Influenced by Eva Robinson (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

She set up her ring lights before her bed. She drained the rest of her glass of wine, her head now spinning.

Then she slid out of her leggings and pulled off her long striped top. She unhooked her bra then pulled her underwear off and kicked it across her floor. She set up her Canon on its tripod a few feet away. Already, she knew this photo would ignite her engagement like nothing she’d ever done before. It would be all over Twitter.

She’d never posted anything close to a nude. There’d be no way Marc could miss this, no matter what sort of Stepford girlfriend he was out sheep-gazing with.

She set up the timer on her camera then slid into place. With one arm carefully over her nipples, she leaned back against the chaise longue. As she crossed her legs, she tilted her hips away from the camera. If she got it just right, she’d have a shockingly hot photo without breaking any of Instagram’s rules.

She lowered her chin, giving the camera her wide-eyed, innocent look, a little bit of a pout. Just sitting here naked, totally natural and normal.

As the camera snapped photos automatically, she imagined Marc looking directly at her. The sound of violins and drums floated through the air. Now, at last, her mind felt at rest.

When the burst of photos had finished, she rose from her bed.

Grabbing her camera, she scrolled through the photos, and a grin spread across her face. Marc would not be able to keep his eyes off her photo. Surely she’d have a message back from him soon. This wouldn’t bore him.

Still naked, she pulled her laptop into her lap and plugged in the camera. With another glass of wine, she started editing her photo, tweaking the contrast. She added a bit of a blur to everything except her eyes, then added a photo grain and a vignette for added classiness.

When she’d finished, she uploaded it, her heart thumping like a bass drum. Was this a terrible idea? Full nudity wasn’t her brand—there were plenty of others on Instagram who went for all-out sex appeal, softcore porn.

Except she really didn’t give a crap about her brand right now. And what was more, she hadn’t felt this alive in ages. Every inch of her bare skin felt electrified.

She started typing out the caption.

Strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty. —Charles Baudelaire #poetry

Next, she wrote:

Thinking of you. Her body heated at the thought of him seeing her photo, being turned on by it. Nothing else mattered.

Marc would know it was meant for him. As she exhaled, she realized she was shaking with a pure thrill.

She stood and crossed to the balcony, stepping outside so the breeze rippled over her.

And there he was again—that person turning to stalk back and forth in front of her apartment, looking up at her window.

Only then did she realize she was standing naked for all Memorial Drive to see.

With a jolt of adrenaline, she jumped back inside and pulled the curtains closed.

Eleven

For the second evening in a row, Hannah was parading before Rowan’s apartment. I will find her, even if I’m losing my mind.

From all the photos Rowan took, Hannah had a very good idea of where she lived—in a brick building, on the top floor, with a balcony overlooking the Charles.

Funny that she lived right across from the river, after what had happened right here in high school.

The worst night of Hannah’s life. The one that changed everything. Being here by the Charles still unnerved Hannah, and a thin blade of guilt cut into her.

I’d rather die…

Did Rowan even remember it?

Hannah gripped the stroller handles harder. As she walked, she thought she’d caught a glimpse of Rowan—completely naked—before the curtains had slammed shut. The confidence of that woman. And recklessness, Hannah supposed.

Wind whipped over her as she walked along the riverside path, pushing Nora.

What would Rowan be like now, in person? Hannah herself was totally changed. Things had all seemed very different in high school. Back then, Hannah had been confident. She was so sure she was smart, and that was what everyone wanted, wasn’t it? On the debate team, she’d never faltered, not even for a moment. Her teachers always read her writing out loud to the class. Other parents compared their kids unfavorably to her.

It had taken her a long time to realize that none of her peers really cared how well she could analyze The Scarlet Letter from a feminist perspective, or that she could recite more than eight digits of Avogadro’s number. Sure, her teachers had been impressed, but her classmates… It wasn’t until her senior year that she’d understood they simply found her annoying. That was when she’d realized almost no one liked her.

In any case, she never would’ve predicted that one day she might end up strolling up and down a riverside walk in the desperate hope that “Handjob Harris” might pop out and offer her employment.

Now on her second night of stalking the path in front of Rowan’s apartment, Hannah was starting to become certain that she’d crossed the line from enterprising into pathetic stalking. In fact, what she was doing now might be the financial-planning equivalent of walking around Boston hoping to find a diamond ring lying on the street.

And yet…

She couldn’t shake that feeling that some kind of fate bound her and Rowan together. That if she were lucky enough, she could have the sort of life Rowan had, washed in the glow of magic.

“Mama. Hungry.”

Okay. That was enough of this nonsense. It was getting dark, well into dinnertime, and she was dragging her toddler around Cambridge for no reason. No matter how much she wanted to will it into existence, it didn’t appear that Rowan was about to run outside and immediately divulge the secrets of fame and fortune to someone she hadn’t spoken to since high school.

“We’ll go home, Nora.” Hannah whirled the stroller around, and a haze of fatigue ate into her thoughts. If she