Cruising for Love

Chapter 4

4

T.J. leads me down a seemingly endless hallway before ushering me into a small cabin. "Hair and makeup," he announces as he swooshes me inside before exiting as quickly as he had appeared. I silently chastise myself for not asking a few of my many questions while I had the producer all to myself.

The room is long and narrow, but tiny. It does, at least, have a small balcony. Rather than a bed, it features an enormous lighted vanity with what seems like enough make-up and hair products to fill an entire shelf at Sephora.

I sit down on the white padded cushion of the dainty, metal chair. "Am I supposed to know what to do with all of this?" I wonder aloud, poking through the colorful compacts.

"Oh, no, Honey. That's what I'm here for." The voice startles me. I hadn't realized anyone had joined me in the room.

Using the lit mirror to stare at his reflection, I have to remind myself to close my mouth, which has fallen open of its own accord. The man who has joined me is absolutely gorgeous. His mocha skin and icy blue eyes make for an intriguing combination.

He walks over to me and lifts a lock of my long hair, which I just had highlighted with light-caramel colored streaks in honor of my television debut. "Hmm," he says noncommittally before ordering me to spin around in my seat so he can inspect me face-to-face. He's much closer than my personal space limit normally allows for people I don't know. In fact, he's so close that I can now see how impossibly perfect his complexion is. Does the man not have any pores?

I start to feel anxious under his intense scrutiny. After all, I have plenty of flaws. My hands feel clammy and dampness is starting to accumulate under my arms. It is an odd sensation because I almost never sweat.

Pulling back to stand to his full height, which has to be at least six feet, he raises a hand to his chin. He appears to be pondering what the verdict will be about his perusal of my face. I wonder if he is trying to think of a way to tell me he's not a miracle worker.

"I can work with this," he finally decides before beaming a smile at me and displaying his straight, blindingly white teeth.

Relief floods my system––warm and sweet. For some strange reason, this gorgeous stranger's approval had quickly become of the utmost importance to me. The rational side of my mind knows that one person's opinion of my physical attributes shouldn't matter so much, but my physiological response to his blatant examination of me is undeniable.

"First, you need to relax," he informs me as he uses an outstretched arm to indicate the long sofa stretched along the other wall of the cabin.

His announcement has the opposite effect. Is this the proverbial casting couch on which so many stars over the years have had to perform s****l favors in exchange for fame? Or does he just want me to take a nap? My musings causes a nervous bubble of laughter to escape from me.

As much as I want to be on this show and become the next big thing, I will not sleep with this man to get there. Even though he is super sexy and being with him would probably be beyond amazing, I'm not willing to sell myself out that way.

I stop in my tracks and turn back to him as he's ushering me to the sofa. "Look," I start, "I can't...I mean, I won't..." I stop, uncertain how to proceed with my denial of his advances.

He looks perplexed for a moment before giving me a knowing grin. He leans in to whisper in my ear, "You're not my type."

"Oh," I say awkwardly, somewhat hurt by his cutting honesty.

My expression must have betrayed my injured ego because he quickly amends his statement. "You're not my preferred gender," he reveals before leaning in to give me a quick peck on the cheek. His lips actually touch my skin, unlike T.J.'s earlier air kisses.

"Ohhh," I respond, comprehension dawning. For some reason, his news makes me feel much better.

"Now lie down and let me work my magic." His eyes sparkle as if he's testing me.

For some reason, my gut now trusts him, so I comply with his request. He is slender enough to sit down beside my prone body on the sofa. The next thing I know, a groan of pure bliss bursts out of me as he rubs away the tension I had apparently been holding in my neck and shoulders.

"You weren't kidding," I tell him after my lengthy, relaxing massage. "You have magic hands."

"So I'm told," he teases me, making me smile.

For some reason, I now feel completely at ease with this man. "I don't even know your name," I realize aloud.

"After what we just did on this couch? I'm shocked, Ruthie!" His pronouncement indicates that he is already aware of my name. He smiles to let me know he's teasing.

"A random, handsome stranger bringing me to new heights of ecstasy on a casting couch...my dreams of fame are already coming true." He laughs at my silly joke, and I love the sound of it.

My limbs feel like limp noodles as I slither back over to the makeup chair. "My name is Sydney," he informs me, "but everyone who is anyone calls me Syd."

"I'm so glad to meet you, Syd," I say honestly before teasing, "I might let you have your way with me on a couch before knowing your name, but I would not let you touch my hair and makeup without it."

We both laugh loud enough to be heard out in the hallway, and I beam at him, certain that we are destined to be great friends.