Murder in the Rue St. Ann Read Online Free PDF Page B

who runs Attitude wanted me to pose for the cover of their magazine. Isn’t that cool?” He gave me his big, winning grin again.
    “Really?” Whatever I had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. I stood there, thinking, trying to remember what the covers of attitude looked like. I’d never really paid much attention to the magazine before. I noticed in passing. Sometimes I’d thumb through one in a bar when I was waiting for Paul to meet me, but I never kept it. I either left it where I found it or threw it in the trash on my way out.
     I did recall the covers were full-color and  glossy, and sometimes I thought the cover models were hot. I tried to remember what they wore, if anything. I was blanking on that.
    He looked at me, his grin growing. “Are you surprised?”
    “Well—“ Not really, now that I was thinking about it. So much for being asked to pose by Dominique.  If she ever met him, she’d forget all about me posing for her. Of course someone would want to put him on the cover of a magazine. Paul was a hot guy, a lot more attractive than me. His body was more defined, more proportionate, thicker. He could put on anything, look sexy, and get people to  look at him. He was built as well as any stripper or porn star I’d ever seen. Better than some, in fact. He looked just as good in his underwear as the guys on the boxes it came in.  And then there were the face and hair, his eyes.
     He was a great-looking guy. It made sense for someone to want him to model.  He belonged on magazine covers and underwear boxes.
    “You don’t want me to do this?” he asked. His smile faded just a little bit, but his dimples were still there.
    “I’d rather you didn’t, to be honest.” I replied. I felt my face getting hot. An image flashed into my mind— stacks and stacks of Attitude magazines. In my mind’s eye I saw guys leering at Paul’s picture, talking about how hot he was, how they’d like to fuck him or suck his dick or—
    “Why not?” he asked. His eyebrows arched over imploring eyes.
    “Well,” I said, “ I don’t like the idea of people beating off to your picture.” That sounded stupid and childish, even to me. I regretted it as soon as I said it.
    Paul folded his arms, and his thick black eyebrows knit together over his strong nose. “I would be wearing shorts, at the very least, Chanse.”
    I could tell by his tone he was getting annoyed, and I felt my own annoyance building. “Paul, what I’m saying here is I don’t like the idea of other guys looking at you that way.”
     “So, you’d rather I gained weight?” He pulled at the straps of his tank top. “Should I stop taking care of myself and wearing clothes like this?”
    “Don’t be stupid.” I took a deep breath. “It’s hard enough as it is.”
    He tilted his head. “What’s hard?”
    “Paul—“ I tried to find the right words, to try to salvage this conversation. “You know you’re hot, Paul. Well, all I’m saying is—“
    “So, what you’re saying is you still want me to look good, but you don’t want anyone else looking at me.” His smile was gone completely. He started to bounce on his toes, and veins popped out in his biceps.
    “Well, it bothers me.” There—I’d said it.
    “Why?” He looked at me like I was crazy. “Why would that bother you?”
    The light bulb went on. “You like having people look at you.”
    He tilted his head to one side. “Don’t you?”
    “Well, yeah, but—“ I floundered. It was nice. I’d have been lying if I said otherwise. It felt good to have someone look at you in that appraising way, to try to imagine what’s you’d look like naked, to want to see you naked. But that wasn’t why I worked out. It wasn’t why I was following Paul’s diet, his workout.  “Why isn’t it enough that I look at you? Why do you need validation from other people?”
    “Chanse, that’s not what this is about.” He shook his head. “I’m proud of the way I look—and