Page 11 of Rent a Boo

“Oh no, you don’t,” she said, snatching the iPad from my father before I could. “He doesn’t get to see my work.”

“Whaaat?” My father singsonged, being both silly and shocked at the same time. “You two have been dating for a year and he’s never seen your photographs?”

Jess looked at him deadpan. “Honestly, would you show him your work if you were me? Have you met him? The man hates photographers.”

“That’s not fair,” I argued.

She furrowed her brow at me. “You don’t hate photographers?”

“Photographers can be lovely people,” I smarted, smirking at her. “And photography can be quite powerful. It’s just not painting.”

My dad responded before Jess could. “Wait, did you just admit that photography was a powerful medium?”

“No, well, sort of.” I was fumbling. My views on art and technology were philosophical in nature. It wasn’t like I thought photography shouldn’t exist. I just felt it was an inferior medium, but I didn’t want to come out and say that in front of Jess.

“Dev,” Jess said calmly. “Trust me, I’ve had this argument with him many times before. Ben Hoffman will always believe that his medium trumps all other forms of art and the rest of us are wasting our time in mediocrity.”

“That’s not true,” I said, feeling defeated. “It is possible—maybe—that someone could create photographs that alter my perspective on the medium. Maybe. But it hasn’t happened yet.”

My father suggested, “Well, you should look at Jess’s work. You might be surprised.”

“Nope.” Jess shook her head. “Not a chance.” She slid her finger across the iPad screen, closing whatever window had made her photos accessible to my dad. “If he wants to see my work, he has to earn that right by admitting that the brush and the camera are both just tools artists use to create art. Until that day, the art I create will remain a mystery to the great Ben Hoffman.”

“Ha!” my dad exclaimed, slapping Jess on the back. “Have I told you I adore you?”

Jess did that thing where she blushed and looked down, trying to hide her embarrassment. God, I adored her too.

After breakfast, the day went quickly. My mother had a million chores for Jess and me to run. The food for the evening was entirely catered, but the decor my mother wouldn’t trust to just anyone. She liked her party spooky but also mysterious—kind of a cross between a haunted house and the Bohemian voodoo vibes of New Orleans. Her vision was magical, really. She transformed our house and our yard into a supernatural space, complete with fortune tellers, dark sinful corners, and a dance floor in the middle of a haunting graveyard.

Jess and I spent the day together, running back and forth from the store to get more pumpkins, cobwebs, dry ice, and other spooky sundries. Normally, running my mother’s errands felt like a chore but with Jess it was fun, and before I knew it, the sun was low in the sky; the band and caterers were ready; the decorations were in place, and there was just an hour or so before my mom’s annual Halloween Howler began.

Back in the studio, Jess pulled out the plastic bag from the costume store and asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

I was ready for anything with her by my side, but I said, “The costume? Of course I’m ready. I agreed to it, didn’t I?”

She bit her lip and then tore open the bag, pulling out the devil horns and the halo first. In the end, we hadn’t tried on the costumes in the store. I’d grown frustrated with all the cheesy plastic-feeling fabrics, and then Jess realized that the best way to get me in a costume was to add accessories to my clothes. So we went with a red bow tie, a pair of horns, and a long pointed red tail. We had planned for me to wear the bits and pieces with jeans and a white shirt, but now Jess seemed to have another idea.

“Do you have a suit here?” she asked. “Like maybe a black one?”

“I should.” I nodded, crossing to the closet to search through my old things. Sure enough, there was a black suit hanging in the back. It was still wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaners. I pulled it out and held it up. “Like this?”

“I was thinking… you can say no.” Jess was nervous and fumbling her words, which was ridiculous.

“Spit it out, Jess,” I teased.

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, but then she managed to say what she’d been trying to say. “I was thinking it would be hot if you wore the suit and bow tie with no shirt.” Once the words left her mouth, she slammed her lips shut and her cheeks went redder than usual. I didn’t say anything, too caught up in the idea that Jess thought me in a suit jacket with no shirt ‘would be hot.’ In response to my silence, Jess covered her face with both hands. “Oh my God,” she said from behind her fingers, “can you just forget I suggested that?”

I took a step closer to her and I was surprised by my depth of register when I answered, “No.”

Dropping her hands slowly, she swallowed and squeaked, “No?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Mostly because it’s a bold look and a good idea, but also because I like the thought of you thinking I’m hot.”

She swallowed again, staring at me. It felt like this was the moment of truth. Either Jess was into me the way I was into her, or she was about to remind me to back off because her weekend with me was just one of her side jobs. She seemed to mentally hem and haw, her brow furrowing as she gazed at me, and then she said, “Fuck it,” and launched her body in my direction, leaping into my arms and planting her lips on mine.

Her kiss was rough and chaotic, like she couldn’t control the energy that pushed her across the room into my arms and I matched it. We kissed frantically, manically, as if anything else would kill the momentum we’d created. I pawed at her, pushing her this way and that, using my bigger body to maneuver us until her back pressed up against the wall. Outside the world had gotten dark, and I could hear the band begin to play, but I wasn’t interested in anything but the sounds Jess was making.

When her back made contact with the wall, she had lifted one leg, wrapping it around my waist so she could rut her hips and rub herself against my hardened cock. Clearly turned on, she mewed and moaned, tiny little sounds that called to me, begging for her release.

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