Not In My Wildest Dreams (Dream Series) by Isabelle Peterson Page B
Authors: Isabelle Peterson
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Fucking. Awesome. And Becca was amazing in bed. Danny was a fucking fool.
All in all, the modeling was awesome. I loved the camera work, and continued with runway jobs when they came up. Even though my big break was due to a runway show, I could have done without them. I watched these girls take tumbles, sometimes from their shoes being too tall, or the runway being too slippery. Sometimes they fell because they hadn’t eaten anything in the past couple of days, or used so many laxatives that they were practically passing out. I was always a nervous wreck.
Today, Becca and I were paired up for another show, and, with her on my arm, I was guaranteed applause. Together we were a force to be reckoned with. After the shows, I always laughed at the girls as they stripped out of their costumes and wolfed down a sandwich and a milkshake. I was walking around looking for Becca so we could go grab dinner with the rest of the gang.
I rounded the corner and spied Becca arguing with Danika, the executive producer of the event. She was the one everybody feared. She controlled all the models’ steps down the runway, every note blaring on the hi-fi system, every piece of boob tape, and each lock of hair. As for us guys, she mostly ignored us, for which I was grateful.
It looked to be a heated discussion, so I didn’t walk in on them. Rather, I hung back around the corner and, despite my discomfort with the morality of eavesdropping on my best friend, I couldn’t help myself.
“Why are you being so mean to me? I would never treat you this way,” Becca pleaded.
“Becca, look. We were. It was nice, but we just didn’t mesh well. If we stayed together it would have been disastrous.”
Huh?
“I’ve never gotten over you,” I heard. I wasn’t sure who said it. It didn’t sound like Danika. She had a raspy smoker’s voice and a thick Brooklyn accent. But it didn’t sound like Becca, either. The voice sounded weak and small. “I love you, Dani.”
Whoa! Back the fuck up! It wasn’t Danny who broke Becca’s heart. It was Dani. Becca was a lesbian!? How had I lived with her for three years and not known? We’d fucked more than—what the fuck?! My mind was flashing through all the times I’d seen Becca with our group of friends. How she was charming and flirty with the women. Then there were her questions on the first day we’d met… but the blow jobs, and the quick fucks… I guess that’s why it was always just a fuck and nothing more. And she never seriously dated over the past years. Neither did I, but—Becca was always saying that it would hurt too much to get her heart broken again.
It seemed as clear as day, but still as clear as mud.
“Becca, it’s been three years. I still care for you, but not in that way. I’m with Margot now. We match in a way that you and I never did. Move on. Find your Margot.”
Suddenly, Danika, Dani , was brushing past me in her authoritative huff. I peered around the corner to see Becca crouched in a ball, hugging her knees. I rushed to her and got down on my haunches.
“Bec? Are you okay? What happened?” I asked.
Becca’s head snapped up at me. Angrily she pushed away the tears that were streaming down her face. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m so stupid.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I’d never seen Becca cry. To be honest, I didn’t know she could cry, well, there was the day of our first runway show that she’d clearly been crying. “Um, okay,” I muttered. “So, the group is going out to that new fondue place on the west side. Should I tell them to go ahead without us?”
“No. I’m fine. Let’s go,” she said in a huff. She stood and grabbed her bag slinging it over her shoulder defiantly.
CHAPTER 10
Y ou would think that living with, and fucking, a woman for three years would give you some clue about her mood swings. Nope. Not one bit. I’d just found her in a puddle of tears and now she’s ready to binge on carbs. Women!
At the restaurant, I
All in all, the modeling was awesome. I loved the camera work, and continued with runway jobs when they came up. Even though my big break was due to a runway show, I could have done without them. I watched these girls take tumbles, sometimes from their shoes being too tall, or the runway being too slippery. Sometimes they fell because they hadn’t eaten anything in the past couple of days, or used so many laxatives that they were practically passing out. I was always a nervous wreck.
Today, Becca and I were paired up for another show, and, with her on my arm, I was guaranteed applause. Together we were a force to be reckoned with. After the shows, I always laughed at the girls as they stripped out of their costumes and wolfed down a sandwich and a milkshake. I was walking around looking for Becca so we could go grab dinner with the rest of the gang.
I rounded the corner and spied Becca arguing with Danika, the executive producer of the event. She was the one everybody feared. She controlled all the models’ steps down the runway, every note blaring on the hi-fi system, every piece of boob tape, and each lock of hair. As for us guys, she mostly ignored us, for which I was grateful.
It looked to be a heated discussion, so I didn’t walk in on them. Rather, I hung back around the corner and, despite my discomfort with the morality of eavesdropping on my best friend, I couldn’t help myself.
“Why are you being so mean to me? I would never treat you this way,” Becca pleaded.
“Becca, look. We were. It was nice, but we just didn’t mesh well. If we stayed together it would have been disastrous.”
Huh?
“I’ve never gotten over you,” I heard. I wasn’t sure who said it. It didn’t sound like Danika. She had a raspy smoker’s voice and a thick Brooklyn accent. But it didn’t sound like Becca, either. The voice sounded weak and small. “I love you, Dani.”
Whoa! Back the fuck up! It wasn’t Danny who broke Becca’s heart. It was Dani. Becca was a lesbian!? How had I lived with her for three years and not known? We’d fucked more than—what the fuck?! My mind was flashing through all the times I’d seen Becca with our group of friends. How she was charming and flirty with the women. Then there were her questions on the first day we’d met… but the blow jobs, and the quick fucks… I guess that’s why it was always just a fuck and nothing more. And she never seriously dated over the past years. Neither did I, but—Becca was always saying that it would hurt too much to get her heart broken again.
It seemed as clear as day, but still as clear as mud.
“Becca, it’s been three years. I still care for you, but not in that way. I’m with Margot now. We match in a way that you and I never did. Move on. Find your Margot.”
Suddenly, Danika, Dani , was brushing past me in her authoritative huff. I peered around the corner to see Becca crouched in a ball, hugging her knees. I rushed to her and got down on my haunches.
“Bec? Are you okay? What happened?” I asked.
Becca’s head snapped up at me. Angrily she pushed away the tears that were streaming down her face. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m so stupid.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I’d never seen Becca cry. To be honest, I didn’t know she could cry, well, there was the day of our first runway show that she’d clearly been crying. “Um, okay,” I muttered. “So, the group is going out to that new fondue place on the west side. Should I tell them to go ahead without us?”
“No. I’m fine. Let’s go,” she said in a huff. She stood and grabbed her bag slinging it over her shoulder defiantly.
CHAPTER 10
Y ou would think that living with, and fucking, a woman for three years would give you some clue about her mood swings. Nope. Not one bit. I’d just found her in a puddle of tears and now she’s ready to binge on carbs. Women!
At the restaurant, I
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