Keeping Never (18 page)

I pause, put one hand on my hip and tilt my chest side to side, popping my shoulder forward and my ass back, just enough so that I look shapely, but not too shapely. I've been practicing this walk for ages, and I hope to hell it's paid off. It may not be my best skill, but if it's good enough and my pictures are good enough, maybe they'll take me on.

I turn and out of the corner of my eye, I see Emmett clapping. He's the only one doing it, and it's a little weird, but it makes me smile. Good thing the agency reps can't see my face now. I hit the end of the runway and pose again. I'm staring at a faux wall that's been constructed to give a slight bit of privacy to us in this busy commercial hub. There are people leaning over the railings from above and gaping from either side of the runway, but that's okay. That's what we're here for: to be looked at.

I turn around again, still a model, still perfection in heels, and walk right back towards that panel like I'm stomping for Alexander McQueen or something. The other girls are not following suite, so I know that I am standing out, for better or worse. When I hit the table, I don't pose, just reach out and grab my portfolio. It hasn't been touched. That much is obvious.

“
Thank you,” I mumble along with the other girls. Nobody stops me as I walk away. Right off the bat, I begin to analyze my performance. Did I walk too fast? Too slow? Did I swing my arms enough?

“
You were really great,” Emmett says as I pause next to him. Honestly, I had forgotten his existence. I feel a gentle flush warm my cheeks and try to give him a genuine smile.

“
Thanks,” I say as I reach up and let my hair tumble down around my shoulders. I fluff it with my fingers and shake my head a bit. Emmett's brown eyes follow my motions, drink me in like I am the cat's meow. I like that, so my smile gets bigger all on its own. My sister thinks I'm narcissistic, but that isn't it at all. I'm just focused on my dreams and those dreams depend on my appearance, so I pay attention to it. That's all it is. My stomach growls a bit, and I lay my arm across it to keep it quiet.

“
Want to grab something to eat?” Emmett asks, and I want to say yes, but I can't. I ate a lot this morning anyway, and my stomach is just riled up from all of the anxiety.

“
Aren't you working?” I ask as I point a finger at his apron. Emmett pinches the straps with his fingers and grins at me. He has long canines that peek out of his lips a bit when he smiles.
Cute.

“
You mean this?” he asks as he drops the fabric and adjusts his beanie. “I'm just about to get off for lunch. Have you ever been to The Winged Ones? It's this fantastic sandwich shop that has a roof garden upstairs. It's a diamond in the rough, really. My treat.” His offer is appealing, to be sure, but I have an early morning casting, and I can't be tired or I get these massive bags under my eyes. It's an open call for a print campaign, too, which is rare and not something I can screw up. I bite my lip gently and try to let him down easily. He really is nice.

“
I can't,” I say and he groans, reaching up to pull his beanie over his face.

“
It's the apron, isn't it?” he asks as I take a moment to admire the swell of his muscular arms and the way his right eye peeks out from beneath the black knitted hat to examine me. “Hey, I understand though. You're wondering why you should be interested in a guy who works at the
Super Smoothie
, right?” I
chuckle and shake my head.

“
Not at all,” I say because that isn't it. I just have other things on my mind right now. First and foremost is how I'm going to be able to skip out of family dinner again. I've gotten away with it six days in a row, but tonight, Marlena is coming over, and there is no way she's going to miss my absence. Unfortunately, Mom has also chosen tonight to make her famous fried chicken. All of that grease makes me sick to my stomach, but I know I won't be able to escape that table without eating at least a piece. Already, I feel nauseous. “I just have this family thing tonight, so … ” I trail off and tuck some hair behind my ear. I feel like I'm in high school again. “How about Friday?” I blurt before Emmett gets the chance to say anything else. He pulls his beanie off his head and lays it in his lap. His brown hair is mussy and totally sexy.

“
Friday is perfect,” he tells me and then passes me his phone. I plug in my number and hand it back to him. I could take his number, too, but I won't remember to call. It's nothing personal, but it's all up to him now. The ball is in his court. If he calls, I'll go. If he doesn't, then there will be others. Nothing against Emmett because he seems really nice and he's absolutely gorgeous, but I just don't have time to be serious with men right now. They are not my top priority; modeling is.
Fashion
is. “Hey, can I take your picture, too?” he asks as he shakes his phone back and forth with one hand.

“
Why?” I ask as my eyes slide over to the line of girls that snake through the crumb covered tables in the food court, wind around the fountain near the escalators and trail back towards and inspiring window display of a local boutique. I hear they have some good stuff in there, and I've been meaning to go in for quite some time, but I'm just not happy with my body right now, and it's not fun to shop for clothes if you're not happy.

“
You're so beautiful,” Emmett says, but the words roll off me like water on a duck's feathers, just slide right over and down my sides, giving me the chills but little else. I don't feel beautiful. If I was, the agency reps would've smiled at me or at the very least looked at my portfolio. I glance over my shoulder briefly and see that the bored woman with the lumpy chin is no longer bored. She's standing up and grinning from ear to ear, shaking the hand of a waspish girl with big ears and squinty eyes. She's skinny though, much skinner than me, definitely a size zero. People can talk all they want about the industry changing and about bans on too thin models, but that's just in the big games, just for show. Back here, at the starting line, it's all about skinny. It has been ever since Twiggy emerged as the new pretty, when Marilyn Monroe was out, and rail thin became in. “You know what?” Emmett says as he stands up and grabs his red tray in one hand. “Don't respond to that.” He spins the tray around with his other hand which is actually quite impressive and makes me smile. “That was weird. I don't know why I even said that.” Emmett chuckles and winks at me as he turns away. “See you on Friday,” he calls over his shoulder as he slides his beanie over his head with his other hand.

“
See you on Friday,” I say.

Books by C.M. Stunich

The Seven Wicked Series

Houses Novels


• The House of Gray and Graves
  
• The House of Hands and Hearts and Hair
  
• The House of Sticks and Bones
  

The Huntswomen Trilogy


• The Feed
  
• The Hunt
  
• The Throne
  

Indigo Lewis Novels


• Indigo & Iris
  
• Indigo & The Colonel
  
• Indigo & Lynx
  

Never say Never Trilogy


• Tasting Never
  
• Finding Never
  
• Keeping Never
  

Stand Alone Novels


• She Lies Twisted
  
• Hell Inc.
  
• DeadBorn
  
• Broken Pasts
  
• Fuck Valentine's Day
  

About the Author

C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of fog in the area known simply as Eureka, CA. A mysterious place, this strange, arboreal land nursed Caitlin's (yes, that's her name!) desire to write strange fiction novels about wicked monsters, magical trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!). She currently enjoys drag queens, having too many cats, and tribal bellydance.

She can be reached at [email protected], and loves to hear from her readers. Ms. Stunich also wrote this biography and has no idea why she decided to refer to herself in the third person.

Happy reading and carpe diem!

www.cmstunich.com