Page 15 of And Then Came You

His tongue runs along his lower lip. It seems a common gesture with Sam, and from what I’ve heard, the women love it. Think it’s sexy as hell.

Think he’s sexy as hell.

“I can’t be certain how many hearts I’ve broken, but I never lead a woman on.”

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em type.”

“Some make repeat performances. Fidelity and monogamy are rare in my business. I travel constantly and I meet all sorts of beautiful people. Most of them look at me as something more than human, but it’s all crap. Just because I know how to pose in front of the camera doesn’t mean a damn thing. For years, I was very particular. I resented the concept that I was nothing more than a pretty face to these women. But then, I got used to the idea. Once that happened, morals went out the window and I took full advantage of my station. If they want to play, I play, but my heart never gets involved.”

I clear my throat, focusing on the trees rustling in the breeze. “I see.”

“I’m sure you want nothing to do with me now.”

I consider Sam’s words, but instead of being irked, I feel sympathy. A creeping sadness that despite him being right there in front of them, they never saw him. Never felt his desperate loneliness or quest for acceptance. “I don’t want to sleep with you, so your sexual exploits don’t faze me.”

Sam huffs out a nod, a scowl crossing his features.

Crap, I didn’t mean to piss him off. Time for damage control. “Hey, you don’t want to sleep with me, either. You know why? You respect me, and I think you like me as a person. I feel the same way about you. Leave the sex for your beautiful babies. Save the friendship for me.”

A smile breaks across Sam’s face as he wraps an arm around my shoulder. “That’s likely the best offer I’ve ever heard.”

I chuckle at the odd turn of events this weekend. Down one lousy boyfriend and up one supermodel friend.

The world is a strange place, indeed.

Chapter Four

Sam

“Come, take a walk with me, Samuel. I want to check on my seedlings.”

I slow my pace, falling into step with my grandfather and letting the rush of the last month fall away.

People think the world of modeling is so glamorous—a lifestyle chock full of luxury and wealth. What a load of crap. Most models barely eke out a living with their shoots, most earning their keep with second jobs that tread dangerously close to pornography.

I’m not judging. How can I? I did it myself in the early days. At first, I hated the concept, choosing instead to bounce at a club. But then a wayward patron took a swing at me and jacked up my face two days before a photo shoot.

No surprise, I lost the gig and quit bouncing that same day. But, I wasn’t making enough bread to keep a mouse alive, so I turned to online sites where I could sell photos of myself clothed in nothing more than a smoldering stare.

Am I proud of it? It’s a part of my history, and it worked. It got me through the lean years until my face and body became recognizable with the people who mattered. Namely, Marc Jacobs. I met him through a mutual acquaintance and through some fluke; he selected me for his runway show.

The rest, as they say, is history.

The only regret I have about my early days was the look on my mother’s and grandfather’s faces when they learned of my extracurricular activities. Their disappointment broke my heart and damn near made me call time on the entire pursuit.

Now, at least, my work is legitimate and although Mom will never like my steamy photos decorating book covers and magazine spreads, she knows that my salary ensures this farm stays running ship shape.

She’s still holding out hope that I’ll meet a woman and settle down in Woodstock to raise a few rugrats and brew some moonshine.

My Mom can dream, but I keep telling her that’s the only place it’s going to happen. I’m not built for relationships. Not long-term ones, anyway.

“You’ve got much on your mind,” my Granddad notes, as his green eyes, so much like my own, send me a knowing glance. “Let’s talk it out.”

“I’m just coming back to reality, Pops. It’s been a crazy few weeks and I’m not entirely sure what time zone I’m in at the moment.”

“How were the fashion shows?”

I love this man. He took it upon himself to read up on the modeling world when I became a part of it. Now, he knows when and where all the runway shows happen, along with the headquarters for most of the fashion houses. Hell, he knows more about fashion than 80% of the models working in the industry.

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