I rode the train past the stop to his place, taking it all the way to Harajuku. I needed to walk to clear my head and get a fucking grip, and what better place to do it than Tokyo’s fashion district?

One more week, that’s it. We were both attached, obviously, and time was only going to make it harder to leave. I’d agreed to stay because I was a junkie and Dominic was my drug.

Harajuku was wall-to-wall shops and restaurants, and I strolled the streets along with other Gaijins and tourists, my eyes vacantly scanning the shop windows. I wasn’t paying any attention to what I was doing. I ended up standing in line outside of a storefront. Standing in line was so normal here, I didn’t notice for a long moment.

In front of and behind me was a seemingly endless line of young women. All beautiful, although I’d always thought Asian women were gorgeous. Their fair skin, glossy dark hair, and delicate frames. I totally got why a lot of men were crazy for Asian women.

I watched the line feed into the building and the women who came out were sometimes carrying a pink paper bag and folder. Free samples? I thought about getting out of the line and moving ahead to see what was going on, but I’d lose my place and eventually I’d get there. I could always step out when I got to the front.

At the door, the woman did a double-take. She said something that was probably a question, but I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Japanese.”

The woman waved that off and gestured for me to go inside. Okay. If she was cool with it, I guessed I was too. I was curious what was inside that had women lined up around the block.

The room was mostly empty. There was a long table with a group of people seated behind it, and a video camera on a tripod to one side. The talking at the table stopped when I stepped inside.

One of the women at the table stood and bowed, and said something that had to be directed at me. I returned the bow, trying to imitate hers and repeated that I didn’t speak Japanese.

There was discussion between them. It didn’t seem like anyone spoke English. The woman standing came to me and motioned for me to turn around. Like she wanted me to leave –

No. She wanted me to turn in place. That was when I noticed the pictures on the table before them. Headshots.

I turned in place so they could evaluate me. Then, the woman walked forward, pivoted and walked back to me. She wanted me to do a runway walk? God, I felt like an idiot. What the heck was I doing here? I put one foot in front of the other and strolled across the room, and turned back to return to my spot. This was going to make for a hilarious story tonight.

More discussion among the group of people. They asked me something, but I could only shrug.

“Thank you,” I said, backing up toward the exit. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“Tomaru,” one of the men said. He reached behind him and plucked up one of the pink bags from the floor. And then he pulled out a pair of . . .

Underwear. Sexy, too. Baby pink with ruffles.

The man pointed from the underwear to me. I giggled, which was probably highly unprofessional, but this was so insane I couldn’t help it. Then, I finally got the bright idea on how to solve the language issue.

“Is everything okay?” That’s how Dominic answered the phone.

“Yeah, but I need your help,” I said, putting it on speaker. “Do you have a minute? Can you translate for me?”

“Translate what?”

The people behind the table stared, their mouths open. They probably couldn’t believe this rude American girl had the audacity to get on the phone right in the middle of a model casting call. But what the hell did I have to lose?

“Say, ‘Would you like me to try that on?’”

There was a pause, and then Japanese came from the phone I outstretched toward the table. The man holding the pink underwear dropped it back in the bag and said a long phrase.

“Where are you?” Dominic asked.

“You tell me. I think I’m auditioning to be an underwear model?”

“Uh . . . they need a Japanese model for today. But they have a swimsuit shoot on Friday where they’re looking for international girls. And, they like you.”

I smiled, kind of thrilled. “Okay, so how do we make that happen?”

Japanese came once again from the phone. We worked it out so I would strip and walk in my underwear and if they continued to like what they saw, they’d give me the address and time of the photo shoot on Friday.

“Payton,” Dominic’s voice was urgent. “You can’t do this.”

My neck began to get hot. Was he really so possessive of me that he didn’t want these casting people to see me in my underwear? Wasn’t he fucking aware of what I had done for a living?

Tags: Nikki Sloane Blindfold Club Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net