Page 76 of Castings & Curses

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Eric

I don’t know how that woman did it, but within minutes of asking the photographer if he could get chicks, I was covered in them.

“What are you doing?” I asked as Paisley pulled the back of my t-shirt tight.

“It’s called styling. You are fit, but it's lost under the baggy shirt. And this way people can see that.”

“Why don’t you just ask me to take the shirt off?”

She twisted around and looked up at me. I had to move my arm to see her clearly.

“You said no one wanted to see you, so I figured that meant you were uncomfortable showing skin.” She shook her head at me like I was missing a few brain cells. Around her, I probably was.

I had no compulsion about hiding my body. I had meant my disfigured face. But she had a plan and I really wanted to indulge her.

There was a lingering twinge of guilt as she made me want to smile. Janelle liked it when I smiled, I didn’t scare her off. And I think she would have liked Paisley. I wanted to think she would approve.

My shirt jerked and pulled against my torso.

“There. You won’t be able to twist around a lot, but that should hold.”

“What did you do?”

“I tied your shirt. Now we need a bucket of water.”

I didn’t want to ask. I had a sneaking suspicion I was about to be the wet t-shirt model. Should I tell her the whole point of a wet t-shirt is that white t-shirts get see-thru? It's not just the cling, it's the cling and peak of skin that really does the trick. My shirt was uniform issue, it was dark blue, getting it wet would only make it darker.

“Hey guys, can we get a hose over here?”

“Shit! No!” I yelled. “Don’t ever ask a firefighter for a hose. What we have here are basically large format pressure washers. It hurts.”

“Oh, oops.” She was too cute. Her mouth pursed together in a little O and her eyes went wide. “I guess that’s why they use them during riots?”

“Yeah. You want my shirt wet? Then get a bucket. But I don’t think getting my shirt wet will help get it any tighter. You might even stretch it out.”

She turned and looked at me. She was trying to be professional, but I saw a blush turn her cheeks pink. Her chest also flushed. How far down did that color go?

“You’re right. But your hair needs some help, and I think… we need it wet, trust me.”

“Fine.” Striding over to where the guys were filling buckets to start washing the truck, I sank my head into one of the buckets. I shook my hair out and slicked it back from my brow before returning to her.

“Better?”

I wanted to laugh when all she did was stare up at me and nod, her mouth slightly open. I hadn’t had anyone look at me with that much appreciation for a very long time. Most women tended to just look nervous when I was around.

Paisley pointed at the hay bales. “You go sit there.” She turned away from me and began yelling. “Hey, Claudette, do you have any hair gel?”

“I’ve got some in my kit,” one of the photographers said.

“Oh, good, can I get some?” Paisley changed direction and walked back to the table covered in photography equipment.

The next thing I knew, she was standing in front of me, her breasts at face level, and she was running her hands through my hair. A moan of pleasure escaped my throat. Shit. Paisley smelled good. I could feel her warmth. It wouldn’t take much for one of those breasts to touch my face.

Damn, that would be a bad idea. I didn’t need to be hitting on a pregnant woman. I didn’t even know if she really was single. All I had was a four-year-old’s word on the situation. What did a four-year-old know? Well, for one, they knew if they did or didn’t have a mommy or a daddy.

“I’m sorry about the awkward comments Sarina made the other day. You know how kids are.” If I didn’t say something to distract me from the proximity of her body, I could very possibly do something stupid.

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