I got online and applied at Flashionista to be a model in their new wedding wear launch event. Fortunately, the call for models was prominently placed on their website. Unfortunately, if Lazer didn’t want me in, I didn’t stand a chance in hell. His good friend was Flashionista’s CEO. I figured that, at a minimum, my conciliatory gesture of applying would get back to Ashley.
Then it hit me—why leave things to chance? I texted Ashley and told her what I’d done. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about getting the job. In fact, I preferred not to. But I hoped Ashley would forgive me and reconsider.
Lazer
Ashley left for another client meeting. I returned to my main office. I got a call from Justin a few minutes later.
“I don’t know what you did,” he said, “or how you did it, but you’re a miracle worker. Knox just applied to be a model in our shoot.”
I clenched my jaw. I had a moment where I pictured asking Justin to deny Knox. Fortunately, I realized that fate had just thrown the thing I needed into my lap.
“That was none of my doing,” I said. “That was Ashley. She just put making matches for him on hold.”
“What?” Jus sounded as surprised as I’d been.
I had to explain.
“Do you want me to reject him?” Justin sounded confused.
“No, not at all. Hire him. Ashley still wants him matched. I want him out of love with my fiancé. This plays right into our hands.” Fortunately, I’d had time to think up a plan. “Here’s the strategy…”
6
Knox
I got the modeling job. I wasn’t thrilled about modeling, but I was hoping that getting it meant Ashley had forgiven me. If she’d been set against it, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. But I hadn’t spoken with her. I texted her that I’d applied and gotten the job. She texted back a short congrats. Neither of us brought up coming off hiatus. It was too soon.
Of all the things I’d done, including proposing to her a few months ago, knowing she was engaged to Lazer, this was what had set her off? I didn’t understand women. The last straw. Must have been. Nothing else made any sense.
Ruck had never mentioned that Ashley held a grudge. I’d never seen that tendency in her. But I had the feeling I was going to have to prove myself before I got back in her good graces this time. I was willing to prove myself. I had to if I was going to have any chance with her. But I wasn’t ready to start going on more matches. I didn’t want any match but her.
I took the ferry across to Seattle, Ubered to Flashionista headquarters, and was shown to hair, makeup, and wardrobe. I wouldn’t have thought hair would be a big deal for me. My hair was short. I’d washed and combed it this morning. It looked fine. Hair wasn’t impressed. They did a trim job and gave me a shave. It could have been worse—they buzzed the ears of the older guy in the chair next to me. And trimmed his nose hairs.
Makeup—that was an experience. All that time in the chair to get me back to looking “natural.” Like an improved version of me who wasn’t wearing makeup while wearing a bunch. If a Snapchat filter could add makeup in a flash, I wasn’t sure why they couldn’t just pretty me up in retouching post shoot. Whatever. This was my penance for not dating with serious intent like I was supposed to.
Wardrobe—the sales event was for wedding wear. The main event we were doing the fashion shoot for was low-cost tuxes and suits for grooms and groomsmen. I was told that I’d be modeling three different tuxes and two suits.
I’m missing fingers and pieces of my left hand. During my last mission for the Army, I got too close to an IED, improvised explosive device. Which was what made it my last mission.
I was lucky to be alive. One step closer and…
When I wore my cosmetic prosthesis, unless you looked closely, you couldn’t tell some of my fingers and part of my hand weren’t real. Unfortunately, the multi-positional silicone fingers had to be manually manipulated with my good hand. That was usually a giveaway. My black robotic fingers were cooler and more functional. In most cases, I preferred them. With practice, I’d even learned to type with them. I could button my shirt by myself, too.
I offered to wear my cosmetic fingers. In a picture, no one would notice they were fake. But, evidently, that was the point. I was their token vet and token guy with a disability. The only requirement of me was that I wore my robotic prosthesis.
I found myself trussed up in a tux. But at least I wasn’t alone. Five other guys all suffered the same ill fate. None of us were thrilled about this gig.
Each of us had our reasons for being here. One guy was a Flash employee. He’d been pressed into modeling before. He considered it an occupational hazard of working at Flash. He was a well-built African American guy with a sense of humor about it. He was single. He said the perks of working in a target-rich, mostly single female environment made up for it, and offered to wingman for me if one of his coworkers caught my eye. The other three unlucky suckers had fiancées or girlfriends who applied for them. The things we do for love.
The women who were selected as brides were a different story—excited, impressed with their makeovers, happy to be trying on fancy wedding dresses designed by an emerging designer.
Word was all of us would be photographed individually, and possibly with the professional model hired to be the bride. I waited with the men in a bullpen, eager to see “our bride.” Some of the guys were overly eager and excited about meeting a model.
Callie
Over the last several months since my rise to local fame as a bridal model, I’d grown used to wearing the beautiful wedding gowns I got to model. It was a bit like playing fairy princess every day. All those girlhood dreams came to life with a different handsome groom at every show or shoot. Some of the delightful concoctions of lace, tulle, satin, and beads were more to my tastes than others.
The upside of wearing so many gowns was I knew exactly which style of gown flattered me, which style wore best on my body when actually moving, dancing, and being held in a man’s arms. Which fabrics got perspiration stains beneath the lights. Which scratched or were itchy. Yes, that was still the little girl in me rebelling against uncomfortable “dressed up” clothes. And which style I’d choose when I became a real bride.
Now that I was working with a matchmaker, maybe that day would actually come. Maybe it would actually come soon. At least soon enough that wedding dress styles didn’t change dramatically. I wouldn’t last modeling them forever. Eventually I’d end up modeling mother-of-the-bride dresses.
The Flash gowns I was fitted to model were gorgeous. Some were quirky, some elegant, and some romantic. As soon as I saw the line, I fell in love with this emerging designer’s style. I had a feeling she was going to hit it big. And then I could say I knew her gowns when. I recognized her talent.
The first part of the morning was dedicated to shooting me solo. I wore my wedding arm for some of the shoot. My cosmetic arm for part. But my robotic arm for most of it, even though it wasn’t good for showcasing jewelry. I was glad to get to wear it. If I could encourage just one girl or boy who was similarly abled to shoot for their dreams, I would consider myself a success. People should never rule out a passion of theirs just because someone else doesn’t think they’re fit for it. I’d always been fortunate that my parents, and Mom alone after Dad died, and family never believed in limiting my abilities and hopes.
In addition, the dresses I was modeling didn’t hide it. The robotic arm would be on full display, which pleased me.
The rest of the first day of the multi-day shoot would be with my “grooms.” It was a sort of job interview for the men to see which would be my ultimate groom, the guy chosen for the larger shoot. Peter wanted to get some artsy PR shots. In addition to the single, “boring” (that was my name for it) headless shots of models wearing the clothes and accessories, which all of the men should be capable of, Peter wanted to tell a story with the shoot. A love story. Stories were always more powerful than a mere collection of images. Like a film direct
or, Peter had a storyboard on an easel in the corner of the studio.
He had a vision of making the shoot look like one madly-in-love couple expressing multiple facets of their personalities through a variety of differently themed weddings. The quirky wedding. The romantic wedding. That kind of thing.
On this first day of shooting, Peter was testing for chemistry, just like a casting director in a movie. Peter hoped I had enough chemistry with one of the men to really sell the story and the product. And he hoped, too, that the men were as photogenic as the shots they’d submitted indicated. Doing a shoot can bring out the stiffness before the camera that isn’t obvious when a friend snaps a picture.
They had a bullpen full of regular guys who’d probably never modeled a day in their lives. The thought amused me. What kind of men would these guys be?
I assumed Flash had picked the best looking of the lot of submissions. All the “Adonises in their own minds” had, presumably, been screened out. But could this lot withstand the rigors of modeling? It wasn’t for wimps. It took athletic stamina to model. Patience, tons and tons of patience. And the ability to make a posed smile, laughter, or passion look spontaneous and authentic.
When I was touched up by hair and makeup and dressed in the first dress for the groom shoot, the photographer’s assistant came for me. She was the friendly, chatty type. “Your grooms are all eager for a glimpse of you. They’re impressed with getting to work with a model. You know how guys are. It’s one of the downsides of working with regular, non-model professionals. Their awe and nerves are kind of cute, though.”
“Oh yeah?” I flipped the train of the dress over my real arm and picked up my skirts, ready to follow her to the studio.
“Wow. Your arm is really amazing.” She slapped her hand over her mouth and got a look of horror on her face. “Sorry. Was that insensitive? My mouth is always getting me in trouble. I’m just so impressed by the way you’re holding your skirt. It’s like a real hand.”
I laughed and put my real hand on her arm. “Not at all. It is amazing, isn’t it? You have to hand it to modern engineering.”
“It’s like a superpower,” she said. “I bet no guy messes with you. Some douche puts a move on you all you have to do is threaten to grab him around the neck with your robotic hand. How strong is your grip?”
“As strong as I want it to be.”
Her smile widened. “What do you say we satisfy those eager men’s curiosity and parade you past them?”
I gave her a thumbs-up. “Let’s do it.”
“This way.” She held a door open for me. “You’re working with Peter today, lucky you.”
“I know. I’ve met him,” I said. “He shot me during my interview for the job.”
“He’s a talented photographer.”
I murmured my agreement.
“But he’ll have to work twice as hard to get good shots of the men. Amateurs have a hard time taking direction. The kids and babies are adorable to work with. But the grown men?” She wrinkled her face. “They wear you out. Sorry about that. Tomorrow, after Peter’s chosen your groom, will be better.”
I laughed at the thought of a fashion photographer choosing my groom. Some people accused wedding photographers of running the show, but even for them, choosing the groom was over the top. “Seems like everyone is trying to choose my groom.”
Her brow furrowed. “Come again?”
“I was just hired by Pair Us to be their spokesmodel. As part of the deal, I’ll be working with a matchmaker.”
Her face lit with recognition. “One of Lazer’s other businesses. Any danger of you being typecast as a bride?”
“Definite danger. After my matchmaking gig is over, I’ll have to break tradition and do something wild to mix up my image.” I followed her out.
“We shoot a lot of new moms and babies. That sounds like it’s the next logical gig for you.”
She had a sense of humor. I liked her.
“To the right,” she said, pointing. “Brace yourself—we’re about to run the gauntlet of grooms. Look your most beautifully, regally bridal.”
I laughed. “Now that I think about it, it isn’t bad luck for the groom model to see the model bride before the shoot, is it?”
She laughed. “Never heard that superstition before. But you’re the expert. This is our first bridal shoot. Should I take you in the back way?”
“I was kidding. I have no fear. Take me past them so I can strut my bridal stuff and show them what I got. I’d like to see what we’ve got to work with.”
“They aren’t a bad-looking bunch.”
“Damned by faint praise?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not the gushy type. I don’t like to set expectations too high.” She told me a bit about some of the men. A couple of them were engaged to be married later in the year.
As we neared the studio, the hall was full of the sound of male laughter and voices. They were probably bonding over their nerves and anticipation. All laughter and talking ceased as I entered their domain in a princess dress, a great puff of taffeta and tulle. Their group reaction was amusing, really. I could practically hear them hold their breath as they took me in.
I turned and smiled at them. The assistant hadn’t been pulling my leg. They were a nice-looking bunch.
“So many grooms. So little time.” I ran my gaze along the group. “Relax, guys. No need to be nervous. Compared to a real wedding day, this isn’t anything to be nervous about.”
There was some anxious laughter. A couple of them were trying not to stare at my arm. Yeah, that arm got a lot of attention. I was used to it. Most girls get eyes locked on their breasts. I got them locked on my left arm. First the arm, then they checked out the rest of me.
One guy whistled and winked at me. Of all the cocksure nerve…
My gaze flew to him. He was gorgeous with snapping, intelligent eyes, and a cocky grin that reminded me of some of the officers my dad used to hang out with. He was clearly flirting.
“You have me out-armed.” He held up his left hand. He was wearing a robotic prosthesis that replaced several fingers. But he still had a real finger and his thumb. “Or maybe I should say out-fingered. But that sounds rude.”
I raised an eyebrow and blew him a kiss. Then blew kisses to all of the men. “I’ll see you all at the altar.”
My heart was pounding as I stepped into the studio and met Peter. That guy, the wolf whistler. The flirt. I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
My heart pounded through the solo shoot of me in the dress. It raced as the first groom came in. Not the wiseass, not Mr. Missing Fingers. I relaxed. My heart raced again with the introduction of each groom, all nice guys. Nervous about modeling. Interested in my arm. No fault with any of them there.
I couldn’t explain it, but I was waiting for that cheeky guy, and it appeared he was going to be the last shoot of the morning, maybe the day. I hadn’t had a visceral reaction that strong to any guy that I could remember. Something about him…
Those eyes? That smile? It wasn’t his left hand. I had a way cooler one.
Knox
I sat in the waiting area for my shoot, jumping every time they called a model in, watching as guy after guy was called and the number of us in the waiting room dwindled. Assistants raced back and forth, arms full of tuxes, suits, and accessories. We’d been told this was another audition. We were all in the running for a full few days more of being the exclusive groom in a fantasy shoot.
I hadn’t planned on competing. Then I saw her smile. That model had something. So maybe I’d give it my best. The jury was out.
Each of my new buddies came out with a smile on his face, paused to fist-bump or slap the other guys on the back, and tell them how awesome the shoot was. How funny Peter, the photographer, was. How good an eye he had. How hair and makeup fluttered around, touching up this and that. And how beautiful and charming Callie, the model, was. You could tell from the way their faces lit up when they mentioned her that half o
f the guys had a new crush on her.
All right, I’d put myself in that category and I hadn’t even had my turn yet. It was surprising. But it was a natural reaction to a beautiful, flirty woman, wasn’t it? Not like I intended to act on it. Not like I was exactly prohibited, either.
I’d been celibate too long. My hormones and desire raged. So yeah, a hot woman would turn my head. It didn’t mean I was considering breaking my vow to Ruck. But I deserved a little fun. Now that I was out from under Ashley’s damn dating rules, I could do what I damned well pleased.
I couldn’t get the flirty way the model had smiled at me out of my head. I could see her pursing her lips as she blew me that kiss, and the way her eyes sparkled. My gut tightened and my pulse raced.
She hadn’t flinched at the sight of my hand. That was an incredible turn-on. Better still, she was unabashedly unashamed of her lack of a left hand. And beautiful. Hot.
There was an unspoken camaraderie among those of us who weren’t fully limbed. I felt an immediate bond with her, just from a look. I can’t emphasize enough how refreshing it was for a woman to react to me without pity or curiosity. I was tired of women either being uncomfortable around me, or hitting on me because of my lack of fingers. Somehow lacking a few digits made me dangerous and desirable to a certain kind of woman.
Finally, I was the last guy sitting.
One of the assistants brought me coffee. “They’re taking a brief break. Ten minutes, maybe? It won’t be long now.”
I thanked her for the coffee and sat there sipping it, although caffeine was the last thing I needed. I was lost in my thoughts when the door to the studio opened.
“Knox?”
I raised my head.
“You’re up.”
7
Callie
The shoot was going well, I thought, despite my crazy nerves at the thought of that last groom. Why did he have to be distractingly last? Why couldn’t I get him out of my mind?
Finally, after our break, I changed into another gown, the sexiest of the lot and the one that I thought was most flattering on me. If I’d been picking a wedding gown, this one would be it.
Mr. Accidental Groom Page 6