“You call it,” I tell him. “Go find another outfit and we’ll take it from there.”
As my client walks toward the costume rack, I release a ragged breath. I’m so discombobulated I forget to count. I havenever reacted to a model the way I’m reacting to Thomas and it’s very disconcerting.
Now that I know he’s not dating Constance, I’m starting to have some impure thoughts. Which to be honest is making my job a lot harder. I remind myself once again thatI’m a professional.and I have to behave as such. Having said that, once I finish Thomas’s job, all bets are off.
Thomas comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later dressed in tight ripped jeans. He’s bare-chested except for a cropped, bright orange vest. The hard hat gives it away. He’s a construction worker.Is there any outfit he doesn’t look amazing in?
“Wow, look at you,” I say.
“Good? Bad?” He sounds nervous.
“Fine,” I tell him.
“Just, fine?”
I gesture to the hair and makeup station. “If you’re working construction, you’ll need a tan. Let’s get some bronzer on you.” I rapidly cross the room like my pants are on fire and I’m searching for a lake to jump into.
Thomas follows me and sits down on the tall revolving chair.
I stare at him hoping it looks like I’m trying to formulate a plan. In reality, I’m inwardly lecturing myself to keep my hands off him. Picking up a large blush brush, I swipe it across a palette of bronzer and then start dabbing at his face.
After several applications, I stand back and look.Perfect. “Stand up,” I tell him. Once he complies, I make long sweeping brush strokes across his arms to add that sun-kissed touch. His skin shivers in response.
“The brush feels great, doesn’t it?” I ask. “It’s the softest synthetic sable I’ve been able to find.”
He exhales a jagged breath. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
The air fills with thick sexual tension, which is not normal during a shoot. Probably because I film couples and all their tension is for each other. I’m the outsider entrusted with capturing them on film. I hurry up and finish Thomas’s tan before picking up a spray bottle full of water. Then I lead him to another backdrop.
I gesture for him to stand next to the “Men at Work” sign and position his feet behind the fake manhole cover on the floor. Then I mist him with the water bottle.
He jolts when the cold water hits him. “What are you doing?”
“Construction workers sweat,” I tell him. “A nice sheen will do wonders for this look.”
“The water is freezing,” he complains.
I give him a conspiratorial look. “We’ve been through this.”
He practically growls in response. “Right. You want certain parts of me to stand at attention.”
“Exactly.”
My model exudes blatant masculinity as he flexes his way through the next twenty minutes of shooting. He does this so well, I pick up the spray bottle and turn it on myself in hopes of once again reducing my heat level.
“Are you coming out here to join me?” Thomas teases.
“I am not. The camera lights are really putting out heat,” I assure him, even though we both see they are pointed at him and far away from me. Then I say, “I think we’re done with this one.” Turning away, I walk over to my laptop to see what I’ve captured. One look and I consider getting a defibrillator to have on hand for our future sessions.
I don’t know what kind of doctor Thomas is, but he could have a real future as a model. He’s gone from making me look like I don’t know what I’m doing to practically becoming Annie Leibovitz.
I feel the hot air of his breath on my neck right before I hear him say, “These are incredible!”
I don’t know why I don’t let him have this win, but I don’t. “They’re good.”
My subject sighs like a heroine in a Jane Austen book before saying, “They’re great and you know it, Finley.”
“You’re doing much better,” I assure him.
