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Needing a distraction, I crossed back to Kassa and grabbed Gray’s arm. He didn’t budge at first when I tried to pull him back to the green screen, but then Kassa pushed his shoulder and, with a huff, he finally let me move him.
With three out of five positioned, I stepped back, mentally planning the shot.
Trying to, at least.
My focus kept going back to those tattoos, which quickly had me thinking about the piercing in the middle of his lip. How would it taste? Did he have other piercings? His tongue? Maybe …
Shit.
Shaking my head to clear it, I waved the guy who still seemed like he didn’t truly belong with the others over. “Can you stand here for me …?”
“Cash,” he offered.
“Of course it is,” I muttered mostly to myself. “Stand here, Cash.”
“Can we help?” the redhead suddenly asked. “I don’t want to just sit around doing nothing.”
“Sure.” I didn’t normally like help. I would rather do it all myself than get frustrated with someone who didn’t do what I wanted or needed them to do exactly when and how I needed it done. I couldn’t concentrate fully on what I was doing right then, so for once, I welcomed the offer. “Emmie left a box of T-shirts over there somewhere. Can you grab them? You probably know these guys’ sizes better than I do.”
I stepped back again, taking the four guys in. I tried to lie to myself by saying it was for the shot, but it was because I was actually nervous to approach the last guy.
Holy hell, I had never been shy before. Never. I didn’t get tongue-tied with people like my roommate did, especially with guys. I was normally in complete control, yet suddenly, I felt like nothing made sense. All over some guy I had just seen.
Grimacing at how pathetic I felt, I pulled up my big girl panties and turned to smile at the guy. “I’d like for you to stand here, please.” There. My voice didn’t sound weak or even nervous. I was kind of proud of myself for not letting any of the emotions swirling around in my head show.
He just stood there for a long moment, his eyes traveling from the top of my head down to my ballet flats. I liked the way he was looking at me; the way his hazel eyes that were more green than brown didn’t linger on my chest in a leering kind of way, but with obvious interest.
I tried to hide my shiver as he slowly stepped forward, and was thankful that my bra was thick enough to hide the effects just his appraisal had left on my body.
I hadn’t been affected so easily in a very long time. Okay, so maybe never this easily or quickly.
This freaking strongly.
As he moved to stand where I had asked him to, his arm brushed against mine. I tried not to let my reaction show, but the zap of electricity that shot through my arm and straight to my heart, making it jump start and take off like a bullet train was impossible to hide.
The surprise I saw in his eyes told me he had felt something similar to what I’d just experienced, and that scared the hell out of me. I didn’t need a guy messing up my life right then, especially an up-and-coming rocker who probably was out fucking a new girl every night. Yeah, no thanks.
Pushing everything I was feeling back into that deep, dark place where I put everything else I didn’t want to deal with, I flipped a button in my head and turned off everything except work.
With everyone in place, I started testing the lighting. I was in professional mode, refusing to let my emotions screw up the job I was hired to do for Emmie Armstrong.
The redhead, who told me her names was Kin, started handing out shirts. They were gray with a Templar shield on it with the letters TK in the middle in a tarnished silver. It was simple, yet perfect.
“You guys change your shirts, and we’ll get this thing started,” I told them as I moved back to the table where the rest of my gear was.
By the time I had changed lenses, they were all dressed. I took a few test pictures, but each time I looked at them, it felt like something was off. They didn’t look like a badass rocker band. It was too … perfect.
Sighing, I walked around each guy. I adjusted Gray’s shirt, tucking just the front of it into his jeans.
“Put your hands in your pockets,” I commanded.
His brows lifted, but after a quick glance over my shoulder—probably to check with Kassa—he did as he was told. His shirt looked in danger of splitting over his biceps, but I liked how the material tightened over his chest. I moved on.
Jace wasn’t a problem. Neither was Sin, whose scowl actually worked for the shot I wanted to get for Emmie. It was Cash who was throwing everything off.
I grabbed his shirt in both hands, balling it up to give it a more wrinkled and rumpled look. His hair was styled, but it was too preppy-looking. Lifting myself to my tiptoes, I ran my fingers through his hair a few times, giving it a little bit of an unkempt look.
To my left, I thought I heard Mister Delicious mutter something under his breath, but I didn’t allow myself to think about what was wrong with him.
