He wasn’t amused and continued to make his photocopies with an evil glare in my direction. Weirdo.

I refocused on my phone and the email. This couldn’t be happening. This famous author of gay erotica wanted to meet with Asher and me? Not possible. But she didn’t just want to meet with us, she wanted to see more of us.

She wanted to photograph and film us doing nasty, incesty-type things to each other.

“Oh fuckity fuck!”

Glasses guy sneered and pinched his lips tight. He was ten seconds from another shush, I knew it. I could see it forming on his stupid thin lips.

“I’m having a crisis. Relax.”

He didn’t relax.

Because I was about to cause a scene, I tossed all my notes and textbooks into my backpack, uncaring that I was bending pages and crushing important papers. I needed to get out of there and think.

I cleared the building and collapsed on a bench near the bus stop, which was normally reserved for smokers. The stale scent of cigarettes lingered in the air even when no one was nearby contributing. It wafted from the ashtray that was filled with spent butts. I rubbed my twitchy nose and shifted over to be as far from it as possible.

I opened the email and read it again and again, willing the words to change but secretly wishing they wouldn’t when I remembered why I’d responded to the ad in the first place. “Twenty-four thousand dollars!” I whined, wondering how impossible it would be to convince Asher to do something like this.

The author, Charlotte, liked what she saw. She wanted us for her book covers and trailer videos. It was enough money I could finish my degree and possibly move out on my own. If we negotiated for more, I’d be set.

Asher wouldn’t care about the money. Would he? Mom and Dad would give him anything he wanted. I could pocket it all and show my parents that tossing me out on my ass meant nothing.

Asher would do this for me, right?

I closed my eyes and tried to picture it. Touching Asher’s nakedness. Maybe kissing him all sexy like. My skin prickled, and I shook away the image. It was too … weird.

But the money.

I whined again.

Before I could second guess myself, I pulled up Asher’s number and texted him.

Atticus: Need to talk to you. Can you come to my spider pad tonight and hang out?

He was always on the ball and responded within a minute.

Asher: Eww… I don’t want anything to do with that spider hole you’re living in. How about Brew Bros?