His body twitched involuntarily.
It’s only because of that damn dress she’s wearing.
He stared into that dark abyss and pitied any man who got entangled with this woman enough to really venture in. Even with a desert or a wasteland, you could see what lay before you. But her eyes? A space that was completely devoid of light? You’d never find a way out if you made the mistake of hazarding it.
She looked like the kind of woman who would put a guy’s back up against the wall. She probably would bite his lip. Either that or kick the shit out of him.
“Excellent,” the photographer cried. “We’re getting some really good stuff here. Gotta get another roll.”
Fuck. Not again!
Why doesn’t he tell us when he’s going to take photos? Isn’t he supposed to do that?
Rocco noticed that a crowd of onlookers and fans snapping photos with their cell phones had begun to gather.
Some guy from the crowd yelled, “Get up on the hood and flash us some thigh!”
That was followed by a series of laughter, hoots, and catcalls.
“Come on! You’re a total snack!” the guy cried. “Let’s see some cake up on the hood of that car!”
Nico faced the man and invited him to jump up. “Be my guest.”
This received a hearty round of applause.
Rocco grinned, but he could see a blush traveling up her neck and bursting into a deep red on her cheeks.
Why couldn’t they have finished the shots out in the desert without any other people around?
“Hey,” he said in a low voice, “just ignore them.”
“They’re not the problem!” she hissed. “You are!”
“Me? What did I do?”
It was too damn hot. He couldn’t think. The two hemispheres of his brain were like polar ice caps, and they were melting fast. He could almost swear he heard a crack as the left and right hemispheres broke apart into two separate sheets of ice, making it impossible to communicate with each other. Not to mention the south pole, which was doing its damnedest to point north.
He wiped his brow.
“It isn’t me,” he said defensively, “it’s that dress.”
“What the hell is wrong with this dress?”
There was nothing wrong with the dress. Not really.
“I asked you what’s wrong with this dress.”
He rounded on her. “What’s wrong is the way you look in it, okay!”
He cringed. Not only had he said it, which in and of itself was a real blunder, he’d said it loud enough for others to hear. He never would have made such a mistake if it wasn’t for this heat. He cursed the sun.
The red in her cheeks deepened, and she turned away.
“We want to see you up on the hood!” someone from the crowd shouted. It sounded like the same guy.
Just then the photographer returned only having heard that last shout from the crowd. “Not a bad idea,” he said, “let’s give it a try. One of you get up on the hood.”
“Okay,” Rocco said, crossing his arms.
