excerpt from, We Could Be

The model’s hands caressed the muscles of his chest then slowly worked their way to the indention on his hips. He smiled and placed a palm against her face then brought their foreheads together. Her chest swelled. Lips parted. Eyes closed. He leaned towards her. Inched towards her mouth until he was close enough to touch it with his tongue.

“Cut!”

The director yelled, and Vince immediately disengaged his body from the woman’s. I, on the other hand, could not return to reality so quickly. The heat in my body could not be tempered so quickly. Every time he touched her, every caress of her body with his gaze felt like an act against me. When his lips advanced toward hers, it was I who anticipated their touch.

Get real! He’s out of your league and a player to boot!

“Hello, earth to Sasha.”

“Oh, sorry.” I brought my attention back to the real world.

“Did you get caught up in the fine-ness? It’s ok, it happens all the time.”

“No, it’s not that it just seemed so real.”

“He didn’t win a Golden Globe for nothing,” Misha said, laughing. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“Umm, no that’s ok. I think—”

“Just come on. I have to adjust his pants, anyway,” she said, wiggling her brows

She dragged me by the arm through a group of cameramen.

“Won’t you get in trouble for interrupting?” I asked, trying to stall the inevitable though I had no clue why.

“What am I, five? Besides, I’m doing him a favor.”

Vince sat in a director’s chair reviewing the footage they’d recorded through a screen on the back of the camera. Two women hovered behind him. One massaged his shoulders while the other removed his shoes and replaced them with another pair. The groupie brigade!

His voice was the perfect blend of bass and honey as he insisted they reshoot the last scene. Something’s not right, he’d said though he probably just wanted to cop another feel.

Misha peeked over his shoulder while I stood in the back. “No, definitely not perfect,” she said.

“What’s missing?”

“Well, no offense, but it looks a bit too “lets fuck now” as opposed to the “we’re in love” vibe you’re going for.”

“You’re right. It needs something else…someone—,” Vince stood up and pulled one of the girls to stand in front of him then motioned for her to turn around. He grinned as she moved in a slow circle but shook his head.

“No, not you,” he said.

The other woman was asked to do the same and she too was deemed unworthy. He sent them both on their way and was about to take a seat when he glanced in my direction.

“Who are you?” he asked, offering the full force of his attention.

If the unnatural curves of the women on set were an indication of his taste, then I would be cast off the island. I had a great set of breasts— so I’d been told— but they didn’t qualify for the “big” label. 

He stalked towards me; 6’0’’ of well-muscled determination. With his shirt off, he was taller than I remembered. Just like the first time, I couldn’t keep myself from wandering over his body. I couldn’t keep my mind from rolling towards the gutter.

His attention finally landed on me and while a number of emotions flickered over his face, recognition wasn’t one of them.

Told ya! Did you really think he’d remember you? Maybe it’s the hair, I reasoned. People always told me I looked different when it was pulled up. Sure, that’s it…the hair.

“Are you a dancer?” he asked.

“Why would you—where did that come from?”    

“Your feet,” he pointed down. “Most ballet dancers I know stand with their feet in that position.”

I looked down at my out-turned feet and tried to remember the last time I’d danced. At one point in my life, I’d have to be dragged from the studio kicking and screaming. Now, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d even considered putting on Pointe shoes; hell, I didn’t even know where they were.

“Well, yeah, I umm—”

“Vince, she’s not here for that. She’s the designer I got the samples from, Sasha Ellis,” Misha interrupted.

“Sasha,” he said.

I’d heard it many times before, but never in such honeyed tones that left me ready to drop it all: guards, pretense…clothes.

Is that how all these women ended up here?

“Can you help me with something?” he asked.

“Help you with what?”

Boobs. They were the first thing I noticed when I turned at the sound of the voice behind me. At least an F cup and covered in—what was that, latex? Seriously? The woman offered a smile and weighed herself against me. I wasn’t as curvy, but what I did have was neatly packaged in a leather pencil skirt, fitted sweater and camel coat: business sexy. The smile brightened, but the tension remained in her jaw. No, we definitely weren’t going to be friends.