“Ahhh… Miss?”

I turned. What a gorgeous guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark mustache and a great body. He was wearing a grey university athletic shirt with short sleeves. On his left arm there was a dark blue tattoo of an eagle perched on a nest, ready to take off. The rest of him was encased in grey sweats. He may have been color coordinated in grey down to his shorts, if he was wearing any. I checked.

Nothing much that I hadn’t seen live showing. I glanced at my assignment sheet, “Jim Benson, Mercutio?”

“Right. Got held up.”

I couldn’t imagine that. With his muscle he could have had the attacker down on the floor begging for mercy in ten seconds.

“Stand up on the box please. I have to measure you.”

He grinned, “I bet you do.”

I think I must have blushed, because Jim touched my hand, “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

For such a rugged looking guy, he seemed gentle. I’ve been measured before.”

Well, why didn’t Dr. Koenig just take the measurements out of the files?”

“I wouldn’t have had the privilege of being measured by such a pretty girl.

You’re?”

“Fancy Jones.”

“Plain or Fancy, I like you.”

I looked at my feet. I’d worn a high fashion outfit today, including black boots, a pair of black trousers with pleats and slash pockets. They were really loose. I don’t like to display my body. It only attracts men and as mother said … well, I’d rather not go into that.

I tugged at the sleeves of my bright green sweater and shook my head. The black scarf tied around my long hair at the back scratched my neck.

Jim stepped up on the posing stand, if you want to call it that and turned toward me, legs spread apart. I gulped, pulled the yellow measuring tape through my fingers and began. Biceps. Chest. Neck. Head. Waist. I could feel that he was very muscular under his sweats. His arms certainly showed that when I measured them. I put his feet on the shoe gauge. Big feet. Thirteens.