Page 95 of Strut

I lay there for a moment, staring at the smooth tempting lines of Alec’s long, lean back, the covers puddled around his hips, my share of them inconveniently caught under his thigh, leaving me bare to my knees. I smiled. How the fuck had this become my life in such a short time? And yet it was strangely hard to remember it being any other way. As if Alec had simply slotted into a space that had always been there waiting for him.

I reached to check the time on my phone and remembered.Shit.We’d left them in the lounge. My heart sank but there was no avoiding the fact that this day was going to suck. I peeled Alec’s arm from my chest and slid out of the bed, careful not to wake him. Then I gently pulled the covers free and tucked them over his shoulders.

He mumbled something and turned to his side but didn’t wake, so I pressed a soft kiss to his hair, then pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt and padded into the kitchen to switch the coffee maker on. Coffee before social media. Like that was even a choice.

I checked the time. Six forty. My first meeting wasn’t until ten, although I hadn’t dismissed the idea of postponing that depending on what we found on social media. Alec had nothing until the afternoon.

While I waited on the coffee machine to do its thing, I sneaked back into the bathroom to take a piss, happy to see Alec hadn’t moved a muscle. By the time I returned to the kitchen, the machine was ready to go, and I took my first sips of the dark delicious brew while staring out the window watching Manhattan come to life.

People bustled on their way to work with phone screens lighting up their faces. A neighbour’s chocolate lab cocked a leg against a lamp post while his owner tugged her jacket collar up against the morning chill. And the apartment across the street had its curtains open and the lights on, the couple in their thirties busy in the kitchen with the television on.

I’d met them once while waiting for a bus, and as I watched, the man looked up and gave me a wave. I smiled and waved back, feeling somewhat embarrassed at having been caught watching. I looked up and studied the sky instead. The fog was gone, and in the weak light of dawn, it looked like it might be a bluebird day.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, I headed to the couch and stamped down a surge of unease at the notifications lighting up both our locked screens. We’d muted everything except phone calls. I turned up the heat, then settled onto the couch with my phone in my hand.

One swipe and I wished I’d stayed in bed.

Jesus fucking Christ.The red notification button read 223. I gave a brief thought to what Alec’s had to look like, then decided I didn’t want to know, not yet.

I took a deep breath and ignored everything except Kip’s texts, hitting those straight away and reading in order. The campaign had kicked off to a slow start until the Model Cooperative and a few of the middle range labels had gotten on board. After that, there had been a steady growth in general support and sharing of the post and it was starting to trend nicely. The actual #MeToo side of things was admittedly a bit slower, but we’d known it would take a big name speaking up to get that ball rolling, and so far that hadn’t happened. Our hope for quickly gaining traction seemed to be fading and I swallowed my disappointment. Alec deserved a break.

I brought up some of the threads to read and steeled myself.

Fuck.A quick scan of the comments confirmed that it was way too early to face some of the arsehole, misogynistic, homophobic bullshit cropping up, and there was no way I was letting Alec get anywhere near that if I could help it. I focused on the supportive comments and there were a ton of them. Reading through lifted some of the worry from my chest and I could breathe again.

But almost everyone wanted a name, the one thing that would guarantee the campaign really gaining momentum and the one thing that was never gonna happen. Potential names were being floated and there were a surprising number actually getting it right, questioning if the post had anything to do with Alec’s public spat with a certain photographer in Central Park.

I smiled at that. We weren’t dead in the water yet and I was still only halfway through Kip’s texts. I dipped back into the message app, but before I could read his newer ones, a sleepy voice slid over my shoulder.

“What’s happening?” Alec kissed my temple, then rested his chin on my shoulder to squint at my phone.

I pressed the screen to my chest and patted the couch. He climbed over the back and settled next to me, pulling the couch blanket over us both. He reached for his phone, but I stilled him with a hand on his arm. “Let’s start with mine,” I answered the question in his eyes. “I haven’t had the courage to check yours yet and I’m still reading through Kip’s texts.”

Alec sighed. “That bad, huh?”

I pulled him closer. “Let’s just say you’ll need coffee.” I pressed my coffee mug into his hand.

“Great,” he grumbled, cuddling close so I could show him what I’d gleaned so far. I was careful to avoid the worst of the bullshit comments and he digested it all in silence, making it hard to tell if he was pleased or horrified.

At length, he sighed, and I caught the pained look on his face. “I don’t know whether to be happy that my personal life hasn’t gone quite as viral as we’d hoped or pissed off that it didn’t.” He slumped.

“Hey,” I pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “We’ve got some traction. Give it time. You wanted to get people talking and put a question mark over what anyone might hear about you. This is doing that. And peoplearemaking the connection with Darcy. He won’t be happy about that.”

Alec eyeballed me. “I just want it to mean something, you know? If I’m gonna be the hot topic of conversation in castings for the next however fucking long, I want it to make a difference. But this?” He flicked my phone as his voice rose. “This is still small stuff, Hunter. Grab some popcorn and join the fun, right? It’s just gossip. And upsetting Darcy is only half of it. Without enough people posting an acknowledgement of a personal MeToo experience, it’s just my lone voice and I’ll be written off as a wannabe model cryingpoor me.”

I dropped my phone in my lap and pulled him into my arms. “Hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Alec deflated against my chest and slipped his cool hands under my sweatshirt and around my waist, making me shiver. “No,I’msorry,” he whispered. “You’re right. Itiswhat I want. I guess I just want more. Maybe I’m hoping if that happens, I’ll feel better about what the fuck he did to me.”

“I know. I know.” I pressed a line of kisses up the side of his face, but before I could find his mouth, my phone went off and Kip’s name lit up my screen. I’d barely got the phone to my ear when Kip’s voice broke down the line.

“Have you read my last texts, Hunter? Is Alec with you?”

Not even hello. “Ah, yes, he is. We’re just reading through them now. What is it?”

Kip hesitated. “Jesus, you don’t know. Forget about the campaign and check the link I sent you thirty minutes ago. It’s to Hans Statler’s Facebook. He just shared a post from some bullshit anonymous profile and it’s... shit, just take a look and call me back. And tell Alec I’m so fucking sorry. We’re gonna get that bastard for this. We’re working on it now.” He ended the call, leaving me staring at the phone.

“Hans Statler?” I repeated the name, confused. The man was an older fashion photog and infamous gossip who couldn’t seem to let his glory days go. I knew he had a huge social media following, but why would... then it hit me. Hans Statler was also Darcy’s mentor.

---