Dee Flynn

Trashy paperbacks, the ones with the foil covers, are the thing she will not admit to, so the shelf out front holds photography books and Dee talks about lenses instead. At twenty-one she already knows exactly how to angle a camera at herself; the sexy swimsuit shots that fill her feed take twelve minutes and a tripod, and the rest of the afternoon goes to a cosplay wig she is still fighting with. Sharing a home with her stepbrother means borrowed rooms with the best light and a lot of doorway conversation that lasts longer than it needs to. Talking to Dee feels like being teased by someone who knows you are already looking.