Free Polished Slick (Natural Beauty) by Holley Trent

I wanted to watch the feed from the N-by-N cameras. I don’t have the software.”
    “Oh, I see.” He took another swig of his beer, and cocked one eyebrow up. “I’m feeling a bit used, Trinity.”
    She shrugged, and hoped it looked nonchalant. “Sorry. I figured someone should have eyeballs on the screen so we can call the police and Charlie if anyone unauthorized steps into the building.”
    “Well, it’s really not necessary. I’ve got a motion alarm set up on the feed so if anything in the barn moves, the program will beep on both Nikki’s computer and mine. But if you want to watch…”
    “I do.”
    He gestured to a door beyond the kitchen. “Bedroom. Make yourself at home.”
    She didn’t hesitate. She was desperate to get out of the man’s field of gravity.
    He was like a planet with a goddamned molten core, and she was a big magnet trying not to get pulled into its atmosphere.
    Why hadn’t she felt that way around him before? Surely, her condition hadn’t been brought on simply by the way he wore a pair of baggy shorts…or the way his moistened lips looked after a sip of beer.
    She shook off the thoughts, imagining a duck shaking off water, and let the bedroom door behind her close with a whisper.
    She patted the wood paneling of the walls until she found the light switch, and toggled on the overhead ceiling fan. The room now illuminated, she stood there in the corner, assessing the small bedroom.
    Well, it was more office than bedroom. Installed in the corner opposite her was a custom L-shaped desktop mounted to the walls with brackets. The desk bore a sophisticated-looking computing set-up featuring two large flat-screen monitors—one on either side of the L—a wireless mouse, a dock for Jerry’s laptop, the aforementioned laptop which was already booted up, some sort of electronic pad with stylus, and the requisite slick speakers men seemed to always geek over.
    She plopped into his leather desk chair and spun around, now assessing the double bed pushed against the wall. It was covered with a simple ocean blue spread, and ornamented by two pillows exactly.
    Utilitarian.
    They did at least seem to be good quality. Not those flat, disk-like things so old they needed either replacing or exorcism.
    The only other furniture besides the desk set-up and bed was a nightstand positioned between those two, and a couple of bookcases near the door. Unable to squelch her curiosity, she rolled the chair over and jiggled the nightstand drawer open. Brazenly, she rooted through the accumulation, finding various computer cords, an open box of condoms—plain latex and size ahem , at which Trinity’s face burned—and at the bottom of all that was some sort of leather-bound portfolio.
    She slid her fingers into the drawer and wedged the volume up, dumping off all the wires atop it.
    Pulling the heavy book onto her lap, she lifted the sturdy cover to reveal the first page.
    “Whoa. Didn’t expect that.”
    This must have been Jerry’s modeling portfolio.
    Her gaze went to the door, and she listened carefully for the sound of approaching footsteps. There were none. Best she could tell, the men were transfixed.
    She swallowed, and turned her stare back to the photos. The collection opened with an image of Jerry of about twenty with far less interesting hair, few piercings, and only one small visible tattoo. It was a generic, inoffensive catalog shot in which he wore the sort of swim trucks a mother would buy for a teenaged son.
    Next were wetsuits.
    Then came casual wear.
    Further and further into the portfolio she went, and the photos became less studio, and more artistic.
    In fact, she wasn’t actually sure if they were ads selling anything at all.
    “Oh my.” Hot blood surged from her heart to her neck and cheeks, and a wave of dizziness made her vision blur.
    She picked up a nearby software manual and fanned herself.
    “Oh my God.”
    On the third to last page, Jerry of around age twenty-five with