I sit on this cheap foldable chair, legs crossed, arms folded, face calm.
Inside?
I'm filing emotional damage claims.
Jiang stands in the fake beach set, and—of course—
two very pretty, very young, very confident girls in swimsuits stick to him like decorative accessories.
One on each side.
They laugh.
They lean in.
One even lightly grabs his arm.
The camera clicks nonstop.
Ohhh.
So this is why those two girls in the car were acting weird.
I finally get it.
This isn't just a swimsuit shoot.
This is "let's test the girlfriend's sanity" shoot.
Jiang does what the photographer says—tilts his head, relaxes his shoulders, gives that soft model smile.
That smile.
I grind my teeth.
My foot taps against the sand.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I tell myself
It's work.
It's normal.
I am mature.
Five seconds later—
Yeah, no.
I lean back in the chair and mutter under my breath,
"Wow. Amazing. Fantastic. Next time I'll bring popcorn and a restraining order."
