Robin Wasserman - Envy

“Bashful, Grace?” Kane asked, chuckling. His laugh echoed through the room, bouncing off the grubby linoleum and washing over them. He’d already stripped down to his silk boxers. “Come on, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She sneered at him. Stripping down in front of Kane was no big deal-it was the camera she couldn’t stop thinking about. And not just because, when it came to kinky fun, she’d never been into the whole Kodak moment scene. It was more that seeing the camera made it real. What they were about to do-and who it was going to hurt. Harper knew she could put a stop to the whole thing in a second-just call it off, send everyone home.

Instead, she peeled off her jeans.

“You do know how to sweet talk a girl,” she said sarcastically. “I know we all look the same to you.”

“Well… that may be true,” Kane admitted. “But in this case, I mean you’re nothing I haven’t seen before. Or are we forgetting that fateful day after Shayna’s eighth-grade birthday blowout?”

“Kane,” Harper said warningly, shooting a glance at Kaia, whose affected veneer of boredom couldn’t disguise her sudden interest. Harper and Kane had vowed never to speak of The Incident again. And never had-until now.

“I, for one, remember it very well,” Kane mused. “You, me, a jug of grain alcohol. Good times, good times.”

“Kane! Shut up.” She balled up her jeans and threw them at him. He caught the denim missile easily and tossed it back to her.

“Chill out, I’m just trying to lighten things up. Just reminding you that my arms are not such an alien place for you to be.”

Harper rolled her eyes. “I’ll never understand how you manage to get anyone to fall for that dirtbag ‘charm’ of yours,” she complained.

“Ask Beth-she’s falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.”

At that, Kaia cleared her throat and waved the camera in the air.

“Guys? Speaking of Beth, maybe we should get a move on with the task at hand? Much as I’m enjoying the Harper and Kane show, I don’t really need to spend the rest of the night watching you two practice flirtatious banter.”

Kane nodded. “You’re right, enough flirting-”

“ That was flirting?” Harper interjected. “We really are in trouble.”

“Like I was saying,” Kane continued, staring down Harper, “enough flirting, down to business.” He mugged for Kaia and the camera. “Come on, I’m ready for my close up, Ms. DeMille.”

“Okay then, hotshot, let’s get started. Nice and slow.”

The next hour passed in a blur, a steamy montage of sexy poses and ever-changing camera angles.

Here was Harper draped in Kane’s arms, her head resting on his bare chest.

Flash, click.

And Kane tracing his fingers down Harper’s bare back.

Click.

Harper and Kane pressed together, their lips locked in a kiss.

Click.

And more, and more, and more.

Not that Harper was enjoying the rubbing and the pressing and the groping and the kissing of the fake hookup. And not that Kane was turned on by the warm, supple body writhing in his arms, her mind committed to someone else, her body all his. Kaia, certainly, could not have been taking a secret thrill from the voyeurism of it all, playing the puppet master, barking out commands, suggesting poses, capturing it all on film.

All three of them, they assured themselves, would never sink low enough to actually enjoy the depravity.

Still, when the pictures were all taken, the arms and legs untangled, the clothes back on, all three were sorry to see the evening end.

“Well, it’s been fun, ladies,” Kane said, grabbing the camera and flipping appreciatively through the stills they’d captured. “You look good , Grace.”

“You’re not going to start chasing after me now, are you?” Harper asked, feigning disgust.

“Oh, don’t be so full of yourself. You may look good,” he pointed out, “but I look better.”

“On that note, should we get out of here?” Kaia suggested. “I think we got what we needed.”

“Here’s my cell, Kane.” Harper handed over her phone, with its own stock of photos still intact. “So you’re sure you can actually make this work?”

“Have no fear-my Photoshop skills are second only to my carnal skills-and you’ve got personal confirmation of those.”

“Gross, don’t remind me,” Harper complained, smacking his chest good-naturedly. “Come on, let’s go-I think after that, we could all use a drink.”

They crept out as silently as they’d crept in, and drove off together into the dark night, the cell phone and digital camera safe and sound in Kane’s bag. It was the dynamite that would blow Beth and Adam’s relationship apart-and the fuse had just been lit.

The dunk tank guy, Greg, had been only too eager to take Miranda for dinner, and they’d met at seven that night at the one nice restaurant in town. It turned out he was a junior (a bit embarrassing, but not nearly as bad as if he’d been a sophomore), and when he wasn’t dressed like a cowboy, he was at least passably cute. Or at least acceptable. The ears were still too big and the thick-framed glasses still a no go, but she could at least handle the freckles. After all, they matched her own.

The dinner itself had gone, well… okay. Miranda was wearing the sexy new outfit she’d impulse bought the other day, and while she was still slightly afraid it made her look like a thick-trunked tree, she told herself she probably looked okay. And Greg, once you stripped away the nervousness that apparently made him act like a dick, was a pretty nice guy with an easy laugh. He seemed fun, witty, smart, and-what should have been the best part-totally into Miranda.

And that was the problem. Yes, it was great to be adored, but it wasn’t enough. Because when she looked at him, all Miranda could think was: Yeah, he’s okay .

As they walked toward the coffee shop together, he took her hand-and she let him. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was just-neutral. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be , she told herself. Girl likes boy, boy likes girl-maybe the sparks come later. Maybe love at first sight is for suckers and Hilary Duff movies. Maybe, out in the real world, being smart and nice and funny and kind of cute was enough. No wild heartbeats, no movie-star good looks, no rapt gazing into each other’s eyes-just good food, good conversation… and an okay time.

That’s what she told herself, at least, as they strolled through the night hand in hand. And she was almost convinced. Then they stepped inside the coffee shop.

And there he was.

Movie star good looks.

Her heart beating wildly.

Her gaze drawn inexorably to his.

Kane. And in an instant, she remembered what it was to feel, to want, to crave the touch of someone’s hands, his lips, to glow under the warmth of his smile, to light up when he was around, to suddenly forget the existence of everyone else in the room. In the world. To look at other girls, foolish girls, and think, How can they not see what I see?

There was one guy in that room who made Miranda catch her breath with desire-and it wasn’t the one she’d come in with.

He sat at a table with Harper and Kaia. (It was only later that it would occur to her to wonder what Harper-supposedly home studying-was doing out with Kane, or what either of them was doing with Kaia, of all people. But that was later.)

“Miranda!” Kane called out, catching sight of her and Greg and waving them over.

Miranda pulled Greg over to the table to say hello. She tried not to drool.

“Small world,” she commented.

“Small town ” Kaia snorted, and excused herself to get more sugar for her, as she put it, “sorry excuse for a macchiato.”