pictures. “You know how it is. Once someone figures out who you are, you go from being a guy named Leo to Leo the Supermodel.”
“Yeah, I get it. But you will tell him eventually, right?”
“Of course.”
***
Later that night, Helena slipped on her comfortable blue terrycloth robe and grabbed her glass of milk and bowl of trail mix off the counter. Making her way across her big-by-New-York-City-standards living room, she took a seat at her chrome-and-glass computer desk. She set her snack aside and opened her e-mail, ignoring the stuff waiting for her in her in-box. All day during the fitting she’d been thinking about Seth, wondering who he was and why she was suddenly obsessed with him. It wasn’t like she was lacking for male attention. If she ever had the urge to scratch an itch between boyfriends, she even had a little black book with the names of men who could always be relied on to deliver in bed without the complications of a relationship.
She typed in Seth’s e-mail address, something she’d already memorized, and paused. How exactly was she supposed to start this and not come off like a weirdo? More importantly, should she tell Seth what she did for a living? She didn’t like lying but at the same time she wanted to see how Seth would treat her before he found out she was the owner of what Maxie magazine had voted “the world’s best T&A.”
Some guys couldn’t handle her being famous. They either turned all fanboy on her, got pissed about her crazy schedule, or couldn’t stand the attention that came from going out with her in public. She’d tried to explain she had to work as much as she could now because she planned on retiring in three years, but none of them had wanted to deal with her being on a different continent a couple times a month. For most guys, the idea of dating a supermodel was the stuff of fantasies, but the hard reality of it made for some really short relationships.
A quiet voice, the voice of the girl in high school who got dumped because her boyfriend’s white family didn’t like him dating a black girl, popped up. What if he doesn’t date outside his race ? She squashed the voice and focused on the screen. Either Seth liked her for who she was on the inside or he didn’t. She wasn’t going to tell him what she did for a living so she would be Helena from Brooklyn, instead of Helena, Swimsuit Cover Model and Siren. She should probably use her middle name while writing him in case he made the connection. After all, she and Leo had done more than a few photo shoots together.
Then again, he might be angry if he felt she lied to him.
Chewing her lower lip, she mustered up her courage and decided to be herself and not really go into detail about her job.
It was so much easier.
Dear Seth,
Hi, my name is Mary and I’m a friend of Leo Russo. He gave me your e-mail address and said you might like a pen pal. I hope you don’t mind, and if this is an inconvenience or I’m treading on anyone’s toes, please let me know.
When I was growing up, I had a pen pal from the Peru who I’d write once a month. I loved opening up my mail and seeing a letter from her. It would make my day. I was hoping you might like to start a correspondence.
Well, I’m not really sure what to say now, LOL. My old pen pal and I would talk about what kind of nail polish was available in our country and about music that came out two years ago in the United States and was just starting to reach Peru. You probably aren’t into that kind of stuff, unless you are, in which case I make no judgments. If you want to wear nail polish and look fabulous, then I say good for you.
Sorry for the rambling. I’ve had a long day and I really need to get to bed. I have a busy day at work tomorrow and I get fussed at if I haven’t gotten enough sleep. I bet that sounds kind of shallow to you considering you’re fighting a war and I’m bitching about people making sure I get enough sleep.
“Yeah, I get it. But you will tell him eventually, right?”
“Of course.”
***
Later that night, Helena slipped on her comfortable blue terrycloth robe and grabbed her glass of milk and bowl of trail mix off the counter. Making her way across her big-by-New-York-City-standards living room, she took a seat at her chrome-and-glass computer desk. She set her snack aside and opened her e-mail, ignoring the stuff waiting for her in her in-box. All day during the fitting she’d been thinking about Seth, wondering who he was and why she was suddenly obsessed with him. It wasn’t like she was lacking for male attention. If she ever had the urge to scratch an itch between boyfriends, she even had a little black book with the names of men who could always be relied on to deliver in bed without the complications of a relationship.
She typed in Seth’s e-mail address, something she’d already memorized, and paused. How exactly was she supposed to start this and not come off like a weirdo? More importantly, should she tell Seth what she did for a living? She didn’t like lying but at the same time she wanted to see how Seth would treat her before he found out she was the owner of what Maxie magazine had voted “the world’s best T&A.”
Some guys couldn’t handle her being famous. They either turned all fanboy on her, got pissed about her crazy schedule, or couldn’t stand the attention that came from going out with her in public. She’d tried to explain she had to work as much as she could now because she planned on retiring in three years, but none of them had wanted to deal with her being on a different continent a couple times a month. For most guys, the idea of dating a supermodel was the stuff of fantasies, but the hard reality of it made for some really short relationships.
A quiet voice, the voice of the girl in high school who got dumped because her boyfriend’s white family didn’t like him dating a black girl, popped up. What if he doesn’t date outside his race ? She squashed the voice and focused on the screen. Either Seth liked her for who she was on the inside or he didn’t. She wasn’t going to tell him what she did for a living so she would be Helena from Brooklyn, instead of Helena, Swimsuit Cover Model and Siren. She should probably use her middle name while writing him in case he made the connection. After all, she and Leo had done more than a few photo shoots together.
Then again, he might be angry if he felt she lied to him.
Chewing her lower lip, she mustered up her courage and decided to be herself and not really go into detail about her job.
It was so much easier.
Dear Seth,
Hi, my name is Mary and I’m a friend of Leo Russo. He gave me your e-mail address and said you might like a pen pal. I hope you don’t mind, and if this is an inconvenience or I’m treading on anyone’s toes, please let me know.
When I was growing up, I had a pen pal from the Peru who I’d write once a month. I loved opening up my mail and seeing a letter from her. It would make my day. I was hoping you might like to start a correspondence.
Well, I’m not really sure what to say now, LOL. My old pen pal and I would talk about what kind of nail polish was available in our country and about music that came out two years ago in the United States and was just starting to reach Peru. You probably aren’t into that kind of stuff, unless you are, in which case I make no judgments. If you want to wear nail polish and look fabulous, then I say good for you.
Sorry for the rambling. I’ve had a long day and I really need to get to bed. I have a busy day at work tomorrow and I get fussed at if I haven’t gotten enough sleep. I bet that sounds kind of shallow to you considering you’re fighting a war and I’m bitching about people making sure I get enough sleep.
Similar Books
