He nods his head quickly. “Yup, he’s in dressing room three.” He points down the hall.
I hurry to the correct door and knock lightly before walking in. The model is standing there in his boxer shorts staring at the yellow pants I picked out for him. He looks up at me with panic in his eyes. I see the problem immediately. I smile nicely even though I’m ready to kill him for being so late. “They’re skinny legs so you’ll have to go commando or the lines from your boxer shorts will show through.”
“Commando?” A blush covers his gorgeous face. This guy looks so much better in person than he did in his photos. His hair is darker, and his eyes are green instead of blue. Huh, weird. But no problem because he is yummy!
“You know, take your underwear off.” I gesture that he should get going.
“I-I’m not getting naked in front of you.” He looks like he’s never been ordered to strip down before.
I turn my back to him and say, “Of course, sorry.” I’m pretty sure I would have turned away had he actually started to take his underwear off in front of me. Maybe not though. We Libras do like our eye candy.
Still facing the other direction, I ask, “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” he says as I hear the rustling of fabric as he pulls his pants up. I turn around just as he gets his zipper up.
“You look great!” I tell him. Actually, great is an understatement. His chest is bare and, while he’s not musclebound, he’s definitely ripped. My hands itch to reach out and touch him but I manage to resist the temptation.
The sight of him is a painful reminder how much I miss dating. I’ve just been so busy with work this last year, I haven’t had time to go out and meet people. Seeing this hottie without a shirt on makes me excited about trying the new dating feature for my app. We’ll have to run a few months of trials before it goes live, but who knows, I might have met my match by then. Maybe I’ll even get matched with a guy who can rock the tight pants and no shirt look like this guy. Phew! Somebody get me a fan.
My Gemini puts on his white shirt and asks, “Why can’t I wear my own clothes?”
Seriously? Does he not know how modeling works? I’ll have to make sure I state that I have a preference for dating men who aren’t dumb as rocks when I enter my profile. There’s no way I’d ever have anything to talk about with someone as thick in the head as him. “You have to be astrologically correct for this segment. It’s a whole outer space thing, you know?”
Looking down at his feet, he says, “I have to wear bright yellow pants that are three inches too short?”
“They’re cropped pants.” Then I instruct, “Take your socks off. I picked up a pair of penny loafers for you to wear, but not with black socks. Barefoot is best. Also, don’t forget the green sweater vest and the plaid bowtie.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Who does this guy think he is? I’m tempted to tell him he’s a glorified mannequin and to just put the clothes on and zip it, but as a rule, I try not to start arguments before seven in the morning. “Of course I’m serious. It’s the Gemini look. Studious and smart with a playful edge.”
I watch as he buttons up the shirt, then tugs the vest over his head. Glancing at my watch, I realize we’re going to run short on time, so I swipe the bowtie off the dressing table and start to put it on for him. He stares at me, those green eyes of his making my knees go a little weak. Maybe I could be the smart one in the relationship. Surely, I could talk to this guy about something … like bodybuilding or Archie comics.
Swallowing hard, I force my gaze back to the bowtie and get to work, trying very hard not to notice how incredible his aftershave smells. Actually, now that I think about it, talking is highly overrated. There are much more creative ways to enjoy a relationship.
Disappointment strikes when I realize I’m done with the bowtie. My brain tells me to step away from the male model, but my body doesn’t want to listen.
My Gemini glances into the mirror. “These pants are practically painted onto me. You can see my…” He indicates the area around his fly.
Yeah, you can. “You look very manly,” I tell him with my signature flirtatious Libra-ness. Very manly. “Now hurry up, I need to get you over to hair and makeup before we go on.”
“Who are you?” he demands like I’ve been speaking a foreign language.
“Serafina Lopez.”
“I’m supposed to meet a woman named Waltraut.”
“No, you’re not,” I tell him. “Waltraut is my contact. You were supposed to report to me. Now come on, I want to get some gel in your hair and maybe style you with a pair of glasses frames.”
“Can I at least wear my own glasses?” he asks.
“Let me see them.”
He picks them up off the dressing table and slides them on. “Not bad, but they’re a little dull.”
“That may be, but I’m pretty much blind without them.”
“The agency didn’t tell you to wear contacts?” I ask.
“Why would they do that?”
Oh, wow. So, so dim. “For versatility.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but in the interest of time, I say, “It’s fine. We’ll make them work.”
I practically have to drag him along with me which is getting annoying. I thank my lucky stars the other models were nowhere near this high maintenance, because if they all had been, we wouldn’t even have managed to be ready in time for the evening news.
As we walk toward hair and makeup, I tell him, “You’re my only guy today so I need you to ooze sex. Seriously, shake your moneymaker like you’ve got rent to pay and you’re a month late.”
His eyes practically pop out of his head. I nuzzle up next to him and croon, “Pretend we’re going out dancing and you’re giving the audience a sneak peek at your moves.” Then I squeeze his arm muscles a little and immediately feel swoony.
As soon as we reach the makeup chairs, I tell Tony, one of the hair and makeup people, “Give him a little highlighter to enhance his cheekbones and I want his hair gelled to give those waves some definition. Oh, and maybe a little color on those luscious lips.”
“Will do,” Tony says while getting right to work.
I hurry over to the mirror to touch up my own lipstick when I hear my Gemini say, “I’m putting my foot down at wearing lipstick. I won’t do it.”
Tony says, “No sweat, just bite your lips a bit for me. That’ll bring the color up and make them a little bee-stung.”
I’ve never worked with models before, but I know for a fact that Tyra would not let hers call the shots like this guy is trying to do. If the rest of my crew weren’t all ready to go, I might call him out for being so difficult. But as it is, I only have to work with him for a short time so there’s no point in creating drama that would mess with my balance.
Waltraut rushes over and pulls me aside, “Dr. Williams hasn’t shown up yet and I’m not sure he’ll be here for the segment. Can you be prepared to talk more about each star sign should we need to fill time?”
“Do Scorpios snap? Do Leos think they’re royal?” Her blank expression has me adding, “Of course. I can talk as long as you want me to.”