Page 2 of Picture Perfect

Shane was…wow. He was tall. For the shoot, he wore a black leather jacket with a gray t-shirt underneath, black combat boots, and jeans that fit just right—not too snug, not too loose, but my imagination went wild. The man had short black hair and a light beard and mustache. He was smiling but his dark eyebrows had a brooding quality. I learned quickly that, when his face was at rest, he looked like he was contemplating heavy thoughts…a face that was perfect for a guy modeling to be a romantic hero.

I couldn’t find any words in my throat or my head, but I heard Greg’s voice as though it were echoing in a cave. “Shane, this is Ivy.”

Shane extended his hand to me, one that looked warm and strong, and I slipped my tinier one inside his. I managed with a “Nice to meet you.” I hoped I looked as calm as I was managing to act.

His smile grew larger as the left corner of his lip turned up more than the right. “Pleasure’s mine.”

I felt a grin grow on my face as my inner flirt revved up. But I had to behave. This was business. No goofing around. And Greg took care of that anyway. “Got your paperwork over here, guys.” We followed him to a small table. I glanced over it but it was the usual—an agreement that he could use and sell my images and today’s pay would be my only compensation, et cetera, et cetera. Shane spent a little more time on the contract but signed shortly after.

“Daylight’s burning, guys. Let’s go.” Greg already had a camera and tripod in hand and stood at the doorway. Shane held out a hand, offering for me to go first, and we walked outside. The sun seemed bright after only a couple of minutes in the back of his studio, so I blinked a couple of times as my eyes adjusted. We walked around to the side of the building where the sidewalk was now in partial shade, so Greg’s shots would benefit from sunlight, but it would be indirect.

Greg never told models exactly what shot he was looking for—if, in fact, he or the author had something very specific in mind—but he always wound up getting what he wanted. Sometimes, it felt like he was doing “warmup” shots, just having us do a few less intimidating ones while we models grew more comfortable with each other. Once in a while, I might have wanted him to get on with it, but I was paid by the hour, not the shot…so it was up to him how he wanted to spend that time.

He took a few pictures of us in standard poses with standard facial expressions, but he wasn’t quite happy with the way the photos were turning out. While he was fiddling with the camera and we were at his mercy waiting, I decided to break the ice with my fellow model. This guy I was posing with was so damned hot, it had taken every last nerve to act cool and calm. Getting to know him as a person would take the pressure off. Besides, I never knew which models I might work with again, so it didn’t hurt to be friendly. “So what do you do when you’re not gracing the cover of a book?”

Shane flashed his white teeth, safe for the moment, because Greg was immersed in his camera. “I’m an account manager.” I nodded with a slight smile and raised my eyebrows, letting him know I was impressed. “A junior account manager. And I hate it.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“What do you do?”

“Okay, guys, I need you to move just a few inches to the right.”

The shoot was back underway and Greg began taking more pictures. I wanted to answer Shane’s question, but I also knew my face—my lips and my eyes—wouldn’t look right if I were animated and talking about myself. Another quick expression let my partner know my mouth would be shut for a while.

A few minutes later, though, and Greg had us move a few feet so we were in front of the garage door that seemed so out of place on the building but would work well as a background. Greg had told me once that he’d considered painting it a cream color to match the rest of the exterior and changed his mind when he realized it could be a great backdrop. Nowadays, his main concern was keeping the graffiti off. As he adjusted the camera, I asked Shane, “So, junior or not, account manager sounds pretty important.”

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It’s not, though. But I’m committed for a while.”

Greg started giving directions again and we got back into “character.” “Shane, can you lose the jacket for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” The tall man next to me did as asked, dropping the jacket to the sidewalk behind him. And if I’d thought I’d been smitten before, I’d had no idea. Half of his biceps peeked out of the sleeves of that gray shirt and I felt my throat constrict. To say the guy did a good job maintaining his body would be like saying Everest is a big mountain. Both statements were true but didn’t quite communicate the scope.

As if Greg had read my mind, he said, “Okay, Shane, pull her into an embrace. I need you guys to look like you have a deep, undying love, and this is the last time you’ll ever see each other.”

I loved the man’s directions. He could have been generic—“act like you love each other”—but, instead, his instruction put a specific emotion in my head I wanted to capture on my face. Shane didn’t hesitate. I was in his arms pressed into his body before I had a second to consider how to do it.

First…let me assure you I don’t believe it love at first sight. That notion is bullshit. Lust? Yes. You usually know, like I did with Shane, if you think someone’s attractive right off the bat. But there was something about his eyes—the sincerity, the warmth—that made me feel something…

Something close to an emotion I shouldn’t have been feeling.

And it was immediate. There, in his arms at the moment, I felt my breath dissipate, and that was okay. I suspected we had the exact shot Greg needed, because I believed Shane’s face. Had he brought his lips to mine at that moment, I would have responded, and it would have felt as natural as the sun coming up in the east.

In that position, my hands were pressed against his pecs, confirming what I’d already known. The man was in stellar shape. His muscles were firm underneath the fabric, and as I allowed myself to appreciate that sensation, I was able to draw air into my lungs once more.

But why was my heart beating so rapidly in my chest?

As if by instinct, as I could hear the little clicks of Greg’s camera and I knew he was getting the shots he needed, I let my left “upstage” hand slide up Shane’s chest toward his neck. If this scenario had been real, it would have been something I’d do, so I was just going to let myself do what felt natural until Greg told me to stop.

But he didn’t. Instead, I heard the occasional “Good” or “Yeah, that’s it,” encouraging me to continue. I searched Shane’s eyes, playing my role to the hilt, as my fingers touched his neck. In his embrace, the real world just kind of seemed to stop. My body felt nothing but his, not even the sidewalk underneath my feet or the spring breeze against my cheek or through my hair; I couldn’t smell blossoms in the air, only his masculine cologne wafting into my nostrils, making me a feel a deep hunger I’d never known before, in spite of the fact that I’d had my fair share of boyfriends and lusty emotions. He was all I could see and Greg’s voice was all I could hear, but my right hand against his chest felt his heart beating and the rest of my body became keenly aware of the fact that the two of us seemed to fit together pretty well, clothing or not.

So it wasn’t love at first sight…but it was safe to say I was fully smitten with the man holding me.

I don’t know how much time passed as we finished the outside part of the shoot, but I was enamored for the remainder, appreciating every little detail of that man. My jacket came off at some point too, and I could tell by Greg’s pondering near the end that he was debating if he wanted us to take our tops off. The town might not have cared, but I think Greg finally decided that realism was key—and most people refrain from lewd activities in public, at least in the light of day.

When Greg announced that we were heading back inside, Shane and I picked up our jackets and began following him. Greg was deep in thought when Shane asked me, “So what do you do for a living?”

I let out a small chuckle. “This is my most lucrative activity, but I’m a barista at The Coffee Stop.” As he nodded, I added, “And I’m a grad student…working on my doctorate.”

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