissipates. The familiar feeling washes over me and I shrivel. What is it? It’s hard to put my finger on it… It is the special, passive-aggressive way Palmer keeps me in my place and reminds me that no matter what I have, no matter how shiny it is, it’s small…cute…adorable. And now that I’ve had a taste of support, it’s clear as day—she needs to do better. She’s capable of doing better.
“Does it make you feel good about yourself when you make me feel like that?”
“What?” Her light eyes widen as she tucks a strand of her platinum-blond hair behind her ears.
“That word, ‘adorable.’ It cheapens what I’m doing. Finn doesn’t pity me. I think he’s actually really into me. We’re good together. Better than good. We’re over-the-top, hot together. And even if it’s just for the summer, I feel alive. I feel bold and brave, and for the first time in…ever, I’m learning to appreciate my body exactly the way it is. If you love me, please don’t poke at that or make a mockery of it. If you don’t have something kind to say, just don’t say anything.”
I steady my breath, slow inhale, slow exhale, amidst my pounding heart. I hate having to stand up to Palmer, but not because of an impending screaming match. It’s because she’s sensitive. And by drawing boundaries…I just made her cry.
“Oh, Palmer,” I say, “please don’t cry—”
“No, no,” she says, sniffling. Her face instantly turns red and blotchy. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I think I’m just jealous. Lennox and Finn—they’re a big part of your life now and I’m not there to experience it with you. Adorable is just a word, Aves. I didn’t mean anything by it. And I’m so proud of you. You could’ve been a hot fucking mess after your breakup with Mason, but instead, you’ve come out on top. You always come out on top. I’m so sorry if I was mean—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Thank you for listening and apologizing.” I know what she’s about to say next. It’s always the way we end these uncomfortable exchanges.
“I don’t deserve you,” she mumbles.
I follow up with my part, like a rehearsed scene. “Doesn’t matter, best friend. You’ve got me.”
The stone path that leads to Finn’s photography studio is beautiful…but uneven. I’ve nearly rolled my ankles three times in my heels by the time I make it to the clients’ entrance. Across the yard, I see the gate that leads to Dex’s hot tub. Finn’s backyard is beautiful and well-kept, but small—it’s about half the size of Dex’s.
Strangely enough, in the entire time we’ve been hanging out, I haven’t been inside his studio once. Finn always picks me up or meets me at Dex’s. Plus, he claims Lennox is always lurking at his home, and we wouldn’t have privacy. What a wonderful freaking change of pace. A man who puts in the effort. The next man I date most definitely needs this quality. There’s nothing better than opening the front door and seeing your hunky knight in armor smoldering at you.
As a break from our normal tradition, Finn asked me to meet him in his studio before we head to dinner with his dad. I’m barely in front of the glass doors before he greets me with a smile as he slides the door open. He clutches his heart.
“God, I love this dress on you. You look gorgeous.” He cocks an eyebrow and stares at me warningly.
“Thank you,” I say.
“There it is.” He winks at me. “Good girl.”
“I wish I had something new to wear for tonight, but it’s my only fancy dress.” I shrug. “Sorry, you’ve seen me in this before.”
“Why be sorry?” His dimples deepen as he looks me up and down. “You should live in this dress, Queen. Day in and day out.” He plants a quick peck on the top of my head and brushes my hair behind my back and follows up with a kiss on my neck, then my bare shoulder.
“You clean up nice yourself.” To no one’s surprise, Finn is dressed impeccably. His clean tan slacks are wrinkle-free and pair nicely with his long-sleeved black dress shirt with subtle gray pinstripes. Does he have this much style on his own, or does Lennox dress him too? I poke him in the chest playfully but let my fingers linger when I feel the electricity pulsing through them. When am I going to get tired of this? When will enough be enough? Because lately, I have to cross my legs when I’m around Finn to control the instant urge. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never needed sex like this before. It’s never been this fun.
My fingers trail down his chest, over the bumps of his tight six-pack covered by the thin fabric of his shirt. He lets me tap teasingly against his belt a few times before he grabs my hand. “No time, Avery. And anyway, I want to show you something.”
He laces his fingers with mine and leads me past the small seating area. We pause in front of a closed door and Finn turns to face me. Sometimes, he takes me off guard. At times when I’m least expecting it, he stuns me with his gaze. I gawk at him like a deer in blinding headlights because it’s so easy to talk to him that sometimes I forget how fucking incredibly good-looking he is.
“You okay?” he asks, his brows furrowing in puzzlement.
I clear my throat and force myself to blink, feeling how heavy my fake eyelashes are. “Yes. Fine. What’s up?”
“Remember how you said I should use a model for the new website?”
“Yes…”
I ran Finn through a lot of suggestions. None of which he seemed particularly thrilled about. I suggested that he set up partnerships with lingerie stores within a twenty-mile radius and offer a discount on his services for customers of boutiques willing to hand out his card. He shrugged. He said it felt like heckling.
I also suggested he film a few photography lessons for educational purposes to give tips and tricks to amateur photographers just starting out in the business. Educational content is fantastic for SEO. Again, he thanked me for the suggestion but brushed it off.
I ran him through click traffic, promotion packaging, raising his pricing, adjusting the studio hours, and paying for ads in newsletters and bulletins. All fell on deaf ears, except the rebranding. I came up with a new logo and new business name. Finn Photography. No Harvey. We ditched the lousy tri-circle design he had and instead, I mocked up an iridescent shark fin on a clean black surface. That he loved. He was really enthusiastic about the designs I drafted for the new business cards and flyers I emailed him. They are just mockups. I’ll send them to a professional designer to really take them to the next level. In the meantime, we’ve been stuck on the website.
I always tell my clients that a website needs to tell a story…without telling a story. It has to be subtle. It has to be an energy. There is a way to evoke emotion with colors and fonts, and good branding is what hooks and keeps a client.
Finn needs a model to show off his boudoir photography skills. We need images that are tasteful, yet edgy. We need women to see an image and want to picture themselves in the scene. I was under the impression Finn would reach out to a former client to get their permission to use certain pictures, but judging by the look on his face, he wildly misjudged what I meant.
“You,” he says simply. “I want you. You’re perfect.” He opens the door and I suck in a sharp breath at the sight.
The floor is covered in black flower heads. It’s a sea of wrong-colored roses. It feels like walking right into a black-and-white photograph. The entire room is decorated in black, white, and cream. There’s a coolness…and edge…a certain moodiness. The four-poster bed is made up with white sheets and sprinkled with pearl-white rose petals. What looks like ink is spilled across the edge, dripping to the floor. I run my finger over the dark spill. It’s glue…or wax, whatever it is, it’s solid. Every detail, down to the string of pearls draped over the vanity mirror, is intricately placed.
“This is incredible, Finn. It’s tragic and haunting, but beautiful. It’s so…sexy.”
“All Lennox,” he says from behind me as I step farther into the room, trying not to squish the fake roses surrounding my feet.
“It reminds me of…” I roll my wrist in the air as I trail off and search my brain. “What are those black-and-white movies called?”
“Film noir.”
“Exactly. Film noir. I love this. This is going to do so well with clients. When are you going to start shooting in here?” I spin around to face him, a wide smile on my face. He returns a half smile, his expression sly and teasing.
“I have to adjust the lighting, but I’m ready to do a test session. How about after dinner you be my guinea pig?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow?” he offers.
“Not good either.”
He scrunches his face. “Well, when’s good for you?”
I return his quizzical stare. “When guinea pigs fly.” I shake off his ridiculous expression and hold my hand out. “Come on. Aren’t we going to be late to meet your dad?”
“Avery,” Finn scolds.
“Finn,” I say, just as sternly. “Let it go. It’s not happening. You’re not photographing me in here or anywhere. Especially not with my clothes off. End of discussion. Let’s go.”
He grabs my hand but doesn’t take my lead. Instead, he yanks me against his body. He wraps his strong arms around my waist and holds me in a bear’s grip. When he feels my body relax, he reaches up with one hand and traces the slope of my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, finally tracing my lips with his finger. “I know you’re a little camera-shy. I can help you with that.”
“No,” I mumble.
“I’m so good at my job, Avery. I take beautiful photos. I promise.”
“I’ve seen your work and I don’t doubt that for a second, Finn.”
“Then what’s the problem? You watched yourself in the mirror when you rode my tongue until you came. You’re not as shy as you’re pretending to be. You don’t even have to be fully nude if you don’t want to.”
“That’s different. No.”
“I just want you to see yourself the way I do.”
“Well, I don’t.” I am on the borderline of a tantrum. I feel so ridiculous, but Finn doesn’t understand. Whatever spell I have him under is emotional. A picture can’t convey the feelings Finn gets around me. A picture can’t describe the bonds of friendship we’ve built. All he’ll see in front of him is a woman who is probably twice the size of the rail-thin models he’s likely used to fucking. I’m a phase for him. An over-correction. A safeguard around his heart. I’ve never seen Nora, but how much do you want to bet she looks otherworldly gorgeous?
I just want to stay right where we are. I want to keep pretending for as long as we can. One summer. I was promised one freaking summer.
“What’s wrong?” Finn murmurs. “Haven’t I spent the past month teaching you how to love yourself? Remember what I told you? It’s confidence, Avery.”
I raise my shoulders and drop them. “I appreciate it. And I feel great being with you. But you don’t erase a lifetime of insecurities and doubt in a few weeks. This isn’t part of the deal. You’re supposed to show me how to fuck, not how to love.”
I wish I could take it back. I want to swallow the words back down and shove them into the depths of my stomach. I don’t mean a damn word, but I’m scared to tell him how I feel. There is no good answer. Even if he returns my feelings, the clock will immediately start ticking. We make sense in the bubble. But what happens when we step out? Finn isn’t going to feel this way about me forever.
His eyelids droop as he presses his lips into a firm line. “Okay, I hear you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. But it’s clear what we’re doing isn’t working. I wanted to help you, not make you feel even more insecure. So…” The flicker of a playful smile teases the corner of his lip. “Until you’re ready to do this”—he juts his thumb over his shoulder—“we should probably stop our lessons.”
“What?” Oh no, buddy. No, no. One whole summer. I’ve got six more weeks at least of enjoying your body.
“You heard me.” Now he’s wearing a full-blown, shit-eating grin. “Come on, Queen. We’re going to be late.”
He leaves me behind as he moves toward the door. Like a child robbed of her candy, I can’t help but pout. My hands find my hips and my toes nervously twitch in my high heels. “You’re seriously trying to cut me off from sex? You really think that’ll get you your way?”
“Excuse me,” he mumbles with his eyes locked on mine. My gaze immediately falls to his crotch as he makes a meal out of adjusting himself through his pants, his thin slacks easily outlining the shape of his dick. Even unaroused, the man is Hulk-sized. “There we go. Much better.”
“Was that necessary?” I ask. I blink at him, unimpressed. “That’s playing dirty.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it won’t take you long. You’ll be posing for me soon, and after, we’re going to christen this studio. I’m going to fuck you ten different ways in this room. I promise you that,” he says, following up with a light chuckle.
“I’m not getting in front of the camera, Finn.” Of all the stupid things I just said, that part remains to be true. I take his outstretched hand and weave my fingers in his.
“Oh, Avery,” Finn singsongs. “I know how I affect you, and I have every intention of playing dirty.”
