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Seriously? Fuck you.
I didn’t mind working for trade, but in my mind, exposure isn’t trade. Hollie was the writer and she’d written the descriptive copy for all of the pieces. I’d given her two of the dresses she was going to model. One for doing the shoot, and another for writing the copy. Rosa was doing makeup and hair, so she got two dresses as well.
And Ryan Wells, I’d paid him less than he was worth, so I was more than happy to feed him.
I pulled out the v-neck stretch tee I’d planned on wearing. It was ridiculously pink, but it read I Am Chubbalicious. The v dipped down right between the double b, which I found endlessly funny because there was nothing b about this shirt—it was all double d.
I shimmied into a pair of distressed jeans and low-heeled gladiator sandals and called it good.
The bell rang and I peered out the window to see that Ryan Wells was right on time. But he most certainly did not look like any journalism student I’d ever met. He was the same size as Kieran—tall, broad shouldered, looked like a football player.
I paused mid-thought. If I wanted people to stop thinking in stereotypes, I had to do it too. It wasn’t even something I realized I did. But why couldn’t a guy who was into photography and journalism be into taking care of his body?
Because I’m a psycho. I sighed as I opened the door. Sometimes, I thought that I made a bigger deal out of it than anyone else.
“Hey, I’m running behind. Breakfast will be a little late.” I apologized and hoped he wasn’t too unhappy with that development.
He grinned. “That’s a relief. I was working on a project for Ancient Civ all night and I might’ve just eaten a whole pizza. So no worries. We can get straight to the shoot.”
“Fabulous! Let me grab my bag. Everyone is going to meet us there.” I reached over to the table. “I have the model releases and paperwork here.” It was in a shiny new pink folder that had been embossed with Chubbalicious.
When I’d started this last year, I’d been very concerned with branding, with swag, and I’d spent a lot of money of it. But I’d learned that no matter how good your swag, your branding, you still needed a good product. I should’ve developed the product first. And now I had all of these Chubbalicious office supplies, stationary, note pads, pens… Oh, the pens.
He accepted it and held the door wider for me to exit.
I kind of thought we’d ride with Kieran, but his car wasn’t in the driveway. I hope he didn’t flake on me. If he did, I’d never forgive him.
Or April, if he was with her. They both knew how important this was to me.
I knew that was totally selfish, but I didn’t generally ask my friends for things. I asked Kieran not to fuck my other friends and that was about it. Except for Chubbalicious. It was my fatted calf, my golden god, my temple and my priest. It was everything.
“Are you nervous? Don’t be.” He answered his own question before I could. “You’re going to be great.”
“Me? I’m worried about the clothes.”
He raised a brow. “Everyone is nervous in front of the camera, and you’re still doing a couple publicity shots, right?”
“I don’t know if all that’s necessary.” I opened my car door and slid into the driver’s seat. It was nothing so nice as what all the guys drove. It was a newer Chevy Impala. Practical and dependable.
“Yes, it definitely is.” He flashed a grin. “You’ll love them. I promise.”
Pictures of myself? Looking at them was kind of like a guiding tour in hell. I knew I had a pretty face, but I didn’t photograph well—and that had nothing to do with being fat. Even when I was a kid, before puberty, boobs, hormones, and my body rebelling against me, I still despised pictures of myself.
“If you can make me like pictures of myself—” I paused. “—well, the thought’s so foreign I really don’t know what I’d do.”
“Let me take more and show them to all your friends, so they’ll book me. That’s what you’ll do.” He smiled wider. “Or that’s what I’d appreciate you doing.”
“You got it, doll.”
We chatted about music, photography, and even football on the way to Longview.
Everyone was there when we arrived. “How did you guys beat me here?” My voice might have warbled a little, thick with emotion. They knew how important this was and they came.
I think part of me expected them to bail, to let me down.
Why was I friends with these people if I didn’t think I could count on them or trust them to believe in me?
Another goddamn epiphany slapped me so hard I almost fell over.
