THE ZEBRA WORE BLUE JEANS
by
Pepper Espinoza
A loud, insistent pounding on the door pulled Kevin from a deep sleep. He sat straight up, wiping his face as he tried to figure out who would be knocking on his door at...
"What time is it?" he muttered, reaching for his discarded watch. Who the fuck was knocking his door at six in the morning? Somebody with a death wish. He considered ignoring the visitor, opting instead to go back to sleep, but whoever was outside his door would not be ignored.
"Fine! I'm coming!" he shouted. "Just ... stop. Please."
The knocking ceased immediately. Kevin said a quick prayer of thanks, cradling his throbbing forehead in his hand as he searched for a shirt. He found the clothes he had tossed aside the night before ... no, mere hours before. Two hours before, if he remembered correctly.
Decent, if not presentable, Kevin opened the door, expecting to see a Jehovah's Witness or some brat selling magazine subscriptions, but the man standing in front of him was neither. Despite his throbbing head and now rolling stomach, Kevin did not miss the stranger's handsome face, or his tight, trim body. The white t-shirt he wore hugged his chest, and his jeans hung low on his hips.
"What?" Kevin snapped, squinting to protect his eyes from the hallway's harsh fluorescent lights.
"I'm here about the ad. The one for the porn," he said, flashing a newspaper.
"The ad about the porn?" Kevin shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You must have the wrong address."
"This is 1620 Woodside Avenue, apartment nineteen, right?"
Kevin nodded.
"Then I've got the right place. See? Right here." He thrust the Coffee Bean, the local underground newspaper, into Kevin's face, and waited for Kevin to read the circled want ad.
Wanted: Nude model. Will pay.
"That's your ad, isn't it?"
Kevin nodded. "It is, but it has nothing to do with pornography."
"Look, can I come in?"
"What? No. You should have called. What if I'd already found a model?" Kevin asked, though a part of him really wanted to invite the stranger inside.
"Have you?"
"No," Kevin admitted.
The stranger smiled and leaned against the doorjamb. "Then there you go."
That smile was pure sin, exuding ease, charm and something more ... something sly, even dangerous. Just the thought of exploring what it offered sent a small quiver to Kevin's stomach.
Kevin's head felt foggy, but that had nothing to do with the previous night's festivities.
"What's your name?"
"Aden Scott." He offered his hand.
Kevin sighed. "Well, Aden, would you like a cup of coffee?"
Aden's smile widened. "Thought you'd never ask. Though it looks like you could use more then a cup. Have a good time?"
Kevin waved his hand vaguely. "I'm never touching tequila again."
"That's what they all say."
"No, I mean it this time."
Aden stepped into the apartment. "They all say that, too."
"Make yourself comfortable," Kevin invited before shuffling to the coffeemaker.
Kevin's apartment wasn't large, but it was on the upper corner of the two-story building, affording him relative silence and fabulous light from the picture windows and the skylight. Sketches, pencils, erasers, and wads of paper lined the floor and furniture. Aden pushed aside a pile of garbage at the end of the couch and settled there.
When Kevin stepped out of the kitchen, two mugs of black, hot coffee in hand, he was struck by how at home Aden looked. Like he belonged there. Kevin wouldn't be surprised if Aden always seemed at ease and in control, regardless of where he went. He didn't seem like the type to be surprised by anything.
"So," Aden said, taking a mug from Kevin, "why don't we talk about the job?"
"I just need a model for..."
Aden waved his hand, brushing away Kevin's words. "No, I mean, the compensation part. How much are you paying?"
)
