Page 12 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

I look at my phone like it’s going to bite me. It’s just sitting there on my desk, mocking me with the texts from Miles. The contact information and the photos. Needing to get this over with, I pick up the phone and open the messages with a dejected sigh.

None of the photos are great. Maybe I can crop this one of me with one ankle on my knee. My right hand is on the opposite knee and the sunlight emphasizes the black and gray geometric ink running down my arm. Women like tattoos, right? If Miles’ body is any indication, I think so.

I edit the photo, cutting off my head, and quickly post it toKinkRinkas my profile photo. No need for a caption. I’m not that witty.

I return to the messages from Miles and open the contact information for Moira Hall. The accompanying text says ‘stylist to the stars’ as if that’s going to convince me this is a good idea. I take a deep breath and call the number.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Finally, halfway through the fourth ring, someone answers.

“Hello?” The female voice is chipper and light.

“Er, hi, my name is Brody Torrence. A friend of mine gave me your number. He says I need a stylist.” I mutter every single word, half in embarrassment and half in shame.

“Oh, yes! Lance said you’d be calling. Nice to hear from you so quickly. He said it might take you a while.”

“Yeah, well if I didn’t call now, he’d keep asking.”

She giggles.

“Yeah, he’s intense sometimes, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea.” I roll my eyes. “Would you be free for…” What is it called? “A consultation on Friday?”

“Hmm, I think I have the morning free. Would that work?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Where should we meet you? Do you have an office or-?”

“I’ll send you the address, but Lance knows where my shop is.”

“Shop?”

“Yes, I operate out of a storefront, but I have loads of designer options and I can custom order. I have tailors available as well. Lance says you’re kind of tall?” she asks.

“Six foot six.” My height is half the reason I don’t buy anything better than jeans, cargo shorts, and T-shirts.

“Definitely taller than most of my clients,” Moira chuckles. “Not to worry. I’ll have you looking suave and debonair in no time. See you at nine on Friday.”

“Thanks, Miss Hall.”

“Oh, call me Moira!”

I feel marginally better after speaking with her. She’s nice and warm and friendly and she knows Miles, even if she only calls him by his stage name. This is going to be fine. I’ll be fine. It helps to know she wouldn’t be interested in me. It feels less judgmental somehow, given the reason for this shopping spree.

Still holding my phone, I see a text from Moira with the address beforeanother text comes through from someone else.

Hewouldtell my sister. I groan, but it could be worse. Isla and I are closer than I am with our older sisters. Raegan and Henley would immediately tell my parents who would ask me a million questions, the answers to which, I definitely wouldn’t have.

I don’t need to worry about accidentally stumbling upon my sister on a site likeKinkRink.

Where did that come from?

Great. More company. I only have myself to blame.

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