J. Huss - PANIC

I scroll down the laptop screen as the next group of girls walks in. So far there are maybe one or two who might fit with what we’re looking for. Tall and thin are a given, but beyond that I’m looking for fresh. Exciting. Clean-cut. And wholesome—it’s a retro pin-up type shoot, after all. We like to use pouty and depressed girls for the dark erotic shoots because they sell better, but this is a catalog shoot. Lots of bright artificial lighting is a must so the girls typically at the top of my model list are not really suitable.

I look over this group, absently smile at them as Roger does the interview, then we dismiss them and I choose no one. “Did you like any?” I ask Roger.

“Nah. Next.”

I’m just about to message Rook so she can send the next group when another girl walks into our makeshift room. It takes me a moment to recognize her because I haven’t seen her in over a month, but once I do my happiness is immediate.

“Clare!” I get up and scoop her up in a big hug. “We’re supposed to pick you up tomorrow!” She squeezes me tight as I lift her and everything just melts away. I put her down and hold her out at arm’s length so I can look her over. “You look so good, sweetie!”

She sighs and then flashes me an embarrassed smile as she blushes. “Thanks. Hey, Roger, long time, eh?”

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and coming over to her. He plants a kiss on her cheek and pulls her into a hug. “You really look great, Clare. Really great.”

“Do Antoine and Elise know you’re here?”

“No, I wanted to surprise you guys, I wanted to—”

I grab her hand and pull her towards the stairs. “Oh, you’re gonna make them so happy, Clare, come on!” I drag her upstairs, totally ignoring the guy she came in with, punch in the code and rush her into the apartment. Elise is lying on the couch with her feet in Antoine’s lap. It takes them a moment to recognize Clare too, but both sets of eyes go wide when it kicks in and Elise jumps up faster than she should for someone with morning sickness. She flings her little arms around Clare and hugs her tight.

“You sneak! We were gonna pick you up tomorrow!”

Clare starts crying as Antoine joins the group hug and then pulls her into his arms and buries his face in her hair. “I’m so glad you’re home. So glad you’re home.”

Clare is like a new person. I just stand there and shake my head. I can’t remember her ever looking this good. Ever. She’s put on at least ten pounds, her hair is sleek and her blue eyes are bright and alert.

How long has it been since I saw her clean?

Years. It’s been years since this girl looked healthy.

I just smile at them as they chat and Elise and Clare wipe away tears. “Oh, Rook! You have to meet Rook, Clare.” I jog through the door and stand at the top of the stairs. “Everyone—take thirty, please. Clare’s home!” I hear a smattering of claps from the regular staff and take a deep breath and let the happiness wash over me. It worked, I think to myself. We fixed her. She looks better than ever. It worked!

“Rook!” I call down. “Come up here, Gidge! You have to meet Clare!”

Rook smiles and sets down her clipboard, then pushes the girls outside the door and closes it before walking slowly over to the stairs. I take her hand once she reaches me and let out a long sigh. “Did you see her come in? Doesn’t she look great?” I don’t wait for an answer, just tug her into Antoine’s apartment with me and spread my arms wide. “Rook, this is Clare. The real Clare,” I add. “Not that psycho bitch you saw in the dressing room that day last spring.”

Clare swats me on the arm. “I deserve that, but I’d rather not be reminded.”

I pull her into another hug before she greets Rook, then lean down and kiss her head. “I am so happy, you have no idea!”

She swats me again and pulls back as she offers her hand to Rook. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Gidget.” Clare winks at her and when I look over at Rook she’s blushing.

Rook extends her hand out and shakes it. “It’s so great to meet you, Clare,” Rook says. It comes out polite and sweet, like all her words. But I detect something underneath. She can’t be jealous of Clare. Can she?

Clare turns back to Elise and Antoine and they talk excitedly in French. When I look back to Rook she’s frowning. “Hey, English only when Rook’s here, guys. She can’t understand and it’s rude.”

“That’s OK, Ronin. I don’t mind.”

This is a lie, but I’m not about to push it here. I pull her close and then lean down to kiss her. “Let’s get back to work.” I look over to Antoine and nod. “We’re still on for tonight?” He nods back and I smile down at Rook again. She’s uncomfortable with Clare, I can tell. Maybe jealous, maybe even intimidated.

“What’s tonight?” she asks.

“Oh, just dinner at your favorite French restaurant.”

She moans and follows me out the door. I stop at the top of the stairs. “You don’t want to go fancy with me tonight? I’ll pick you out a sexy dress from the closet.” I waggle my eyebrows at her to try and play innocent, but she’s irritated on two fronts now. My choice in restaurants and insinuating I get to choose her clothes.

It takes all my self-control not to laugh at her, but I manage because she’s right where I want her. So I say nothing, just drag her back downstairs and drop her off at the front door and then take my place back on the other side of the room with Roger.

Yup. I’ve got her right where I want her. 

The rest of my day goes like shit. I check in hundreds of girls. Hundreds of beautiful girls who make me look like some homeless person living out of a garbage can in my zippered hoodie and my last year’s jeans.

I’m not kidding either. I know I’m not ugly. Hell, I’m pretty enough to get two major modeling contracts, so that’s not what this is about. It’s not about me, or my degree of pretty. These girls are drop-dead, can’t-take-your-eyes-off-them, stunningly beautiful—gorgeous.

They have perfect skin, toned bodies, designer clothes, professionally applied make-up, and exotic accents. Almost all of them have some sort of accent, even if it’s just Southern Belle Sweet or Valley Girl Annoying. None of them sound the same.

And then, of course, there’s the really exotic girls. The ones from Asia and Australia and Europe.

I wonder if my barely-there Chicago accent qualifies as exotic?

I snort quietly to myself. I’m pretty sure that’s a big fucking no.

And if all this wasn’t enough to make me feel super insecure and plain, Clare is here.

Clare. The first beautiful person I encountered the day Luck changed my life. The one girl who commands Ronin’s attention like no other. Not even me. Sure, he shows up and saves me when I need it, but if Clare and I had an emergency at the same moment, I’m just not sure he’d pick me every time.

I sigh and send the last group of girls over to Ronin and Roger.

These girls look tired and worn down. It’s past six now and they’ve been standing around for the better part of twelve hours. They must really be in denial because there’s no way Ronin and Roger, exhausted and sick of looking at girls and reading resumes, are even remotely interested in these last five girls. But maybe they like the girls enough to keep their names on file for something in the future. I guess if you’re desperate to be discovered as a model, this is one way to do it.

Less than five minutes later Ronin comes out from behind the walled-off partition stretching his arms as I let the sad group of girls out and then make sure the door clicks to indicate it’s locked. A knock scares the shit out of me and I open the door again.

“Delivery for Chaput?” the man with a clipboard says.

“Um…”

“That’s us,” Ronin says. He signs the paperwork and points over to the kitchen or maybe the terrace. “Over there is fine, thanks.” And then the freight elevator dings and Ronin has me by the arm and he’s leading me upstairs.

“What about my dress?” I ask as we flash past the dressing room.

“I told you, I got you covered.”

I scowl at him. “I seriously thought you were kidding. You’re not kidding?”

“Trust me, Rook.” But I’m not sure I should, because his face does not look trustworthy, it looks… devious. If my silence bothers him, he doesn’t show it, just pulls me down the hallway to our apartment, unlocks the door, and whisks me inside.

“What’s going on?”

“Wanna have living room sex or kitchen sex?”

He winks at me and I let out a long breath and laugh. “What?”

His hands slide around my hips, dipping down to caress my ass a little through my tight jeans, then slip under my shirt. “Or patio sex?”

“What’s wrong with shower sex?” I ask, smiling. What’s gotten into him?

“We have shower sex every day, let’s spice things up.”

I blush a little because it has gotten a little predictable lately. Ronin has been cautious with our sex life all summer over all that Jon stuff, but I’ll be honest and admit that I prefer the sexually adventurous Ronin over the sexually cautious one any day. “Well…” I say, dragging out the word. “What do you have in mind? And how long do we have before we have to meet everyone for dinner?”

He leans in and kisses me, sliding my zippered hoodie down my arms and letting it drop to the floor. I never know what I’m in for when he gets in the mood. Sometimes he acts like he’s starving for my lips, desperate and wanting and rough.

Tonight it’s like he’s afraid of breaking them, that’s how soft and tender he is.

I like it and I kiss him back just as tenderly, our tongues twisting together as he lifts up my shirt. He pulls back for a moment to slip it over my head and then resumes the kiss as the shirt is discarded. One hand cups my breast and then reaches behind to get rid of my bra while the other one unbuttons my jeans. “Kitchen or living room?” he breathes into my mouth.

“Right here,” I reply as I lift his t-shirt up—dragging my palms against his muscular back—clear his head and drop it in the pile of clothes at our feet. He pushes me a little until I take a step back. The back of my knees bump up against the leather couch and I am forced to sit down, coming eye to eye with his hard thickness through his jeans.

I smile up at him.

He smirks down at me.

I go for the button on his jeans but he gently takes my hands and pushes them away. “No, Gidget. Not tonight.” He pushes me back on the couch, unzips my pants, grabs them by the belt loops, and pulls them down, taking my panties with him.

He looks down on my naked body with hunger. Like he’s never seen it before. He licks his lips and kneels down.

“What are you up to?”

“It’s present time,” is all he says as his head dips between my legs. He lifts one leg up and pushes it towards my shoulder and his lips find the dent behind my knee.

I laugh when he sucks and nips the tender skin there, and then arch my back because holy fucking shit, I had no idea that spot was so, so, so… erotically sensitive.

I close my eyes and moan as he nips just a little bit harder, making me immediately wet.

And then his fingers are inside me. Fucking Ronin always did have magic fingers. What he does with those fingers, oh, God. I could write books. I try my best to calm down, but it’s very, very difficult to ignore the way he makes me feel. Just as I’m about to get it back under control his tongue joins the party and I can’t help it, the orgasm explodes against my will.

When I open my eyes and look down at him he’s grinning so big I have to laugh. “What?”

“You,” he whispers and lets out a sigh. “You are the hottest fucking woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I saw hundreds of girls today, each one prettier than the last. But I compared each and every one of them to you, Rook. And not one—” He stops to look me in the eye as he stands up and takes off his pants and boxers, then pulls me to my feet, sits down where I just was, and places me in his lap. I drape my arms over his shoulders. “Not one of them even came close to measuring up to you, Gidge.”

I blush as all my insecurities melt away.

Like instantly.

I lean down and kiss him, another tender one. He responds in the same manner, not hurried or desperate, but slow, and patient, and soft. “I am so in love with you, Ronin Flynn. So very, very much in love with you.”

“OK, wait,” he says with more urgency that is necessary. I have a little panic attack thinking he’s gonna say he’s not in love with me anymore, but that melts away when he cups my face and looks me in the eyes. “I can’t call you Rook Walsh anymore.”