Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Dare shakes his head you're ridiculous. He looks to the sliding glass door behind me, checking for something. For Patrick, I guess. "It was your boy who earned me the name. He's Tricky. I'm Dare. You know, 'cause he has to trick girls into kissing him. And I have to dare them into it. I guess it doesn't sound clever now. But when we were thirteen…"
"You've known each other that long?" I ask.
He nods. "Friends since middle school."
Really? Patrick doesn't mention Dare often, but then what do I know about old friends?
"He's been happier lately," he says. "I'm glad to see that. He had a hard time after his sister… he never talked about it, but it was obvious."
"His sister?" I ask.
Surprise spreads over Dare's face. "He didn't tell you?"
"I don't know," I say.
He looks behind me, again. "Yeah. Deidre. She… I don't know how much I should say."
I don't reply.
"She died."
Everything clicks together. The past tense, the frequent mentions of his older sister in present tense, the shelves packed with books young women love.
The apartment was his sister's, and she gave it to him.
As an inheritance.
"He was a wreck. Not that he showed it," Dare says. "But he was saying no to invitations. Or saying yes and drinking too much. I think… I don't think he really started to see the light until recently."
"We're not serious," I say.
"You sure?" he asks. "'Cause the change in his mood… it's not the extra sunshine. It's you. He likes you."
"I like him too."
"It's nice to see. That's all." Dare looks behind me. "But I've said too much already."
Someone slips through the door.
Dare motions to the footsteps and mimes zipped lips. "Just telling your girl she should drop the zero and find a hero."
Patrick wraps his arms around me. "A hero, really? You know one?"
"No. I thought you might," Dare says.
They laugh in a familiar way. It's a routine of theirs. It's comfortable for them.
A couple in the corner notices the commotion. Another tattoo artist looking guy and a curvy woman in thigh-high boots and a short black dress.
She whispers something in his ear and they stand, meet us in the center of the backyard.
They're a little older, in their late twenties maybe, and she looks even more stylish up close. Dark lipstick, heavy eye makeup, a tulle skirt. A goth princess.
Wait—
I know her.
"You're Princess Skye," I say.
She lights up. "I am." She offers her hand. "And you're Imogen."
"Sorry. I must sound like a fangirl. You just… I love your stuff."
"Thanks." She smiles. "It's a little weird being a 'plus-size influencer.' It forces me to really objectify myself. But I'm the photographer, so it's fun in its own way."
I follow her because she wears awesome outfits (mostly lingerie).
And I follow her because I see the way I want to expose myself in her pictures.
Not because I want to support a plus size Asian influencer.
I mean, that's there too. But my true motives are all for my own sexual gratification.
My cheeks flush. "I love your style. That's all. And your pictures are hot."
"They're really fucking hot," the guy says.
She leans into his chest. "If you ever wondered about the anonymous male model—" She looks up at him with a smile. "Hey. Stop distracting me with your sex appeal."
"What am I doing?" he teases.
"That. Exactly," she says.
Patrick shakes his head. "They're obsessed with each other. It's disgusting."
"It's called love," Skye says. "One day you'll understand that. Maybe one day soon." She rises to whisper in her boyfriend's ear then she turns to me. "We're going to bounce, but I'm glad I met you. We should do something. Drinks. Or karaoke."
"The beach?" I offer.
"A woman who loves the beach." She rests her hand on her chest. "After my heart." She nods a goodbye and leads her boyfriend out of the space.
"I've seen her naked," I say. "Well. Almost naked."
"I've seen her pictures," he says.
I imagined myself in her pictures.
I got off on the thought of showing my body to thousands of strangers. Or non-strangers. After all, people know who she is. They develop a sort of relationship with her.
It's like my site, only visual.
Patrick brushes my hair behind my ear. "We can do that, you know."
"Post on Instagram?"
"Yeah. A secret account. Just for us," he says.
"Isn't that against the terms of service?"
"I didn't mean pornographic." He laughs. "But we could do that too. Somewhere else. Somewhere racier."
"Would you really?"
"Yes." He presses his lips to my neck. "We can start with the tamer ones."
"Okay."
"That was fast."
"I know," I say.
"You're not going to make it to my place," he says.
"I will too."
"I don't think so." He leads me back to the couch, sits, pulls me into his lap.
We pry his friends from their make out session and I ask for all the dirt they have on Patrick.
They share stories. Silly ones. Dirty ones. Ones about him obsessing over his work.