Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Where you been, man?” Eddie asked, bringing a plate over to the table with the rest of us—Levee as well as the new guys: York, Coast, and Velle.
“Just had a meet-up with some old friends,” I said.
It was my chance to tell them the truth.
I just didn’t take it.
It was the first in a long line of lies.
And I guess only time would tell what that would mean for me.
CHAPTER TWO
Siana
I didn’t want to go to the meeting.
The only reason I’d agreed to do it was because Sion offered to have our profiles featured on the landing page of the site for a month.
Maybe that didn’t seem like enough motivation, considering how much I valued my complete privacy when it came to this business, but a front page feature could easily triple my income. Not just for the month. Indefinitely. So long as the new people who found me enjoyed my content.
And since my plan was to be done in five years or so, the more I could make in that timeframe, the better.
I’d been lucky that the other girls had been a lot more extroverted and willing to take the lead on conversation.
Still, I couldn’t shake the belly wobble I felt each time I thought about how my content flashed on the TV, and everyone in the room had been able to connect me to it.
Not that they would judge.
I mean, Sion himself had his own page, albeit not active anymore. And his content involved a lot of, ah, self-pleasuring videos where he talked to the viewer like they were the one doing it, and praising them for the good job they were doing.
I didn’t think any less of them for the content they made. It was silly to imagine they thought less of me because of mine.
But if I tried, I could draw a line straight from my worries about being perceived by others to my incredibly judgmental mother. The woman could find fault in the world’s most beautiful, well-mannered, and successful person. So you can just imagine how she felt about her shy, awkward, near-sighted, fashionably challenged daughter who had yet to nail down an “acceptable” job.
Not that she knew about the foot pic thing, of course.
She’d have a conniption.
She thought I worked for a photographer.
Which was as close to the truth as I could ever get with her. Luckily, we didn’t talk so often that it came up all that much.
I grabbed the boxes for me in the mail room before making my way upstairs, being greeted by the tippy-taps of my dog rushing down the hallway as I opened my apartment door.
Then there she was. In all her silky-haired, white, black, and brown English Setter glory.
Frida was meant to help me with my anxiety.
And ended up being absolutely debilitated by her own.
She was afraid of rain, the wind, the sound of the dishwasher running, bicycles, cars with those stupid loud mufflers, being left alone, and every single dog she’d ever come across.
We were… quite a pair.
“Hey, baby,” I said, putting my boxes down, so I could rub her soft head. “I’m sorry I had to leave you,” I cooed as her tail whipped across the floor. “That was totally not cool of me, huh? If it makes you feel any better, I hated every moment of it. About as much as you are going to hate going on walkies,” I said, watching as her tail immediately stopped wagging when I reached for her leash. “I know,” I said as I moved the slip lead over her head, “but we have to go potty.”
If it weren’t for walking Frida, I probably would never get out of my apartment.
I mean, in the golden age of grocery delivery and two-day online shipping, there really seemed to be no good reason to leave my own personal little sanctuary.
Frida, like all gifts that come from my mother, came with expectations. But she was the only present that I absolutely adored, even if it was the bane of my mother’s existence that she felt Frida only made me “worse,” not better, like she’d intended.
I figured it was a win that Frida’s walks forced me to get fresh air, sunlight, and even made me occasionally speak to other people. Sure, most of that talking was just telling other people with dogs that Frida was not friendly. But I was proud of myself for standing up for her, for insisting that her boundaries be respected.
I wasn’t great at doing that for myself.
But for my anxiety-riddled dog?
I could be a raving lunatic if necessary.
“I know, baby,” I cooed at Frida half an hour later as she kept looking up at me with her whale eyes. “That was an extra scary bike, right?” I said, thinking of the four-person tandem bike that had just rushed past us, making Frida nearly fell me with how fast she wrapped me up in her leash.