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White walls, white floors, white ceilings, a maroon chaise lounge straight out of the eighteenth century sits in one corner, and a huge bed made of iron sits in another with white sheets and fancy cushions scattered about.
Then there’s the wall.Thewall of all walls. The wall of shoes.
I take out my phone and snap picture after picture of the sexy heels and send them off to Tink and Iz. They’re more potent than sending hot guy pics.
Christina laughs and stops beside me. “You’re not the first person to do that, you know? Ten bucks says your friend tells you to choose the leopard print.” I step closer and eye the shoes she points toward. They’re…something. Not something I’d ever buy or wear in public, but for sexy photos? Hell yeah. “So, let’s talk.” She looks down at my bag. “What’d you bring? What are we using to blow your man’s socks off with?”
Nervously, I take the well-used gloves out, then the wraps and shirt. Her smirk turns more severe as I take each piece out. “Your man’s a fighter?” Her question sends ridiculous heat to my face and has me feeling like a virginal teen. “Don’t get me wrong,” she laughs. “That’s hot. I can smell the masculinity from here.”
I laugh and spin the gloves. “No, what you can smell is sweat. I’m not sure these things have been washed… ever. It’s like he thinks they’re ‘well-seasoned’ like a pot in the kitchen.”
She takes the gloves and studies them. “I’ve used ties and shoes and masks a million times as props. Boxing gloves are new to me, but I know we’ll make them sexy.” She takes a cell phone from her back pocket and scrolls. “So you sent predominantly black and white images. Do you want black and white, or–”
“Nah, not necessarily. I just liked those poses. I don’t care if they’re color or not.”
“And makeup…” I wait as she scrolls through what I sent her. “You sent fairly natural makeup looks.” Her eyes come up to mine. “Can I go a little darker? It’ll show up well in the pictures I take.”
I shrug. “You do whatever you think would look nice. I’m not coming back for a second round, so make them awesome.”
She laughs. “You’re trusting me. I love it.”
“He’s not going to be looking at my makeup. You should probably go heavy on the ass pics. He’ll thank you for those.” My phone dings as she steps forward and takes down a heavy pair of heels from the wall.
Tink:ooh, choose the cats!
Iz:definitely. They’re hot as shit!
Tink:btw, where are you? And where is that magnificent display of slut shoes?
Christina looks up at my laugh. “Your friend told you to pick the leopard print, amiright?”
Nodding, I quickly type in reply:Google Christina Cooper, then come find me if you dare…
Putting my phone down with a smile, I look up and meet my photographer’s eyes. “I told my two best friends to drop in and say hey. Is that okay?”
“Of course! That’s always fun. They’ll make you laugh and relax.”
“Well, they probably won’t help me relax, but they’ll make us laugh, that’s for sure. They might want to try on your shoes, but I’ll do my best intercept if they try to steal.”
We sit and talk for a few minutes to nail down the ‘look’ I’m hoping to achieve tonight, then she leads me to a tall chair in front of a mirror. “Let’s get started on makeup. It takes a while.”
An entire store’s worth of supplies spread out in front of me. Makeup brushes, colors, creams, powders, and scary steel contraptions taunt me. “I literally have no clue what that is.”
She looks down and follows my gaze. “That’s just an eyelash curler. Hardly ever hurts. I’ve only ever poked three eyes out in my career. You’re fairly safe.”
With pursed lips, I look up at her beautiful face and glare. “Please don’t poke my eyes out. I’m fond of them.”
“Not surprised.” Mumbling, she holds a brush between her teeth and works cream into my skin. “You have really pretty eyes, Kit. They’ll come out amazing in the pictures.”
“Ah… thanks?”
She snorts and works. “I’m your makeup master tonight, and hair, then you can get dressed, or, you know–”
“Undressed?”
She flashes a quick smile. “Exactly. You can get into your lingerie while I clean up and set the props. Then we take the photos. All said and done, we should be packing up about three hours from now, then when you get dressed again and wash all the gunk off your face, I’ll do a quick edit to give you an idea of what we captured.”
Standing with our faces barely more than an inch apart for an hour endears a couple chicks to each other. We laugh and chat, and I pump her for information. Tina Cooper is new to town, a self-taught, award winning photographer, lives in the apartment upstairs, and because I’ve learned skills from Tink over the years, I also found out she’s twenty-four and single.
