All Over You by Emily Snow Page B

shooting will take place.
As we walk into the studio together, it’s obvious this is the last
place she wants to be right now. She lags a few steps behind me,
dragging her feet and making an annoying scraping noise across the
concrete.
    “Do you have somewhere to be?” I demand
impatiently, tossing a glare over my shoulder at her.
    Her face scrunches into a painful expression.
“No, I just—”
    “You’re running late,” a deep voice says, and
before I turn to face Wyatt, I don’t miss the way Kylie’s face
flushes. Not this shit again.
    “Right on time,” I say, turning sideways so
that I can look between the two of them. Kylie glares down at the
floor and mumbles something and Wyatt’s shit-eating grin suddenly
doesn’t seem so relaxed when he walks closer to us, cell phone in
hand.
    And as I stand here, caught between a decade
of push and pull between my best friend and little sister, I feel
sick to my stomach. I feel like the biggest hypocrite who’s ever
lived.
    “Where’s this actress I’m supposed to pretend
screw?” It’s the first thing that rolls past my lips, but
apparently it does the trick. Kylie looks up, grinning, and Wyatt
rolls his eyes and goes back to sending messages. Probably to a
woman because that’s the way he and Kylie operate. They’re
together, they break up, and then they date—or in Kylie’s
case—marry other people. Over and over again.
    As I stride in the direction of my personal
dressing room, I cast one final glance over my shoulder at my
sister and Wyatt, whose faces are inches away from each other and
flushed with anger. They’re bitching at each other in hushed tones
and when I turn the corner, I realize that there’s this twisted
part of me that’s thankful for Sam—thankful that my ex is screwed
up to the point of keeping me out of relationships.
     

Chapter Two
Sienna
     
    I’ve never worked on a music video shoot.
    No, scratch that. I’ve never worked in
wardrobe for a shoot period , or been inside of an actual
studio for that matter. And now that I’m here, I’ve got to admit
I’m nervous. Like what the-hell-was-I-thinking-when-I-accepted-
this-job nervous.
    “Where’s that costume, Sienna?” Amber, my new
boss, calls over her shoulder impatiently. She’s across the tiny
room, bent over a small desk that looks like it belongs inside of a
dorm room instead of a wardrobe department, studying a set of
handwritten notes.
    I swipe my damp palms down the front of my
jeans and pluck a pair of lacy boy shorts and a camisole from the
end of the costume rack and turn to face her, holding it up high
for her to appraise them.
    She purses her thin, glossy lips together as
if she’s strongly considering what I’ve picked out for the blonde
actress who’d be starring in “All Over You” as Lucas Wolfe’s love
interest. Finally, she shakes her head from side to side. “Not
going to work. This is a Your Toxic Sequel music video, honey.
You’re going to have to be a little more creative.”
    I start to ask Amber what exactly does she
mean by a little more creative but then she shoves herself from the
desk. She takes four short strides over to me, nudges me aside and
skims through the rack of lingerie that consists of everything from
sweet Fredericks of Hollywood numbers to Agent Provocateur to
fetish pieces. When Amber steps back, she drops what looks like two
ropes of pleather into my outstretched palms and gives me a
triumphant smile.
    I hold the fabric in between our faces,
examining it. Automatically, the corners of my mouth drag into a
frown because this is a sorry excuse for a bra and panties.
    Hell, I feel naked just holding it.
    Crossing my arms over my body so that the
underwear are tucked behind me, I glance down at Amber, who’s still
shorter than my five foot ten in her high-heeled boots, and say, “I
think a softer look would work better. I mean, “All Over You” is a
love song, right?”
    A dirty, sexy love song about a one night
stand that