Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
"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’s attention 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.
"Hey.” There’s a wariness in his tone that confuses me.
"Can I take the photo now?"
"It’s a beautiful day.” He swims closer until he's near enough to touch me. Except he doesn't. He rests an arm either side of me, on the ledge, boxing me in. “Shouldn’t we make the most of it?”
"My boss is…"
"We’ll get it done later. We have time. And I’m sure your boss will be fine."
The words I need to persuade him die on the tip of my tongue as he moves even closer, his body filling my vision.
"Hey, Oliver. You're next," Theron yells. He’s still taking his role as organizer very seriously, but it’s almost like he’s forgotten that discussing sex like it’s a menu item is going to affect me.