Page 1 of Mr. July

One

Late October

“Put your hands on your hips. Flex your pecs.”

Snap. Snap. Snap.

A low growl worked its way from my throat.

The photographer lifted the camera away from his face, “Is there something wrong?”

“What makes you think that?” I snarled, fisting my hands.

“Charlie! Do something. I can’t work with that.” The photographer waved his hand in my direction making a disgusted face before turning on his heel. I lifted my T-shirt from the ground, pulling it back over my head.

“Stop being an ass. This is for charity.”

“You couldn’t find someone else?”

She shrugged. “I tried. But one of my models has the flu. I’ve worked extremely hard to get Carlos to be the photographer for this calendar. He’s doing it for free. Today is the last day he can shoot before he flies off to LA to cover the premiere of Lexi Pine’s new movie.”

“Whatever. I’m out. I’m sorry, Charlie. I left over five-hundred emails, dozens of voice messages, and a stack of litigation papers to work through—all for some dude in skinny jeans to tell me to‘flex my pecs.’I’m out.”

She smiled, placing a hand on my forearm. “I know you work hard. Which is why I thought a day at the beach would be relaxing.”

“The water is barely fifty degrees. It’s the end of October and my balls are so cold—they’ve shrunken up somewhere I can’t even find.”

“TMI, baby bro. Besides, we have to shoot now to get the calendar out for January.”

“Baby? By two minutes.” Ignoring my sister, I scrolled through my work phone. I was buried. A day at the beach was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I might be only twenty-six, but quickly proved myself invaluable to the hedge fund firm that I work for. I’m one of the best attorneys at the office despite others having decades more tenure. They call me the“golden boy.”Not only because in summer my skin tans easily, turning to gold, but because every deal I’ve worked on has returned 3x the capital back to the firm.

“I’m sorry, Chars.”

“You can’t leave. Please…”

I snapped my fingers. “I have the perfect solution! Get Carlos to be the model and you can be the photographer.”

She turned, staring at his sorry form in his skinny ass jeans. “Carlos, won’t sell calendars.”

“And I will?”

“A million,” she grinned devilishly. “But not with that scowl on your face. And those board shorts go down to your knees. It’s not sexy enough.” She pursed her lips. I practically heard her mind work.

“There’s nothing wrong with my surf shorts.” Her arms crossed. “No. Hell no!”

A shudder rolled through me as she perused the men’s swimwear on the metal rack set up nearby. The hangers moved quickly until she reached a black pair of spandex looking boxer briefs. She paused, took them off the hanger holding them out.

“I love ya’ sis. But I’m not modeling my junk for the world to see.”

“The world? It’s only a calendar for a small charity. Trust me, people will buy it to make themselves feel good before tossing it in a closet.”

I frowned, preoccupied. My attention was no longer on her or the spandex ball asphyxiator she wanted me to wear. My work phone was blowing up. I had real shit to do. Like make money. I turned my back on her, walking away. I dialed the office pressing my cell to my ear while in my other hand was the fob key to my new Tesla. I was pressing the remote start button to get the heat going when the key was ripped from my hands.

“Charlie!” I charged. But my sister was fast. She dodged left then right.

“I need you.”

She gave me her best pouty look. The one that melted my father’s heart, rewarding her with an Audi convertible at sixteen while I got a beat-up Explorer. “That shit doesn’t work on me. I’m your twin.”

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