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That's one hell of a walk of shame



 
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Hallee Perkins

Friday Night

“You’re a model, you said?”

There are those moments in life when you really want to roll your eyes at someone, but it would be completely rude, and so you somehow hold it in. This was not one of those moments. It was especially hard to hide it when your eyes take up a quarter of your face. Then again, she also made a show of it, circling her bright blues all the way back and around again as slowly as humanly possible.

She had met him on one of those hook up apps. Maybe that was her first mistake. She was in New York for business, and figured she might as well go out and have a good time while she was here. Single life. Living it up. Woot woot.

“No, I didn’t say I was a model. I said I was a photographeh. They both have to do with cameras, sooo. I mean. You’re only ninety percent wrong.” Her aussie accent accentuated and drew out depending on the words she said.

Either he was obtuse on purpose, or he didn’t read her irritation, or he was just too full of himself that he didn’t understand. In any case, he laughed and shrugged his impossibly toned shoulders. Damn, at least if he was an idiot he at least looked good. “I knew it had something to do with pictures.”

Her smile was forced and she raised her eyebrows while looking down at her drink. They were impressive eyebrows at that. “Right. And you’re an...influencer? What does that mean, exactly?” She’d heard the term before but had absolutely no idea what an influencer actually did, if anything at all.

“Oh, you know...it’s mostly Insta. I just -am- at different places and I have followers, so I like...help set trends, is the best way to put it.” He seemed absolutely invested in whatever crap was spilling out of his mouth. His sandy blonde hair was swept back in one of those messy on purpose ways, the sides and back of his head shaved down near to scalp. Blue eyes, a few days scruff, and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. But not in a bad way, in a perfectly imperfect way with full lips under the scruff. His light blue denim shirt had its sleeves rolled up to just above the elbow and it fit him snugly, showing off his muscular frame beneath. Yeah, he was yummy.

And if she didn’t get him to stop talking, she was going to forget that.

The pub they were in looked like it was trying too hard to look like a pub. A caricature that made people her age flock and feel trendy but old school at the same time. It couldn’t have been more than a year old if the state of the furniture said anything about it. She started to look around at the people here before she realized he was still going on about his ‘job’, though how he could actually make money from it, she wasn’t sure. “Jaysus f*ck,” she muttered under her breath. Then she took her gin and tonic and slammed the rest of the drink down, shuddering as it burned down her throat.

After a few well earned coughs, she looked back at him. At least he’d finally stopped talking.

“Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s get outta hea’.” She hopped down from the tall seat, though it didn’t take much. She was tall for a woman, just a few inches under six feet. Her hands slid in the pocket of her skinny jeans and fished out some money for her drinks. Then, looking at him again, made sure to leave enough for his too. He stood up at the same time. Apparently he didn’t need to be asked twice.

“You don’t have to do…” he stopped as she held up a hand, cutting him off.

“You’ll get it the next time, yeah?” As if there would be a next time.

Her phone slipped into a jean jacket, the sleeves made of black leather, after she used it to get an Uber on it’s way. Underneath was a low cut white camisole. A pair of Vans kept her at least nominally shorter than him, and they were a yellowish color with skulls painted on the tops. Anyone that was familiar with Van Gogh would immediately recognize them as his work. A grey beanie was pulled over her blonde locks and the whole outfit didn’t exactly go together, but somehow it worked.

“My roommate is out of town for the weekend, if you want to come to my place. Plus I didn’t bring my charger. I didn’t know how it would go, you know?” The smile he gave her was one of those lop-sided, boyish charm types. Okay, he might not be a shining conversationalist, but he was damn cute.

Sometimes a girl can be superficial too.

He was what she liked to call a SUFM. Shut up and f*ck me.

“Alright, then. That works for me. Promise your not going to murder me when I sleep and wear my skin, yeah?”

He laughed and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. He was just tall enough that it was a comfortable fit. “I promise. I might take some pictures, though…” then he pulled out his phone to take a selfie with her before they went out the door. “I’ll post that later.”





June 28, 2019 09:09 pm
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