Read Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) Online
Authors: Jennifer Allis Provost
Astrid
I hurtled out of Al’s Place, filthy and sore and wishing some enterprising arsonist would develop a particular fascination with that address. Yet even though my feet screamed with blisters and my back ached, I had something on me that I hadn’t had before I took this job—lots of cold, hard cash.
Al’s son, Padraic, had warned me during my first shift not to expect this kind of money year round. Apparently the drunks started feeling generous around Thanksgiving, thus giving us bar workers our annual bump in pay. Then the New York expatriates started returning a few weeks before Christmas, all the college students and siblings and cousins going home for the holidays. A traveling drunk was a well-tipping drunk, or so Padraic claimed.
So I endured a day of dodging wayward hands and pretending my pen didn’t work when guys tried to give me their number, all in deference to this supposed rite of passage. When did mothers stop teaching their boys how to treat a lady? Still, when my shift ended on that cold, gray Monday, I had over two hundred dollars in hand. If this kept up I might get myself out of debt by 2026.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. When I checked the display, I saw that Kendra Saunders, my up-and-coming designer friend, was calling.
“Hey, girl,” I greeted. “What can I do for the best designer on the east coast?”
“For starters, you can tell everyone that,” Kendra replied. “Want to walk for me on Friday?”
“Walk for you?” I repeated. Fashion Week was long since over, and shows during the holidays were few and far between. “Where’s this show?”
“It’ll be in Soho,” she said. “You know that musician I met, Matt? He’s funding it.”
“Is he.” Oldest story in the world—pretty girl gets cute guy to pay for things, though in this case the guy was cute, loaded, and famous. “Does this need to go through my agency?”
“Not if you don’t want it to.”
I grinned, imagining John’s sour face when he found out I’d gotten decent work without him. And just think, he was the one who had dissuaded me from accepting the non-compete clause, all because he’d have to pay me a higher percentage. “I think we can spare them the paperwork. Email me the particulars and I’ll get back to you tonight.”
“Awesome. You rock, Astrid.”
“You too.”
Astrid
I endured two more shifts at Al’s, a lame photoshoot with a photographer that wouldn’t know vintage style if it bit him on the ass, and about a million calls and emails from my friends at Visa. When Thursday night rolled around, there was no way I was missing out on my midnight adventures with Donnie.
The market was the same as it had been the week before, and the week before that, which was just fine with me. My mood was suited toward escapism, not blazing new trails. We covered the stalls in record time, and before I knew it I was helping Donnie load the assorted sacks and crates into the van.
“You know what I love about you?” Donnie asked.
I glanced over my shoulder at Donnie, where he was arranging our purchases in the back of the van. “What’s that?”
“You always help me load up,” he said. “You’re a high-priced model, but you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
I smiled, then I hefted the last crate into the van and slid it toward Donnie. “I wouldn’t say I’m high-priced,” I said, recalling my photoshoot from earlier that day. I’d made an entire five hundred dollars, far below my normal rate.
Donnie looked at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth curled up. “Priceless is more like it.” He placed the crate among the others, and asked, “That everything?”
“That’s everything,” I replied. We’d just completed our third weekly trip to the fish market, and it was getting to the point that I was a regular. All the fishmongers knew me, and Trevor was convinced that Donnie had bribed me to hang out with him. If those guys teasing Donnie only knew that these weekly trips were my escape from my ridiculous, over-extended life.
“I’m beat,” Donnie said, sitting down on the back seat of the van. “I don’t know if I want breakfast, or a nap.”
“Breakfast is the best part of our dates,” I said, sitting beside him. “You know I only come along so you’ll feed me.”
Donnie grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I should be cooking you breakfast, not taking you to some dive,” he said. “What do you like? Eggs? You always get that omelet.”
“Eggs are good,” I said. “Would you have time to cook? With your fish friends and all?”
“You know, I can take you places where no fish is involved,” Donnie said.
How I’d love to see Donnie someplace far away from the ocean’s inhabitants. “Are you working tomorrow?”
“Asking me on a date?” Donnie countered. “C’mon, babe, you know I’m old fashioned. I should be asking you, like how I ask you to come here.”
“Same place three dates in a row? You can do better than that,” I replied. “Anyway, I’m walking tomorrow, and I thought you’d like to come.”
“Walking? Like around the park?”
“Like on a runway.” I turned sideways on the seat and faced him. “The show is for a friend of mine, Kendra Saunders. She’s a new designer, but she got some British rock star to finance a show.”
“Finance?” Donnie repeated. “I did not know that rock stars were like banks.”
“They’re not, but unless you already have a pretty big name, it’s hard to get backing for a full show. Kendra and this guy hit it off, and he agreed to sponsor her.”
Donnie nodded, his brows drawn low. “This Kendra, she your friend?”
“Has been for years.”
“Then I’m sure she’s great,” he said. “As it happens, this is my weekend off. What time is this walking?”
“You’ll go?”
“Of course,” he replied. I squealed, threw my arms around him and kissed his neck. Donnie didn’t waste any time moving those kisses to his mouth.
“Thank you,” I said when we parted. “I really didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Not like me to miss out on a chance to see my girl.”
I looked up through my lashes. “I’m back to being your girl, am I? I was just getting used to girlfriend.”
“Come here, you,” he said, then he grabbed my waist and dragged me on top of him, my knees on either side of his hips. Since I was wearing leggings and he was wearing sweats, that position got real interesting real fast. I ground my hips against his as I kissed him, his hands moving up my neck and loosening my bun.
“Your hair’s so soft,” he murmured, raking his fingers through it. “Like silk.”
“Only takes shampoo, conditioner, and ten thousand other steps.” I smirked, burying my fingers in the thick hair above the nape of his neck.
“Your hair this soft everywhere?” he asked, his big brown eyes at half-mast.
“Find out,” I said, rocking back and forth against him. Donnie slid his hand over my butt and squeezed.
“No panties?” he asked, slipping one hand under my leggings while the other traveled under my sweater and up my side. “No bra, either?”
I shrugged. “I need to be comfortable while I’m hauling fish.”
Donnie’s fingers traced the underside of my breast. “Who leaves home without underwear?”
I laughed, then I took matters into my own hands. Literally. “I bet a good boy like you would never do that,” I said, slipping my hand underneath his waistband. “Boxers?”
“Yeah.” Donnie let me free his cock, then he set one hand on the small of my back while his hand pushed my sweater up and over my breasts. His mouth closed over my breast, all while he positioned me so I was pressed flush against his cock.
“What are you doing?” I asked, then Donnie moved beneath me and removed all doubt. The boy was dry humping me, and damn it all if it wasn’t amazing. He sucked on one breast and then the other, his mouth hot and wet and everything on me.
“Donato,” I breathed, then he shifted again and I moaned.
“There?” he asked.
“There,” I said. He grabbed my butt with both hands while he sucked on my breast, thrusting beneath me. Then he bit down on my nipple and I broke. Since we were in a parking lot I tried to keep quiet, and might have transferred all that energy to his shoulder. Good thing he was still wearing his hoodie over his shirt.
“Never pegged you for a biter,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You part vampire, babe?”
“Sorry,” I said, as I rubbed his shoulder.
“S’okay.” He nuzzled my neck. “You, um…”
“Yeah. I can’t believe we just did that,” I said. “You just gave me one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t even know if you have chest hair.”
“The best, huh?” Trust the man to have selective hearing. Donnie kept one arm around my waist as he unbuttoned his flannel shirt, revealing a patch of dark curls. “See? All the chest hair you could ever want, babe.”
“You’re fuzzy,” I said, petting his chest. “You fuzzy all over?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Can’t wait for you to find out.”
“Let’s find out now.” I kissed his throat as I unbuttoned him the rest of the way, my mouth following my hands toward his waist. Then I got on my knees and tugged at his sweats.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“This,” I replied, then I took his cock in my mouth as deep as I could. His skin was so hot he almost burned me, his cock so wide I almost choked. I dragged my tongue around the head, pleased when he shuddered beneath me.
Donnie came a moment later, his hand fisting my hair. I took it all, a first for me, then he hauled me up his body and into his arms. I lay there flat against his bare chest, his still-hard cock warm against my thigh. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“I know.” The silence stretched between us, and I asked, “Didn’t you want me to?”
“Babe, I want you in every way possible.” He slid a hand behind me and cupped my butt. “Just don’t ever think I’m keeping score,” he said. “When I make you feel good, it doesn’t mean you owe me.”
I grabbed his cock. “What if I like owing you?” I stroked up and down his cock, and asked, “What if I want you to owe me?”
He kissed the corner of my mouth. “I can get used to that.”
Donato
Donato: Want me to pick you up?
Astrid: Been here for hours. Hair, makeup, you know.
Donato: And shoes.
Donato: For the walking ;)
Astrid: Ha ha.
Astrid: Left your name at the door. It’s open bar, grab a drink and get a seat close to the stage. My people will be on the left side.
Donato: Fancy.
Astrid: You know it, babe.
Donato: Can’t wait to see you.
Donato: You’ll be the most beautiful one there.
Astrid: :)
***
My Friday was going rather well.
After the sleepless shifts I’d pulled the last two Fridays, I’d had the sense to take this one off. Okay, maybe Christa had said that I’d stumbled around the kitchen like a zombie, and insisted that I stay home instead of maiming myself or another employee. I couldn’t argue with her not wanting to get sued.
That meant that after I got to the restaurant and unloaded the van, I went home and slept for the next ten hours. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten so much rest, and I wondered when it would happen again. I wondered if Astrid would be resting with me.
As a result of all this pre-planning, I showed up to Astrid’s show at six sharp, wearing black dress pants, a matching sport jacket, and a navy blue button down shirt. I’d debated a tie, but my unfashionable self didn’t know if that would be cool or dweebish. And less is more, you know? At least, in cooking it is.
The guy at the door had my name on a list, just like Astrid said he would. Entry accomplished, I made my way to the bar, grabbed a beer, and headed toward the left side of the stage. The place was packed, but there were a few empty seats in the row Astrid had reserved. I picked out a seat next to a woman with dark hair, who was furiously typing on her tablet.
“When does everything start?” I asked the woman next to me.
“Soon,” she replied, looking me up and down. “Who are you here with?”
“My girlfriend’s one of the models,” I said. “Astrid Janvier, you know her?”
“Astrid?” she asked, giggling behind her hand. “Oh, everyone knows Astrid.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Instead of jumping down her throat, I said, “Yeah, she’s pretty awesome. I love her to death.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Donnie.”
She looked from my hand to my face, and asked, “You’re Donnie? As in the Donato?”
I blinked. “I’m a Donato. I don’t know if I’m
the
Donato.”
She leaned close, and whispered, “Talk is that a Donato—that may or may not be you—has swept Astrid off her feet. She’s been talking about him and nothing else for weeks. Even though he brought her to,” she wrinkled her nose, “a fish store.”
I grinned rather stupidly, if I must say so myself. “It’s a fish market,” I said. “Wholesale, for restaurants.”
“So you are him.” She gave me another once over, then she looked at the stage. “We’ll talk later. It’s starting.”
The lights dimmed and the music rose, and I stared at the stage. The first model wasn’t Astrid, and neither was the second or third. Then she was there, wearing this hot pink dress and strutting down the runway like she owned it. My girl.
“Doesn’t she look great?” the woman asked.
“She’s beautiful in anything. Everything,” I said.
Astrid reached the edge of the stage, did this little hip thrust and winked at me. Then she was off, and another lesser woman replaced her.
“When is she coming back?” I muttered.
“Soon,” said the woman. “I think there are four other models in the show.”
I nodded, and watched the stage. Girl one came down, then two, then three…
No.
What the…
Astrid, girl number five, was strutting down the runway in an orange bikini bottom, some kind of see through flower print shirt, and nothing else. Not even shoes. And the shirt wasn’t even buttoned, leaving the skin between her neck and her belly button as naked as the day she was born.
Man, I wanted the first time I saw Astrid’s tits to be in bed, or at least when we were alone. Okay, I’d seen them a bit in the van, but it had been dark so I hadn’t really seen them. Now there they were, front and center with five hundred other people staring at her. It was the least sexy way to see the sexiest part of her.
Astrid’s brows lowered when she reached my end of the runway, which meant my face matched my thoughts. And well it should; where I came from no self-respecting girl would walk around half naked, especially not in public. If my grandmother knew, she’d beat both of us, along with Astrid’s parents for raising such a girl.
“What’s wrong?” asked the woman.
“Huh? Nothing,” I said.
“Liar. The first time she came out you were all googly-eyes. Now you’re pissed.”
I felt my teeth grind, and looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She laughed, raising my hackles.
“Who’s got googly-eyes?”
I looked to my left, and saw Astrid’s friend Britt sit beside me. Next to her was a tall guy that held Britt’s hand as if she was his lifeline; that must be the husband-to-be. “Hi, Donnie,” Britt said. “You know Melody?”
“Melody who?” I asked.
“Melody me,” the girl on my right replied. “I’m Britt’s cousin. And Donato is the one with the googly-eyes. Well, he had them until a minute ago.”
Britt glanced at the runway, did a little chin tip toward Astrid. Astrid did another of those hip thrusts; must be some kind of model sign language. “What, you don’t like her outfit?” Britt asked.
“It’s a little, ah, revealing,” I replied.
“Oh.” Britt glanced at the man next to her, then she looked at me and smiled. “You two haven’t gotten quite that far, have you?”
“We only ever go to the fish market,” I muttered, not that it was anyone’s business what Astrid and I did there, or anywhere. Despite that, my mouth kept running. “Our schedules aren’t really compatible. But I have this weekend off, and I wanted to take her somewhere…”
“So take her,” Britt said. When I remained silent, she continued, “Come on, you can’t be this shocked. I highly doubt you’ve never seen a topless woman before. Sam saw me topless the day we met.”
“Sam?”
Britt laughed, then she leaned back and pulled her companion toward me. “I forgot that you two hadn’t met. Donnie, this is Sam, my fiancé. Sam, this is Astrid’s Donato. He’s making our rehearsal dinner.”
“Good to meet you,” I said, shaking Sam’s hand.
“Likewise,” Sam said. “Donato—okay if I call you Donnie?—the modeling world looks a bit weird to outsiders. Trust me, these girls are so comfortable with their bodies that going topless is nothing.”
“Really,” I said. “How would you feel about all these people gawking at your wife?”
“Well, now, Astrid isn’t your wife, is she?” Sam countered. I frowned. No, Astrid wasn’t anywhere near being my wife, but that didn’t mean I was okay with the whole town looking at her.
“Donnie, can I ask you something?” Melody asked.
“Sure.”
“Are you upset that all the girls are topless, or just about Astrid?”
“What?”
Melody nodded toward the runway, and as I followed her gaze I realized she was right—every single girl was half naked.
“I didn’t even notice the others,” I said.
The show ended a few minutes later and the models lined up across the back of the stage in all their half-naked glory. A woman with cotton candy pink hair—who was wearing a shirt, thank God—came out to thunderous applause.
“That’s Kendra,” Britt said, nodding toward the clothed woman. “I’m so happy for her. She’s wanted a show like this for years.”
“You model for her too?” I asked.
“I have,” Britt replied. The applause died down and everyone moved toward the bar. Britt stood and grabbed my forearm, pulling me along with her. “Come on, let’s get out to the bar and save a seat for Astrid. I bet you can’t wait to see her.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Me and everyone else.”