“If you want to pay me that much to be in your photo shoot, I’ll find a way to convince Asher. But I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I slammed my laptop closed and sank back on my bed. It was growing quiet upstairs. A check of the time told me the younger kids would be getting ready for bed. I decided to study some before venturing upstairs to make noodles. I’d wasted enough time tonight on stupidity. Like Aaron had said, I should at least finish this term since I’d gone this far.

Chapter Three

FIVE DAYS LATER, while surrounded by textbooks and notes and cold take-out coffee in the  café area of the university’s library, my phone dinged its email notification noise. I shoved my iPad out of the way, dug under a few loose pages of handwritten notes, and closed three textbooks to find it. Somehow, it had gotten lost in the chaos of studying.

I pulled up my email and didn’t recognize who it was from. The subject line read, Interested in more.

I tapped to open it, trying to puzzle out what the heck it meant, figuring it was junk mail or some crap related to my dating app. With my luck, it was probably some bear of a man who wanted to bend me over and plow my field after seeing my cute little profile picture on Grindr. It was a picture of my ass in those hot as fuck short shorts I’d bought for my failed coming out announcement. I had a cute ass, so the bear theory made sense.

But the email wasn’t from some seeker, it was something else entirely. I furrowed my brow and read.

Dear Misters Atticus and Asher Charming,

Charlotte Jones has shown explicit interest in your photos and would like to arrange a face-to-face meeting to discuss the intricate details involved in this project and to view you both in a little less clothing. Should you both still be interested, and so long as Charlotte continues to like what she sees, a contract would also be negotiated at that time. Please respond with a few available dates, and we will arrange to meet with you at a private location in your hometown.

Jay Lavero

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Oh fuck!” I shielded my phone as though passersby might see and know what the email was referring to.

I’d forgotten all about this gig because I wasn’t convinced it was a reality. Charlotte Jones wanted to meet us?

“Oh fuck!”

“Shh!” A nerdy guy near the copy machine glared from behind wire-framed glasses. I recognized him. He worked in the library and let his position give him a false sense of authority. He was always shushing people.

“Sorry,” I whisper-yelled. “Just got some shocking news.” I pointed at my phone.