Long Shot by Kayti McGee Page B

photographer girlfriend, Rob?”
    Rob throws an arm around me protectively and squeezes, but his voice is proud and light. “It is! Everyone, this is Meredith. Mere, this is everyone.”
    “Um, hi, everyone.” I wave, again, awkwardly.
    “Photographer girlfriend!” the girl closest to me squeals and jumps up. “That’s so exciting! We all loved Peter’s shots!”
    I haven’t photographed any of the guys in the room. “You’ve all looked at those?”
    “We pinned a couple on the board,” Rob helpfully informs me. I glance around the room. Yep, right over there by the door. A corkboard with business cards, flyers, calendars…and Peter Rodman’s peen. Strippers are filthy animals.
    Embarrassment colors my cheeks. What I was so proud of now feels lame. It’s just a dick dressed in a sweater. No matter the composition of the photo, it’s something ridiculous and probably private and I shouldn’t have brought it here. I feel like a trespasser as it is.
    “Oh, these aren’t anything special…”
    “Guys, it was so cool.” Rob talks over me, squeezing me tighter and plucking the folder from my hands. “She made my dick an outfit. A wangdrobe! It looked like a sea captain and it was fucking amazing.”
    “Share!” Someone calls out. “I cannot die without seeing a dressy dick!”
    “No—” I try to stop them, but Rob has already unsheathed the photos and all I can do is hide behind my hands and brace myself for the inevitable laughter that will follow. I hold my breath and wait. And wait. And wait.
    “Oh my god, that’s amazing,” the girl gasps. “Look at your…your member!”
    “Right?!” Rob is practically beaming, I can hear it in his voice. “Look how goddamn sexy I look in this one.”
    “God, your abs are amazing.” This from a guy. “Can your girl make me look like that?”
    The room erupts into weird compliments and squeals and high-fives as they flip through the photos, while I watch still behind my fingers.
    They don’t hate them. Better yet, they love them. All these gushing, crazy compliments about my work…and my work is a freaking penis wrapped in yarn. Maybe there is something to this whole dick photography business.
    I mean, okay, the strippers like it. But they pay well. Like, really well.
    “Could you do one of these for my boyfriend?” The girl holds up my favorite shot of the whole bunch. Rob’s torso has a soft focus and his wrapped sea captain is at center stage, looking like he’s about to jump aboard a ship and take off. “Dress him up and all that? Do you sell the rights? This would be a huge hit on my Instagram account!”
    “I would frame one of these on my wall.” Another stripper holds up another picture, where Rob posed like Captain Morgan. “Like, seriously.”
    “Did you make this?” Stripper Number Two asks. “The outfit—“
    “Weendrobe.” Rob corrects him. SNT laughs.
    “Yeah, okay. Did you make the cockfit?”
    I blush and feel hot. “Um, yeah.”
    “You’re amazing ,” he gushes. “How much to make an outfit for me? Can you make a pirate?”
    “Fuck pirates.” Another man stands tall and looks exceptionally regal. “Can you make my dick look like King Henry the Eighth?”
    Someone else scoffs. “I wanna look like Prince.”
    “Oh dear god, could we have a set of Dick-tators?” Girlfriend Number One looks wide-eyed and thrilled. “Saddam, Osama, Fidel, Hitler?”
    “A calendar!” Ricky calls from the couch. I’ve either just made a million dollars, or ruined my life..
    Rob laughs quietly in my ear. “Get it, girl.”
    “Of-of course.” Am I still blushing? I probably haven’t stopped since I walked in here. “Anyway. I’m not much of a costume designer, but I’m sure I can put something together if you really want…”
    “Are you kidding?” Girlfriend laughs. “These are the greatest things I’ve ever seen.”
    Oh no, I’m a stripper’s girlfriend too. Dear god. I’m part of their fucked up and weirdly exclusive