Free SHOOT: A Novel by Megan West, Kristen Flowers

seemed to have impressed
him the most. “When you’re natural and free, the best photographs happen.”

 
      I looked into his forest green eyes. I felt a
jolt course through my body. Just like last time however, I couldn’t tell if he
felt even remotely the same way. This time, however, I had at least a small
inkling he was interested in me or, at the very least, found me charming. Then
again, maybe he was just doing his job and making me feel comfortable.

 
      “Maybe if I find you a farm-themed outfit
you’ll be a lot freer,” he joked.

 
    “High-fashion
photo shoot of me selling blueberry pies?” I said with a wink. “I think not.” I
flashed a big grin and stretched out both arms to wag my index fingers back and
forth. The room filled with a dozen more clicks of his camera.

 
    “Damn,” he
muttered, looking down at the screen on his camera. “That would have been one
hell of a photo if your outfit matched your spunky attitude.”

 
    “Really? That?”

 
    He looked up at me,
eyebrow cocked. Maybe I had gone too far in my newfound comfort with him and he
took it as me questioning his vision and professionalism. Really what I was
questioning was my ability to take good photos. I recalled looking at pictures
of models in magazines and being particularly impressed by those who seemed
full of life. I had hoped to one day give the same impression through my own
photos.

 
    Brad placed his
camera on the stool and walked over to the rack of clothes, pulling out a pair
of black denim shorts, a loose knit gray top that was sheer, and a black
bralette. Then he grabbed a pair of thigh-high gray socks and a pair of dark
green, heeled boots.

 
    “Try this outfit
on,” he told me with a half smirk before walking out. My eyes couldn’t help but
trail down his back and check out his cute butt wrapped up tight in his jeans. I
felt a sudden spark course through my veins. I needed to calm my budding
feelings—no need to push this beyond being professional.

 
    I stood there,
staring at the door, wondering if I had done something wrong. He didn’t seem
angry or annoyed, but he had suddenly gotten serious and requested an outfit
change. I also noticed the outfit was very different from everything else he
had selected so far. This had edginess to it, everything else was sexy and
somewhat elegant. After pulling it on I wished more than ever there was a
mirror in the studio so I could see how it looked on me, but then decided maybe
it was for the best I couldn’t. Maybe that was why there wasn’t a mirror after
all. The photographer wouldn’t want the models to start feeling self-conscious
in anyway.

 
    Brad stepped in
and looked at me and I could have sworn he gulped hard at the sight.

 
    “I was right,” he said,
walking over to pick up his camera off the stool. “That outfit is perfect for
you.” He nodded toward the backdrop and I went to stand at the center.

 
    “Hold on,” he
said. I exhaled and mindlessly tugged at my ponytail. I heard a few clicks of
the camera’s shutter and I whipped my head around to look at Brad who continued
to click away. I felt tricked, but something told me he hadn’t done it on
purpose. He grabbed the stool beside him and placed it in front of me.

 
    “Sit down,” I
followed his instructions, instinctively putting a foot on the lower bar so
that my knee was bent. Brad snapped a few photos before looking back and
spotting another stool.

 
    He went to grab it
and pulled it over to where he stood before. Taking a seat, he stared directly
at me, studying me more intently than ever. There was something about the way
his eyes raked over my body that made me feel nervous.

 
      “Tell me about Iowa.” I stared at him blankly.
“Go on,” he pushed.

 
    I started with the
only thing I could think of—blueberry pies. As I talked he started to snap
photos seemingly at random. It was hard to ignore at first, but eventually I
was able to shut