Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FINLEY
What in the world is Thomas doing? This cannot be the same sorry pirate I took pictures of last week.
I realize I must have asked this question out loud when his face morphs into an expression of concern. “I’m pretending I’m The Rock. Am I doing it wrong?”
“No.” In fact, he’s doing it so very right I’m having a hard time catching my breath.
I knew Thomas was built from our first shoot, but there’s something about the way this uniform fits him that’s making the lens on my camera steam up.
“You’re doing fine,” I tell him, downplaying the staggering reality of the situation.
Swoon! Gasp! Attack of the vapors! He’s doing great!
“What’s wrong then?” He clearly doesn’t believe me.
“Nothing. Seriously.” I put the camera up to my face and start taking pictures. “Just move around a bit,” I tell him. “Change your pose, but do it subtly.”
Thomas is such a natural at pretending to be a sexy policeman, I’m about to beg him to arrest me.
In fact, if he was a real cop, I’d be tempted to commit a crime just to get his attention.
After ten minutes, I tell him, “Take a break.” Then I practically sprint toward my bottle of cold water.
I might have to pour it over my head to bring my temperature down.
Thomas walks toward me and peers over my shoulder to get a look at the computer monitor where his pictures have popped up. “Hey, these are good!” He sounds pleased with himself.
“They are.” I make sure to keep my back to him and emotion out of my voice. My face still feels like it’s on fire and I don’t want him to see what his image is doing to me.
“Who knew I was such a good model?” He’s clearly as surprised as I am. And who wouldn’t be, given our first disastrous session together?
“You’re doing much better,” I assure him without coming right out and praising him.
“I’m amazing,” he declares confidently.
I inhale slowly and count to seven before facing him. “Should we try it with the billy club now?”
“Let’s do it.” He sounds like he’s really enjoying himself, which is the point of these pictures. I just didn’t think he’d take to it so readily. Those cross-eyed pirate shots were seriously so bad I didn’t think he had it in him.
Thomas picks up the billy club and heads back to the set. He widens his legs in an imposing stance and grips the wooden stick like he’s heading into a street fight. Holy crow. The room starts to spin like I’ve had one too many sips of beer.
I take another several more shots before declaring, “I think the police officer is a wrap.”
Officer Culpepper practically skips off set before asking, “What now?”
“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 have never 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 that I’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.
I turn around to discover Thomas is practically standing on top of me. I try to take a step back, but I run into my computer stand. “I know we started off badly,” he says. “But that’s all behind us. I think we should be friends. What do you say?”
“Friends?” I don’t want to be this man’s friend. I want to be his girlfriend, the banana to his split, his baby mama, his … I could go on and on, but I am a professional.
Still invading my personal bubble, Thomas replies, “Why not be friends? I’m new in town and don’t know very many people. I think you’d be a nice friend to have.” He thrusts his hand out in front of him to seal the deal. “What do you say?”
Instead of accepting his offer, I tentatively tell him, “I suppose I could be your friend.”
He looks slightly hurt that I’m not more exuberant. Then he says, “As my only female friend in town, how would you feel about doing me a huge favor?”
Ah, it wasn’t just friendship he was after.
There’s a catch. I take a giant step to the left, hoping to release myself from his gravitational pull.
“It depends on the favor,” I say. For instance, I’d be happy to tell him where to go to get a good pedicure or advise him on Elk Lake’s minimal night life, but I’m not interested in feeding his cat if he has plans to go out of town.
“I need a girlfriend,” he tells me bluntly.
“You want me to be your girlfriend?” Yes! I can’t help but wonder why didn’t he lead with that.
Thomas shakes that gorgeous head of his. “Constance has targeted me as a love interest, and I need to make sure she knows I’m not up for it.”
Shoot. “Just tell her you don’t want to date her.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried. She refuses to take no for an answer.” I’ve met the woman and I can definitely see her not backing down if she’s set her sights on something. She’s that scary.
I turn and take another three steps before stopping.
I need to think. Being that I’m super bad at taking social cues, I need to figure out if Thomas might really want to date me and he’s using this as an excuse, or if he’s telling the truth about Constance.
I’d be disappointed if it was what he claims it is—a ruse to throw his boss off the scent.
But maybe I could still use it to my benefit.
Maybe if Thomas gets to know me better, he’ll learn to like me—eccentricities and all.
Unless he already likes me. Then spending more time with me might work against me. Having said that, if we’re going to be a couple for real, we’ll have to spend time together, right? My head starts to hurt.
I’m quiet for long enough that Thomas asks, “So, what do you say? Are you up for being my fake girlfriend?”
“And friend?” I add.
He smiles so enticingly, I’m ready to jump into his arms and beg him to love me. Luckily for my dignity, I control this impulse. “What would being your fake girlfriend entail?”
Relief washes over his chiseled features. “I need a date for the hospital Spring Fling.”
“When is that?” I ask, disappointed that’s all he’s after.
“April eighth,” he says. “It would just be a couple of hours of your time, and I’d be happy to compensate you.”
I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend me, but nonetheless, that’s how I feel. “I’m not a paid escort, Thomas. If we’re going to be friends then I would be happy to go on a fake date with you.”
“If we’re going to be friends?”
I start pacing back and forth, carefully counting my steps. Five each way with a half step pivot to change direction. “If you want to be friends for real that includes doing stuff together. You know, seeing movies, eating out …”
His eyes begin to twinkle like an animator stepped onto the scene to draw little stars around them. “But we’d be doing those things as friends?”
“My friend Allie and I do those things,” I say before assuring him, “and we’re not dating each other.”
“Let’s do it,” he decides quickly. “I like you, Finley. You’re different from other women that I know.”
If he thinks what he’s seen so far is different, he’d run for the hills if he got a glimpse inside my head.
“I like you too, Thomas.” I walk toward him and stick my hand out this time. With a firm shake, I add, “I’m glad you moved to Elk Lake.”
I’m just sad that he doesn’t want me to be his real girlfriend.