Page 80 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"Like having your face hugged by cold pudding," Orion offers helpfully.
"That's... not exactly as comforting as you think it is."
Jamie laughs, and I catch myself smiling back at him. He's so genuinely cheerful it's impossible not to get pulled into his orbit.
"Tilt your head up for me?" Jamie asks, already moving closer with the tape.
I do, and he starts measuring. Forehead width. Distance between my eyes. Nose bridge to jaw. He calls out numbers to Orion, who writes them down in a leather-bound notebook with a fucking quill pen.
"You have such delicate features," Jamie says conversationally, running the tape along my jawline. "Feminine, almost. Beautiful."
My stomach drops, but I keep my expression neutral. "Yeah?" I croak.
"Yeah," Jamie continues, oblivious to the way my pulse just kicked into overdrive. "Your bone structure is very refined.”
He moves around to measure the back of my head, and I force myself to breathe normally. Just because he said"feminine" doesn't mean he knows. Plenty of guys have delicate features. It's fine. Everything's fine.
Except my hands are shaking slightly, and I have to shove them in my hoodie pocket to hide it.
"Stay still," Jamie instructs gently, positioning my head. "This part's a little uncomfortable, but it'll be quick."
He mixes what looks like dental alginate in a bowl, the stuff turning from powder to thick paste under his practiced hands. The smell is vaguely minty and chemical, making my nose wrinkle.
"Breathe through your nose," Orion advises from where he's setting up some kind of stand. "And try not to sneeze."
"Great advice. Now I definitely want to sneeze."
Jamie laughs, that bright sound filling the cavernous space. "Close your eyes and think about something pleasant."
I close my eyes, but nothing pleasant comes to mind. Just the weight of my binder digging into my ribs, the prosthetic shifting uncomfortably in my jeans, the constant awareness that I'm one wrong word away from everything falling apart.
The cold alginate touches my face and I flinch.
"Sorry!" Jamie says. "I should've warned you it's cold. Stay as still as you can."
He spreads the paste methodically, covering my forehead, nose, cheeks, jaw. It's exactly like being hugged by cold pudding, just like Orion said. The sensation is deeply weird—not painful, just profoundly uncomfortable. Like my face is being slowly encased in cement.
"Doing okay?" Jamie asks.
I give a thumbs up because my mouth is covered and I can't actually speak.
Time stretches. My face starts to itch where the alginate is hardening, and I have to actively fight the urge to claw it off.The weight of it presses down, making me hyperaware of every contour of my face. Every imperfection.
Finally, Jamie says, "Alright, on three, I'm going to remove it. One, two?—"
He pulls the cast off on two, the bastard, and I gasp as cool air hits my face again.
"Sorry," Jamie says, not sounding sorry at all. "It's easier if you don't tense up."
"Evil," I mutter, wiping residue from my skin with the towel he hands me.
Orion has moved closer to examine the cast, turning it carefully in his large hands. Those green eyes study the negative space my face left behind like he's reading a map.
"Lovely structure," he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. "The jawline especially. We'll want to emphasize that."
"We should try different liners," Jamie says, already pulling out what looks like soft fabric swatches. "Some people prefer silk, but it can get slippery. Velvet holds better but gets hot. There's this synthetic blend that breathes really well..."
He spreads the options in front of me like a color palette. Each one has a slightly different texture, different weight.
