The Lover's Game by J.C. Reed

feel good, that is until he cheated on me. And he also made me feel safe like no other man had before. As much as I wanted to push him away, there was no guarantee that, sooner or later, my body wouldn’t yearn for his. It would start subtly, in my dreams, but as time progressed, it would get worse, until I’d see a little of him in every man who crossed my path. My subconscious mind would crave that time when I felt happy, safe, and in love. I prayed that before my subconscious took control, I’d meet someone new—someone who would replace him and would never let me down. And I hoped that special someone would give me the ability to control my sappy heart so that when I fell in love, I wouldn’t drown in feelings.
    “Let’s go out.” Sylvie’s voice brought me back to reality.
    “Maybe some other time,” I said. “Right now, all I want is some rest.” I smiled at her in the hope she’d understand. The day had left me exhausted, eager to find solitude in the confined space of my previous room.
    “Sure, sweetie. Whatever you want,” Sylvie said, “but you owe me a girls’ night out.”
    My smile widened at the idea of it: eating takeout, watching television, and laughing like schoolgirls until we couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t had one of those nights in ages and realized just I much I had missed it.
    “Sounds great.” Following Sylvie’s advice, I headed for my room and collapsed into bed, ignoring the cell phone beckoning me from the nightstand.

T he next morning, to my surprise, Thalia called to tell me I needed to drop by Grayson’s studio. I stepped into the kitchen and prepared myself a cup of coffee. Rain splattered against the windows, mirroring the way I felt: battered and depressed. Deciding what to wear from Sylvie’s closet and preparing my makeup took forever. It took just as long to assure Sylvie that I was good enough to work on Sunday. By the time I reached Grayson’s place, my hair was a mess and my back slick with sweat, but I had never been more excited. It was my way to cope with my nervousness over Jett’s call; Sylvie had told him in her most nonchalant voice that I was going to stay with her for a few days because she needed me, hence buying me time to think about what I really wanted to say to him.
    Like the day before, Thalia helped me change and did my makeup and hair; apparently, I wasn’t fit to see Grayson the way I looked, and then I finally got to see the real studio. One minute I was chatting to the other girls, and the next Grayson came in and demanded our full attention.
    “Watch and learn,” Grayson called out to me, jerking me out of my thoughts.
    I did as he said, albeit with apprehension at the thought of becoming one of his models. I sat in a swivel chair, with a bottle of water in my hand, and observed in silence, my attention once again returning from Jett to the task at hand.
    On the west side, huge birch branches and plastic trees were decorated with white garland and pomanders in front of a backdrop support and lots of lighting gear. Grayson snapped picture after picture while communicating short but clear instructions on how each model was to pose.
    I decided it wasn’t going to be such a bad job, though it wouldn’t be easy. Thalia had made an understatement in saying I’d just have to stand around and look sexy. Grayson’s instructions were as varied as I thought they would be, and he kept each girl busy and on her toes—in all possible positions—albeit not nearly as dirty as I had imagined.
    A tall woman, who looked as though she could walk the runway in underwear, sat down on a broad flower swing, her hands holding on the ropes, while she crossed one leg over the other—harboring a dreamy look in her eyes. It looked sensual but not cheap or dirty. There was something elegant and almost classy about the way Grayson took the pictures, but even more fascinating was the way the girls posed in their colorful polka-dot dresses. I couldn’t help but