Page 75 of Castings & Curses

She gave me one of those up and down assessment looks. “And you don’t?”

“I hate all men right now…” I stopped before I could finish my sentence.

Eric Dupree strolled by. He didn’t see me, or he was blatantly ignoring me. Okay, maybe I didn’t hate all men.

Claudette followed my gaze. “Oh, yeah, you hate all men right now. That Eric Dupree is a beast.” I didn’t know if she was aware that she was muttering out loud.

Turning back to me she smirked, sucked her lips into her mouth, and bit her lips shut. Her eyes went big and wide. She totally knew she had said that out loud.

“Okay, maybe not all men,” I softly chuckled. “The point is, you have a very hungry cougar perspective.”

“I’m not that old,” she complained.

I glared at her.

Jamie cleared his throat.

We both looked at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I know exactly what vibe you’re going for.” He gave us a little half smile.

Claudette sashayed up to him and hooked her arm through his. “Oh are you…?”

“Let’s just say we have similar tastes.” He winked at me, and the two of them headed toward the crew that was starting to wash the truck.

“Don’t forget to include the chickens,” I called out after them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure the pictures are full of cocks!”

“What was that all about?” A deep rumble of a voice caught me off guard.

I turned, my heart in my throat, and that stupid flutter of excitement flitting around behind my sternum.

“Eric!” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”

He circled his hands together and pointed back at the truck bay. “Work?”

“You’re a fireman?” Of course, someone built like him would be a fireman. He was large and strong and could probably lift me without breaking a sweat. And now that I was putting two and two together, his scar did look like a burn.

I gulped, which was difficult with my dry throat. “Are you one of the models?”

He laughed. It was a good laugh

“No one wants to—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. If you say no one wants to see you without a shirt on, I am going to tell you, you are wrong. Really wrong. Now, if you don’t feel comfortable taking photos without a shirt, that's not a problem.” I have no idea where the balls I seemed to suddenly have had come from, but I reached out and rolled up the already tight sleeve on his t-shirt. I patted the bicep I exposed. “That’s all the skin that’s really needed.”

I froze with my hand splayed over his muscled arm. What the hell had just happened?

“My arms aren’t the problem. My face is.”

I stared up at him and had to blink a few times. What? His face was classical, brooding and dark. He was… well, I had to step away from my hormones for a minute and really look at him. Heavy forehead with thick eyebrows, perfect high cheekbones, and a strong hard jaw. Okay, maybe not everyone’s cup of tea, but he was stunningly attractive, with that natural coloring that put high color across his cheeks and made the stubble on his chin look blue. The scar that started on his temple, tilted the corner of his eye down slightly, and cut into his cheek really wasn’t that distracting. At least not to me.

A brilliant plan formed instantly. “Come with me.”

We stopped next to the older photographer. He turned to me with a chicken cradled in one arm, pausing mid-direction to another assistant who was doing her best at getting a fluffy Silkie to focus on her and the fat worn between her fingers.

“I have an idea. How many baby chicks can you get your hands on?”

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