Give Me Grace(10)

I gave a deep, heavy sigh before setting my jaw and narrowing my eyes. John shook his head from behind the camera. I don’t think he was buying it. I couldn’t blame him. I was a hardened professional in the modelling world, able to summon whatever look was required from me with ease, but today was not my day. Nothing was going right, and two days after flying in from a quick assignment in Italy, jetlag was still making me its bitch. Why was I so damn tired all the time? Exhaustion burned deep in my bones and I couldn’t shake it.

A loud thump came somewhere from my left, followed by my assistant, Jemima, hissing, “Mitsy!”

I squinted, unable to see beyond the glare of the lights. Not that I needed to. Mitsy had been disrupting the entire photo shoot since he stepped paw inside John’s Melbourne city studio. The damn dog hated the entire world and everybody in it. Now he was busy making sure we knew just how much. The fluffy, white dog slash furry beast belonged to my boyfriend Dalton, but Dalton was still in Italy, spending an extra week with mutual friends.

Dalton’s mum had been taking care of Mitsy in his absence, but she stopped by unannounced this morning, claiming she had to go out of town for work. I suspected she was telling a big fat lie. Not just because she worked the counter at the local post office, but because she couldn’t look me in the eye as she handed him over. That should have been my first clue that today would suck donkey’s balls. The second had been when I put on my jeans and realised they were a smidge tight. Being thin was always the new black in the fashion world, and I hated having to watch everything I ate. The third clue had been the missed call on my phone and subsequent message. I hadn’t listened to it yet, but I already knew what it would say and it scared the living shit out of me.

Just give me a few more days.

Please.

Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I’d taken pity on Mitsy and brought him along to the photo shoot with me. That was an obvious mistake we were all currently paying for.

“Grace!” John clicked his fingers to get my attention. “Give me some bitch, okay?”

Instantly I thought of Dalton’s dog and the heat of my glare should’ve cracked the camera lens. Mitsy didn’t travel well, as evidenced by the nasty message left behind in the cab on the way here. Too late, I’d remembered Dalton mentioning Mitsy’s aversion to moving vehicles and that it helped if the dog had something to chew on. Arriving at John’s, I’d had to hand over an extra wad of cash just to pay for the cleaning.

“Perfect,” crooned my photographer and best friend.

John was early-thirties with short, dark silky curls and facial hair that wasn’t quite a beard, but longer than stubble. What would you call that? Brubble? I tried not to snort. The brubble was new since I saw him last. It suited him, adding to the tattoos peeking out from his shirtsleeves. The man was rough and a little wild. All he needed was a Marlboro hanging from his lips and someone should’ve been photographing him instead of me.

“What?” he said.

Click. Click. Click.

“Nothing,” I murmured, schooling the amusement that flashed in my eyes.

No one could read my expressions like John could, not even Dalton, who on more than one occasion accused me of being a cold, unemotional bitch with no personality. Not true, but something inside held me back from being my real self in a relationship, and it was something my boyfriend liked to bring up numerous times when drunk. Pushing the issue aside, I focused on John.

“I’m just wondering what you would call that growth on your face.”

Click. Click. Click.

John changed the camera angle and squinted through the viewfinder. “Is that what’s going through your head right now, Grace? My beard?”

I shrugged, ignoring the growls of hunger from my stomach and the ache of my tired body. “I was thinking brubble, but the word sounds a little abrasive, like I could use your face as an exfoliator.”

He shifted position and my eyes followed his movement, making sure to keep my glare as directed. “I don’t know if I should keep it or not. What do you think of it?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On how far you plan to take it. I mean, beards are trending right now. I still watch Lord of the Rings just for Aragorn’s facial hair, but if you take it too far...”

John paused, brows raised in question as he relaxed his hold on the camera. “Too far?”

I fought the grin. “No one wants to have sex with Chewbacca.”

He laughed from behind the lens, his chuckle deep and sexy. Damn. Why wasn’t I able to fall in love with John?

Bracing my hands on my knees, I glowered as directed.