Page 16 of Strut

“Tomorrow?” His eyes widened. “I still have that indie runway thing I told you about until three. Then there’s my shift at the bar from seven till midnight.”

“Oh, right.” I’d totally forgotten. “How about from three until seven, if that’s okay?”

He stared for a few seconds as if trying to figure me out. Yeah, well, take a number. “I suppose that could work. I can’t be late to work though.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, you sound like you’re making an appointment for a tooth extraction. We don’t have to do this, you know. Just say the word.”Please don’t.

His cheeks stained bright red. “Sorry. This is all just a bit confusing, I guess. You kind of ghosted me after the club, and now you want... well, this.”

“I know. But I am serious. I want to spend some time with you while I’m here.”

Alec gnawed at his cheek before eventually nodding. “So, what do you have in mind?”

“How about you leave that to me?” I couldn’t stop the grin that spread over my face. “Text me the address and I’ll meet you at the runway show.”

“Fine.” He pushed back his chair and looked to be leaving. “But right now, I really need to get some sleep.”

“Where do you live?” I threw some notes on the table.

“Murray Hill.” He pulled his jacket off the back of the chair and grabbed his bag. “A delightful and slightly dingy three-bedroom apartment crammed full of bunks and singles. It’s more like a frat house or dormitory than an apartment, to be honest, since it houses ten male models at a cost of $1,200 per model, per month.”

“Ten of you?” I gaped. Because, holy shit.

“Yep.” He winced. “When I first got here, it took me a horrified minute to understand that the shoebox apartment was indeed what Devon had meant when he’d said, ‘we’ll help you with accommodations’ when he recruited me. I tell you, I almost turned tail and ran that first day, but I wanted this chance, you know? And if that’s what it took, I wasn’t going to be scared off by a bit of personal discomfort.”

I shook my head and stared at him. “But $1,200each,per month? That’s a little on the high side, even for New York.”

He sighed. “I know. But the agency owns and pays the lease, and they just recoup it from our earnings. On one hand we can’t be kicked out, on the other we go further into debt. Some of us international models have no credit rating when we arrive or even the ability to take out a lease on our visas, so the agencies have us over a barrel. But that’s not the worst. Not long after I moved in, I’d found the exact same apartment one floor below with a lease of just over six thousand a month. That’s a big discrepancy and it’s not rocket science to figure out just who’s making money at our expense.”

“Fucking hell. That’s daylight robbery.”

He shrugged. “What can you do? If I keep getting work like I am, I’ll be out of it soon, I hope. I’ve avoided full disclosure with my parents so they don’t have something else to worry about.” Alec got to his feet.

“Let’s share a taxi.”

He stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “My apartment is in the complete opposite direction from yours, Hunter.”

I shrugged. “So? It’s my treat. Let me do this, Alec. Shave a bit off the arseholery debt from last year.”

He stared at me for a minute, then shook his head and grinned. “Fine. But just so you know, it’s gonna take a lot more than that.”

“Noted.” I walked ahead and held the door open, waving him through.

He blinked, then passed by muttering, “You’re a confusing man, Hunter Donovan.”

I followed him out with a grin. “I try.”

CHAPTERFOUR

Alec

The small indiedesigner show had a much better turnout than anyone expected, possibly due to a quick change in weather with the soaring highs of the day before plummeting to downright chilly by the morning. The burgeoning crowd sent my shy young designer friend into a last-minute frenzy to nail down extra seating. Carol finally scavenged another dozen from the multimedia exhibit space upstairs in return for giving them a plug at the end of the show.

The show was a freebie on my part, and I’d volunteered Tim’s waifish sexy body as well. He could do with the exposure and the catwalk was his jam, much more than the editorial shoots where he could look a little stiff. Carol had zero money to spend on models but we got some free clothes out of it that I actually liked, and she got Tim and me free of charge, which according to her wasthe bomb. I wasn’t sure anyone had used that saying since the nineties, but Carol was an energizer bunny throwback to the era of crop tops, chokers, baggy ripped denim, and combat boots. Her label reflected all of that with her own modern twist.

I strutted at least a dozen of her designs to a gratifyingly receptive audience, loving being back on the catwalk, like always. There was something about the live audience that brought me alive in a way editorials and covers didn’t. The energy, the blinding lights, the thrum of the music, the electric vibe on the runway itself, while knowing I carried the hopes of the designer on my shoulders, especially if they weren’t well known. Not to mention the anything-could-go-wrong ridiculousness of it all. I might not be brokering world peace, but I was making some people happy, and I was sold on every indulgent batshit second. So, sue me.

When it was done, Tim and I headed for the tiny men’s bathroom that doubled as our dressing area to clean up and change. A glance at my phone told me Hunter would be there any minute and I tried to quell the butterflies that swept through my stomach at the thought. I was spending the afternoon with Hunter Donovan. What the hell was up with that anyway? I still wasn’t buying him turning up at my work simply to apologise. At almost midnight? Who the fuck did that?

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