The Good Life

Chapter TEN



Wednesday morning brought the moving truck with all the belongings I’d “won” in my discussions with Caleb. I’d also gotten the dining room table and chairs, the bistro set and patio furniture, and some nice artwork, but those had stayed behind to “stage” the condo. Caleb would eventually be taking the bedroom and living room furniture, and that was fine with me. They were ugly and boring anyway. I’d always thought so.

Jake woke up early (again) and helped me move all of the boxes up to my room. Just the shoes alone filled up twelve boxes! He put all of the incidental stuff, like my non-pink kitchen appliances, in the basement.

I made him breakfast to thank him for his help. We didn’t have much in the house so I made him an omelet with bacon and Kraft cheese slices. It was probably the lamest thing I’d ever made in my life, but he acted like it was prime rib.

“You act like no one has ever made you breakfast before,” I said. Then I felt stupid for opening my mouth because I was pretty sure his parents’ versions of cooking breakfast consisted of pouring milk into a cereal bowl, and I hadn’t heard anything about him having any serious girlfriends who might have cooked for him either. Jake didn’t do relationships. He never had. He stuck to one-night-stands and quick flings instead. I was pretty sure the only reason he hooked up with me for so long that summer was because he knew there was a definite end. I’m no shrink, but my guess is he has a fear of intimacy and some abandonment issues as a result of the way his parents treated him.

“Not since your parents moved out,” he said with a mouthful. “They were the only ones who ever cooked for me.”

I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down across from him at the island. “In that case I feel bad for not making you something better. Once we get to the grocery store I can make you all kinds of good stuff.”

“Yeah? Let’s go then.”

I laughed.

“No, really, it’s still early. Let’s go out. We can look at some used car lots and go grocery shopping. We’ll make a day of it.”

Hmm, a whole day with Jake. That could very easily turn in to a whole day of blushing and stuttering and acting a fool ... or it could turn out to be a pretty good time. I decided to take my chances. Because that’s what Michigan Roxie does.

First, we bought a car. I mean, I bought a car. Look at me using the “we” word like we’re a couple. What’s up with that?

It’s nothing fancy. Just an older Chevy Malibu. Thanks to the income of my not-yet-ex-husband, I was approved for a used car loan immediately, and everything was pretty simple. I would just pay it off once my divorce settlement came through.

Then we went to the grocery store – AKA Meijer. It had been years since I’d done any major grocery shopping. In New York I always had groceries delivered. That sounded strange to non-New Yorkers, but it’s pretty common there. Imagine carrying fifteen grocery bags on the subway or throwing them in the back of a cab and trying to carry them up to an apartment. Even if the apartment had an elevator and a doorman like ours did, it was still a huge pain in the ass when you’ve got milk and soda and other heavy items. If I only needed a few things I would go to a market, but for the heavy duty shopping, it was delivered.

Another thing different about Manhattan shopping is that there aren’t any gigantic all-in-one mass merchandisers like Wal-Mart, Meijer, Target, etc. If you needed shampoo or Tylenol, you went to a drug store. If you needed lunch meat, you went to a deli. Bread – bakery. Produce – Farmer’s market. And so on.

Walking into Meijer for the first time in many years was an experience. They had groceries, of course, but also toys, home goods, appliances, a nail salon, a hair salon, a fast-food restaurant, a deli, a bakery, a bank and even an auto department. An auto department in the grocery store! The whole thing blew my mind.

Jake thought it was funny I was so excited to be at Meijer. He also thought it was crazy to have groceries delivered.

“So you just call them up and read them your list?”

“No, I ordered online. It’s easier than talking on the phone. A lot of people speak broken English there,” I told him. “Hey! Let’s go to the toy department before the groceries!”

“Sure.”

“I, um, I’m looking for a hula hoop.” GLL Challenge #12 – Go into a toy store and hula hoop in the aisle for one full minute.

Jake didn’t seem to think it was weird at all when I picked up the hula hoop but I made an excuse for it just in case.

“I heard about a new hula hoop workout that’s supposed to get rid of love handles,” I told him. “I’m not sure if I still know how to do this though.”

I stepped into the hula hoop and wished I had chosen to complete this particular challenge when I was at the store by myself but I couldn’t get this far and quit.

“I need to do this for a least one minute to see results,” I told Jake. “Can you time me?”

“Yeah, I have a timer on my phone.”

He leaned against the display on the aisle’s end-cap and looked at his phone. Perfect, I thought. If he’s looking at his phone, he’s not looking at me.

Well, here goes nothing.

And I did it. I rocked that hula hoop! I felt a bit silly for the first ten seconds or so but after that, I started having fun. Being silly was fun.

Jake thought it was hilarious. He didn’t even tell me when my minute was up because he said he was having so much fun watching me.

A little girl who was about eight came around the corner with her mom who looked about my age. When they saw me hula-hooping they decided to do it, too. Then Jake said, “What the hell?” and picked up a hula hoop himself.

I’ve never had so much fun in a grocery store before. Thanks, Hope!



Thursday was the day of my catered “event.” I’d decided to pick up the food and take it over to Allison’s. I figured we could feed her family of five – three times – plus take some home for me, Jake, and Adam, and that would pretty much take care of it.

Was I ever surprised when I got to Allison’s and found almost thirty people there! Well, there weren’t that many, but Allison had rounded up about a dozen girls we went to high school with to throw me a surprise divorce party, which had been coordinated by Hope.

I saw these girls on social network sites all the time. I knew practically everything about their lives. I knew every time they took a nap in the middle of the afternoon, every time they bought a new handbag on their lunch breaks, and every time their husbands brought home flowers. I knew how wide their cervixes got when they went into labor, what they made for dinner and exactly how many minutes they spent at the gym each week. I mean, I knew everything. But I still didn’t consider them my friends because I hadn’t actually spoken to them in years. I was so surprised and touched that they came out to support me.

We ate Italian food first. Then Allison showed me the scavenger hunt Hope had put together for the night. It was going to be a competition to see which girl could get me the most phone numbers or introduce me to the most guys. It was just for fun. I definitely wasn’t ready to start dating. But it was better than hanging out at home by myself.

Hope sent an outfit to Allison’s house that I was supposed to wear. It was a glittery halter top and a miniskirt so short it looked more like a thick belt. She also sent a temporary tattoo that said “Bad Kitty” which Allison applied to my cleavage. The tattoo I could deal with, but that skirt … um hell no.

When I went into the bathroom to change into my outfit, I called Hope to protest.

“What are you wearing?” she asked when she picked up. Not even a hello.

“See, um, that’s the thing,” I said cautiously. “I really love it that you put this whole thing together for me. But, um, you’re not supposed to wear miniskirts past the age of twenty-five.”

“Uh huh,” she said, “and who told you that?”

“I read it in a magazine.”

“Was it the same magazine that claims to have discovered a hot new sex act on the cover of every issue and every month it ends up being something we’ve been doing since junior high?”

“Yeah. That magazine.”

“You know I’d never make you look bad, girl. And remember, I’m in charge here. So stop arguing and put it on.”

I sighed reluctantly and bit my lip. I really did want to be that girl again; the girl who wore a miniskirt as easily as a pair of sweatpants. I just wasn’t sure I could.

“A few drinks from now and you’ll feel like the hottest chick in the bar,” she told me. “Until then, you’re gonna have to fake it. Pretend you are confident and the confidence will come. Go on. Try it. Tell yourself you’re the sexiest and most confident woman in Allison’s house and watch how your whole attitude changes. Do it right now. For ten seconds. I’ll count.”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes and did as she said. I had to admit she was definitely on to something. Within those ten seconds I felt my chin rise and my shoulders push back as I stood up a little straighter. Hmm, maybe this could work.

I opened my eyes and saw that the face staring back at me from the mirror looked less scared and timid than it had a minute ago. I might be able to do this belt-as-a-skirt thing.

“Allison will be texting me pics all night,” Hope warned me, “and they better be good ones.”

“I got this,” I said. And I believed it.

Hope’s pep-talk experiment, along with the sangria that Allison served during dinner, helped me get the outfit on, but there was no way I was going without my underwear! I mean, at least until I had a few more drinks in me.

When the girls asked where I wanted to go I said The Bar because it was a mellow place to hang out and have some drinks and those were the kinds of bars I felt most comfortable in. Even though I’ve worked in a few of them, I’m not much of a bar person and I’m definitely not a club person. The Bar does have a dance floor and a DJ on weekends, but it’s mostly just a place to chill out and have some beers with your friends or watch a game and have some wings – if you’re into that kind of thing. I’m not. The sports I mean. Not the wings. Who doesn’t love wings? Yum.

Last time I hung out in a bar for recreational purposes was in college. I hated it even then because I always seemed to be dressed incorrectly. If everyone was wearing denim skirts and white tube tops, I was wearing black. If everyone else was wearing black, I’d be in the denim skirt and white tube top. When everyone else had on heels, I was in sandals. When everyone was wearing sandals, I had on heels. It was pretty much guaranteed that I would be behind on the trends. By the time I figured out what was “in,” it was already on its way out. It’s not that I wanted to be like everyone else, I just didn’t want to be so different from everyone else.

I could still remember the last time I was in a bar in Ann Arbor. It was the end of The Summer of Jake and Roxie. I was getting ready to start my senior year at UNC, and my friends from high school were all leaving for their respective schools. We had a bar-hopping going away party. I could still remember the inadequacy I felt when I showed up at the bar to see all the other girls had their hair pulled into high, bouncy ponytails (mine was down), faded jeans (mine were a dark wash), and one of those really long sweaters everyone wore back then that looked like a trench coat (I had on a tank top because – hello – it was summer). Where was the memo about the long sweaters, and why was I not on the mailing list? And what was it with girls wearing sweaters in summer and tank tops in winter?

Later on that evening, we moved to a karaoke bar and three of the girls put in a slip for the exact same song without knowing it (“Redneck Woman” by Gretchen Wilson). Like a parody in a satirical film, each one performed the song as if she was a hot country star on a world tour – complete with hip swaying, hair flipping and coy smiles at the audience. There were even a few winks involved. Maybe it was the lemon drop shot I’d just swallowed, but the whole scene was nauseating. If any of those girls ever went down south and saw what a real redneck was, they would not be acting like it was a cute thing.

We had ended our barhopping at The Bar and when Jake got off work, he drove my drunken ass to an empty parking lot by the airport so we could be alone on our last night together. I told him I was happy to go back to North Carolina because being around all of the clones in Ann Arbor was starting to give me a complex.

“Did you notice that every girl I was with had on a sweater except me?” I asked him.

“No,” he said, thoughtfully. “I didn’t notice anyone except you.”

I didn’t need to worry about being the outcast at my divorce party though. I finally fit in after all these years. Just about every other woman at The Bar was wearing a miniskirt. And mine was on the longer side compared to the others. I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of tampon strings!

Surprisingly enough, the fact that I looked like everyone else didn’t make any difference to my inferiority complex. I still felt awkward for at least the first hour. But Jake kept giving me drinks, and pretty soon my panties were in my purse and I was leaning over the bar to tell him I wasn’t wearing anything under my skirt.

“I see you haven’t changed any,” he said with a crooked smile, as he poured shots on the bar.

It was a simple statement, but it meant a lot to me because it meant Hope’s experiment worked. She said I had to fake it. If Jake thought I was still the person he used to know, I was doing a good job. There might be hope for me after all because I felt fabulous. Or maybe that was the alcohol talking.

In one night I accomplished: GLL Challenge #8 – Wear a miniskirt in public with no underwear on; GLL Challenge #9 – Tell someone (preferably someone you’re attracted to) that you’re not wearing any underwear; GLL Challenge #20 – Get drunk; and #24 – Make out with a stranger. I don’t even remember his name. I’m not sure I ever knew it.

Even though The Bar didn’t have karaoke, that didn’t stop me from screaming, I mean singing, Pink’s “So What” loud enough to be heard over the music from the jukebox. My friends joined in right away and then a few girls from the other end of the bar started singing, too. That was Challenge #18 – Start a sing-a-long in public, and get at least one other person, a stranger, to sing along.

I also crossed off #2 – Get thrown out of a bar. Even though I wasn’t escorted out, Jake did cut me off at one point, and that’s basically the same thing, right?

Things were a bit blurry after that. I vaguely remembered Jake asking if I was making out with guys to make him jealous. He said it with a smile, though, so I would know he was teasing me.

“Do I even have the ability to make you jealous anymore?” I asked. At least that’s what I think I said.

I’m pretty sure he answered by saying, “You’ll always be able to make me jealous, Little Girl.” But, thanks to the alcohol, I can’t be sure. Maybe I dreamed it.

I honestly don’t remember a whole lot more than that. It’s probably best if I don’t.



I got pretty lonely after the divorce party. With the kids out of school for the summer, Allison had her hands full, and I had trouble dealing with the noise and commotion over there. Adam practically lived at the hospital. Jake was around for small pockets of time but he was usually on his computer working on his pictures and marketing his business.

I was supposed to be looking for a job, but I still felt scarred from the Skank Queen incident, and so I focused on volunteering to help others instead. I fulfilled GLL Challenge #25 by volunteering at a homeless shelter. I washed sheets and made beds and also donated a bunch of my expensive beauty products to the homeless women. I hoped to go a few times a month.

Even though it wasn’t on the GLL, I’d also gone to Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America to request a little sister to mentor. Since I couldn’t start my Social Work studies for another year, I thought a little sister would help keep me motivated. After a process of interviews, background checks, reference checks and drug screenings, they finally found me a little sister.

The info I was given was that she was thirteen, her name was Violet, she had been born to a teen mom, didn’t know who her father was and had been raised by her grandma while her mom was off whoring around – under the pretense of trying to find a father figure for her daughter, of course. Seriously, I’m not making this up. Sometimes stereotypes exist for a reason.

The girl had started to act out by talking back to her grandma, getting in trouble in school and hanging out with the wrong crowd. Grandma was worried and contacted BBBSA. That’s where I came in. I was supposed to hang out with her twice a month and try to show her different ways to enjoy life that didn’t involve getting into trouble.

We’d already had one session together and I thought it went well. Since I knew she was in the art club at her school, I took her to an art gallery and then a carnival. I could tell she was a good kid, and my guess was that her bad behavior was influenced by this new group of friends she had. Saving Violet from a life of STDs, teenage pregnancies and drug use was my new goal for the summer.

Aside from saving Violet, I didn’t do very much during my first few weeks back in Michigan. I sent in a few resumes via email for jobs that were way out of my league, just to say I was looking, but I wasn’t putting any real effort into it. I wasn’t putting much of an effort into anything. Most days I just hung around at home in my loungewear. My brother and Jake would make a*shole comments about me wearing my pajamas all day but my clothes were from the “loungewear” section of the stores, and they were made specifically for laziness. There was no point in putting on cute clothes if I wasn’t going anywhere, right? I knew people on TV were always dressed up with full hair and makeup when someone randomly and without invitation knocked on their doors. But in real life, people don’t knock on your door out of the blue except Jehovah’s Witnesses; therefore, in real life, people don’t get dressed up and do their hair and makeup just to sit around the house. Correct?

Sometimes I stayed in my room all day and watched Dawson’s Creek on Netflix. Every couple of days, when we were out of food, I’d put on some jeans, throw my hair up in a lazy ponytail (not the cool kind) and go to the grocery store. I didn’t like using the oven in the summer, so I usually threw something into the slow cooker instead. The food would always disappear, so I was pretty sure the guys appreciated it. But even I knew my life had rapidly turned into a depressing scene.

It was nearing the end of June, the middle of the afternoon, and I was sitting on the couch eating ice cream directly out of the carton like a total cliché. I was watching a small-claims courtroom TV show about a pair of ex-roommates fighting over an electric bill. It had been at least three days since I’d washed my hair, and I was pretty certain that if I took the rubber band out, my ponytail would stay in place.

I was on the edge of my seat watching the judge yell at the two ladies on the television and hadn’t noticed that Jake was in the room until he cleared his throat.

I looked over to see that he had taped a banner over the archway of the living room that said “Intervention.”

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. There’s an episode of How I Met Your Mother that deals with an intervention banner, and it’s some of the funniest shit I’ve ever seen. Jake tried to hide his smile and look stern, but I could tell he thought he was pretty amusing, too.

He pointed at me and twirled his finger around the living room. “This,” he said, “has gone on long enough.”

I played innocent. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said. “We’re all worried. It’s time for you to stop moping around, get off the couch, take a shower and do something.”

“Do what? What am I supposed to do?”

“Show me your lingerie.” He sounded dead serious.

“Huh?!”

“You need something to do, and I need a model. I tried looking on Craigslist but everyone I found was pretty trashy and wanted too much money up front.”

“You want to take pictures of me in my underwear?”

“Yes.”

“And what would you do with these pictures?”

“Put them on my website, blog and Facebook pages.”

I gasped. “Yeah right! I’m not an underwear model, Jake!”

He sat down on the ottoman in front of me. “Look, it is my job as a photographer to make you look good. I won’t even show your face. But I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think you were good enough.”

Hmm. If he could Photoshop me to look good and no one could see my face, what was the harm?

“For every boudoir session I book in the next two weeks I’ll give you half the session fee.”

Even better! “Okay,” I said uncertainly. “Do I have time to get ready? I’d like to at least get a pedicure and a haircut.” And definitely a wax, but I didn’t mention that part.

He laughed a little. “Yes, please do. Because there isn’t much I could do to make you look good right now.”

I playfully punched his arm. “Thanks!”

“No problem. We’ll do the shoot tomorrow. Indoor pics at seven and we’ll go outside about eight. I get the best natural light an hour before sunset.”

“I don’t really have any lingerie though. Not like corsets or garter belts or anything like that.” I threw away all of that stuff before I left New York. I didn’t want to hang on to any reminders of how hard I had to work to get my husband to have sex with me.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Just some sexy underwear and stilettos will work – a few different sets. If you have thigh-highs or long necklaces we’ll use those, too.”

“I guess I better start making some appointments then.”

I turned off the TV and stood up. He smirked at me and ripped the banner off the wall.

“See ya tomorrow, Little Girl.”

I really got my ass into gear after he left the room, and I meant that literally. I showered, shaved and exfoliated. I then headed to a salon and got a Brazilian wax, a spray tan, a manicure and a pedicure.

The next morning I washed all my bedding and cleaned my room up just in case he wanted to use my room for the shoot. I got my hair cut, dyed and styled and had a professional smoky-eye make-up application done at the salon. Even though I did have some cute underwear of my own, I stopped at a sex store after the salon to pick up some really cute underwear with ruffles on the butt. I used to have a pair of ruffled underwear back during The Summer of Jake and Roxie and he had loved them so I figured he’d appreciate this pair, too.

Jake sent a text that said he’d meet me in my bedroom at seven. I would be a liar if I said that didn’t light the dynamite in my belly again.

I wore my kimono robe over my underwear. For my first outfit I wore a white bra and the white ruffled panties. I thought the color looked good with my tan. I added several long black necklaces of different textures and a pair of nude patent leather peep-toes. Even though he asked for thigh-highs I thought white would look too bridal and black would look tacky so I kept those in the lingerie drawer.

He arrived at seven as promised. He was very professional. He came in and started rearranging my furniture and bedding and curtains and setting up lights until he had the look he wanted. He took some test shots of me with my robe still on. I lied on the bed with my feet towards the window and he took the pictures from behind my head.

When I took the robe off he never missed a beat – just kept clicking away. There wasn’t any eye contact between us because of the angles he was shooting from so, while I couldn’t be sure, he didn’t seem to be filled with desire. He could have been photographing a fruit bowl instead of a barely dressed person with whom he used to have awesome sex with.

There was a small, very tiny, like practically microscopic, part of me that was hoping he’d drop his camera as soon as I dropped my robe, throw me onto the bed and rip those ruffles right off my butt. And even if he didn’t, I wanted him to want to. Just because it had been so long since anyone had wanted me. I thought it would be a nice feeling. But no, nothing like that happened.

When he was done with the first outfit, I went into the bathroom and changed into pale pink cashmere panties and a matching sweater. He said he wanted elegant and what’s more elegant than cashmere? Besides, I paid a fortune for the set years ago and never had an occasion to wear it, so I was very excited to start getting some of my money’s worth.

He took a lot of shots from behind in that outfit. Standing up in front of the window, lying on my belly, kneeling on the bed, all from behind.

“Try turning around and leaning back on your elbows,” he suggested.

I did as he said and he took a few shots. It was the first time we’d been face to face since he’d arrived. I could tell he was really into his job because he had the most intense look in his eyes. For a second he even stopped clicking and smiled at me.

“How would you feel about taking off your shirt?”

I bit my lip. If he wanted to touch me, then maybe. But for him to stare at me and take pictures that were going all over the internet, no way. “I’d rather not.”

“Your face won’t be in these shots. No one will know it’s you – except me.”

“No, it’s not that. I just …”

“You just what?” He sounded patient as always.

The truth was no one had seen me naked in a long time. Except Caleb who wouldn’t have noticed if I’d sat right on his face. There’s a big difference between twenty-one year old boobs and twenty-nine year old boobs, and I wasn’t ready for anyone to see my newer/older figure yet, especially Jake. He had seen the better version, and he would know what he was missing.

I knew nothing was less attractive to a man than a woman who lacked confidence in her body, however, there was something about Jake that made me comfortable telling him just about anything.

“I’m not twenty-one anymore, Jake.” I bit my lip and looked down at the subjects of our conversation. “They aren’t as perky as they used to be.”

“Are you being serious right now?” he asked. His expression was one of disbelief.

I nodded shyly.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Rox. Boobs don’t start to sag until you’re thirty,” he said with a smirk. “You still have –” he paused while he silently counted the months on his fingers, “nine months left to show them off.”

“That’s nice you remember my birthday,” I said honestly. “But I’m still not going topless.”

He shrugged casually as he changed the lens on his camera. “All right. No big deal. Are you ready to go outside?” he asked. “You’re gonna look great on a chaise lounge.”



Mom and Dad called the next morning to check on me. I was surprised it took them so long. Hello, parents, my world was shaken up like a snow globe, thrown onto the ground and smashed into pieces and then ran over by an semi-truck and, besides the flowers they sent during my first week home, I hadn’t heard from them in weeks!

“Hey Buttercup!” Mom said. She sounded way too cheerful for 10am. I was still in bed and she was probably on her third latte. “How’s it going in A-Squared?”

“Omigod, Mom! You know nobody says A-Squared except people who don’t live here.”

“I don’t live there anymore, so I can say it.”

True.

“How’s it going?” she asked again.

“All right.”

“Your brother says you’ve been doing a whole lot of nothing.”

“Compared to a surgeon I guess I am doing nothing. I’m not saving lives. But yesterday I let Jake take pictures of me in my underwear.”

“Well that sounds like a good time, dear,” she replied. Either she wasn’t really listening, or she wanted Jake to see me in my underwear.

“And what are you up to?” I asked.

“Oh you know, the usual,” she said. “Just finished up some Zumba at the rec center.”

Zumba? Isn’t that some kind of booty-poppin’ dancing? What has gotten into her?

“Any news from your lawyer?” she asked.

“Not yet. She hasn’t been able to find any hidden assets but she sent over a counter-offer and we’re waiting to hear back.”

“Any offers on the condo?”

“No, not yet. We might have to rent it out until the market picks up. We’ve already lost money just having it vacant for one month.”

“That’s a great idea. Just like you kids renting our place. It’s working out for the best for all of us. Are you looking for work?”

“Not too much. But I’ve been helping a girl named Violet through Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America. I’ve also volunteered at a homeless shelter and donated a bunch of makeup and hair stuff.”

“Very good, dear. You sound like you’re doing okay then. Hang in there. Your father wants to say hi. Here he is.”

“Hi there, Sunshine,” my dad said. “You doing okay up there? Adam said you’ve been feeling pretty down. He’s got us worried.”

“No, I’m okay, Dad. I got my hair and nails done and I’m feeling a lot better now.”

“He said you’ve been watching too much TV. If you’re gonna sit around, why don’t you do it outside by the pool? A little sunshine can go a long way, you know.”

“I know, Dad. I do try to get out there a few times a week.”

“Every day, Love. You should be out there every single day. And on the rough days when the sun doesn’t do the trick, well, you’ve got a professional bartender for a roommate. Have him make you a margarita. That always works for me. It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Did my dad just quote Jimmy Buffet? I didn’t know what had happened to the two of them. They used to be normal parents and now they were like … happy all the time. Maybe the sunshine and waves really could change a person. Maybe I should have moved to Florida instead of “A-Squared.”

There was a knock on my door. “I gotta go, Dad,” I said quickly. “Love you guys. Talk soon.”

I hung up the phone, got out of bed and opened the door.

Jake was standing there holding out an iced cappuccino from the coffee shop with his laptop tucked under the other arm. “I couldn’t wait any longer for you to get up and see these pictures. I worked on them all night.”

I opened the door wider to let him in, graciously accepted the delicious beverage and we sat down on my bed together. He opened up the files and started a slideshow. None of them showed my face straight on. There were a lot that showed my hair, but none of my face. He said it was better to show only the body because the women looking at the pictures (his target audience) could imagine themselves in the shot.

There were a lot of close-ups, too, especially of my butt and my shoes. But they weren’t Maxim-style photos. They were classy and even a little innocent – as innocent as underwear pictures can be anyway.

“Your face is in the original pics, though, so if you ever want me to make you some prints or a book or calendar I can.”

I snorted at the idea. I didn’t imagine I would ever want a book or a calendar of myself in my underwear, and I knew for sure I wouldn’t be putting a print over my mantle like Rebecca Dunbar. But I didn’t say anything. I was too amazed by what I was seeing on the computer screen to even form a sentence.

I knew the girl in the pictures was wearing the same things I’d had on the day before but I still had a hard time believing it was me. He must be an amazing photographer because he really did make me look good.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“You must have edited the hell out of these.”

He laughed. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I actually look all right.”

“I did edit the coloring on a few, but you looked good all on your own. Is it okay if I post them on my pages then?”

“Yep. As long as you don’t tag me in any of them. It probably wouldn’t look good if Caleb or his lawyer saw them.”

“Good point. And for every session I book for the next two weeks I’ll give you half of the session fee. That should help cover the cost of your recent, um, slothic behavior.”

“Is slothic even a word?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to start uploading these,” he said as he stood up.

“Jake?” I asked as he was walking out the door.

He stuck his head back in. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” I looked down, feeling shy again, “for making me feel better about myself and getting me off the couch.”

“No problem, Little Girl.”

After he left, I took my dad’s advice, got into my bikini and took my drink and my tablet down to the pool. I’d finally given in to the tablet craze. I could play games, browse the web, listen to music, read books, and apply for jobs (if I was so inclined). I could even watch every single episode of Dawson’s Creek right on my tablet through the Netflix app. It was a lazy and unmotivated person’s dream, and I didn’t know why I’d held out so long. Technology was my friend. And my dad might be onto something about the sunshine because I had a feeling it was going to be a great day.