I'm Not in Love

CHAPTER9

Tristan

The kids love spending time with Remi as much as I do, probably because he’s as attentive to the kids as he is to me. Yesterday was the best. Remi engaged in a passionate debate with Jared about which soccer position covers the most ground on the field, promised Tommy he’d give him a tour of the kiln room in the basement of the Clayton Arts Building, and earnestly evaluated the fluffiness of baby sheep with Wendy.

I let myself forget about my worries—our shortage of money, Wendy’s poor health, the kids’ dire need for “butt-kicking” Halloween costumes, and how I’m pushing aside my personal goals to help my family—for a full twenty-four hours.

Since my responsibilities don’t vanish just because I let myself stop obsessing over them for a day, this morning I soldier on with my current jobs. After working out at the local dive gym—necessary to maintain the physical shape that keeps me in demand as a nude model—I head to the agreed-upon job with Professor Santini.

I placed the requested call to him when Remi dropped us off yesterday after our pizza non-date. Halloween costumes for three kids will run us about a hundred dollars that we just don’t have. A photo session with Professor Santini will take care of that cost. I insisted on the condition that I wear white boxer briefs instead of being fully naked, and he reluctantly agreed.

As is usual for a Sunday morning, there are few people riding the bus. In the nearly empty silence—the only sound the pattering of rain on the bus windows—my gut screams, “This is a bad idea, and you know it!”

But what can I do? I need the work. I need the money. I need to provide for my family.

My cell phone buzzes—it’s Remi.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Tristan.”

“What are you doing on this rainy Sunday?” I ask.

“I called to ask you the very same thing.”

“I have a job today.” My belly churns.

“On a Sunday?”

“Professor Santini can only hire me on weekends since he works at the college on weekdays.”

“You can’t be serious—you’re modeling for Santini?” Remi sounds pissed off. “Where are you doing the job?”

“At his house. He lives in an old white colonial on Maple Street, at the edge of the LaCasse campus.”

“I know where that is… Tristan, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go there alone.”

“Why not?” I already know the answer. The man drools when he looks at me and can’t keep his hands to himself if I’m within touching distance.

“Um, he wants you… and not just as a model for his art.”

“I can handle him.” I hope.

“The problem is he wants to handleyou.”

I let him hear me sigh. “Remi, I appreciate your concern, but I need this job.”

“Don’t work for him. Come to my place instead. Work for me—I’ll pay you twice what Santini’s offering.”

“Professor Santini expects me to show up at eleven. It’s too late at this point to cancel the appointment.”

“Okay, then.” Remi’s voice is cold. “Have a nice day.” He ends the call.

* * *

Tristan

“Tristan, please come in.”Professor Santini greets me at the front door. “Thank you for giving up time on the weekend to pose for me.”

“I appreciate the opportunity to work, sir.” He steps back so I can walk past him into the entryway. His stare weighs heavily on my backside.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?” He hesitates. “A mimosa?”

I follow him to the living room where he grabs a tropical-looking drink from his mantel.

“I do hate to drink alone.”

“Uh, no, thank you. I don’t mix business with pleasure.” That should set him straight about my intentions today.

The instructor chuckles. “Point taken, Tristan.” He leads me to a white backdrop set up in the corner of the room and gestures to the lighting equipment. “I picked up this set yesterday. I’m going to pull the shades to control the exterior light source.”