“Annoying Diva.” Jacy whispered quietly, shaking her head at the sashaying backside of the male model. What had she gotten into, she thought, removing the zoom lens from her camera. The cover model dipped or hitched his step, she really couldn’t tell which, before wiggling his taut ass, encased in tighty-whitey boxer briefs before turning, sitting, and pulling off the expensive pair of black leather boots they had used as a prop.
He caught her eye and the corner of his mouth lifted in a blinding smile. Capped. She gave him a bland smile, and went back to packing up her equipment, but not before noticing not a muscle on his face moved. Botoxed. Jacy really looked at the model for the first time. Tanned. Sprayed on. Thick pecs. Probably implants.
He wasn’t more than four inches taller than Jacy’s five, five and a half frame and didn’t outweigh her by twenty-five pounds. He’d weigh more if you lost a little weight, her inner thin girl chimed in.
Jacy looked down at her body. She wore a hot-pink tank top and black Capris. Both fit comfortably, not too tight or loose. Just enough to hide your size fourteen body. Jacy squelched the sarcastic voice in her head. She was comfortable with the five extra pounds; more like fifteen, the bitch chimed in, “got it,” Jacy gritted her teeth, agreeing there were ten extra pounds glued to her shapely butt and thighs.
Jacy was curvy, but in all the right places. So she’d been told. Sadly by her friend Tamara.