The Make-Up Artist: Part 2

Chapter Sixteen: The Interview

"You have?" You ask, gulping down the rush of saliva that just filled your mouth.

"Yes", he says intently, still gazing down at you.

"What do you mean?" Taron's closeness, the intimacy of the small room, his breath inches from your face; all have you feeling quite dizzy. He finally cracks a smile and releases you.

"This!" He says, waving his hands around the space. "Us working together again, me doing this show, all of the big premiers behind me and now I can just relax and enjoy it all!" He says, looking back over at you beaming.

"Oh...I thought you...oh." Why are you disappointed? He tilts his head slightly and presses his brows together.

"What did you-" He can't finish his thought however because at that moment, the door swings open and Lindsay comes breezing back into the room. She informs you both that Taron will be the second guest to appear on the show and that you have approximately an hour and a half to get him ready. Plenty of time. You both thank her and she leaves as swiftly as she came, and you take the opportunity to quickly change the subject. You're not sure what you were expecting to come out of Taron's mouth moments before, but you can't help but feel a bit let down that it was completely innocent. 

"So, what are you wearing for the show?" You ask, appraising him in his tight black jeans and black t-shirt. Although his current outfit is rather flattering to his athletic body type, you know it's not quite appropriate for a nighttime talk show.

"Oh! It's this great Etro ensemble", he says excitedly as he walks over to where the jacket and pants are hanging on the rack. You follow beside him languidly. You have no idea what Etro is, but you assume it's some fancy designer. You watch his eyes light as he runs a hand over the smooth fabric of the deep blue jacket. "This is still all so surreal you know", he says gazing at the outfit. "Designers sending me clothes, going on talk shows to chat about this movie that means so much to me. Sometimes I don't know how I got here...", he says, and you can see a far off look pass over his face. You place your hand over his on the jacket, which causes him to snap out of his trance and look over at you.

"You got here because you deserve every bit of it...and more", you add. Then, realizing you are all but caressing his hand, you quickly pull yours away.

"I'm so glad you're here", he says quietly. He brings a hand up to your face and your pulse quickens at the anticipation of his touch. He then places his forefinger against the tip of your nose and you relax at the familiar gesture.

"Me too. Shall we get to work?" You ask, motioning toward the chair.

"Absolutely", he agrees.

"Oh, you should probably change into the shirt you're going to wear so you don't get make-up on it later."

"Right", he says, turning back toward the clothing rack. He pulls a black shirt off the wooden hanger and hands it to you. You notice that it looks almost identical to the one he's wearing, but figure there must be some sort of designer difference. He's also been wearing his current shirt all day and probably wants to put on a fresh one. You are just starting to wonder why you are holding the shirt when you see his hands go to the hem of the one he's wearing, and start to tug it upward. Your breath stills as you catch the first glimpse of creamy skin and a smattering of hair at his stomach. Once you realize that he's about to remove his shirt right here in front of you, you reluctantly turn your body slightly to the side so that you are not openly staring. You hear the shuffle of fabric and see out of your peripheral vision a vast expanse of peachy skin. Without looking, you hand the shirt to him, but he doesn't take it. Standing there awkwardly with your hand outstretched, you finally look back at him to see why he isn't taking the shirt. He is grinning stupidly at you, and it takes everything in you to keep your eyes trained on his face. "Is this making you uncomfortable?" He asks, finally taking the shirt from you and giving you the one he just removed. The warmth from his body still lingers within the soft fabric.