"Morning"
"Morning weirdo, I made you a big breakfast", says my roommate Jenny when I reach the kitchen island of our apartment.
"Thanks, I need to leave in...", I look down at my watch, "an hour and a half".
"But you couldn't skip your morning run", she says, rolling her eyes.
"You know it helps me with the stress".
"Yeah yeah, whatever".
I can't help but smile when she puts the plate on the table and I see she made frittata for today's breakfast. My favourite post-workout meal.
"So, tell me about today", she says, sitting down to drink a cup of tea and keep me company while I eat.
"I'm taking the train to Manchester and doing a shoot there. Nothing too exciting, really".
"Is it a campaign or an editorial?"
"Editorial. For Men's Health Portugal. Really random for them to hire me but someone cancelled very last minute and I guess I was the only good option. The entire crew is Portuguese. It should be fun. I won't understand a word they say all day".
"And who's the model? He is probably really hot. I'm so jealous".
I laugh at her comment. "Some footballer. I don't know".
"I truly hate you. You know I love football and you just say that it's some footballer. I hate you".
"Jen, I barely know who plays for England and you want me to care about who plays for Portugal?", I say with a shrug.
"There are six Portuguese players in Manchester but only one good option for that shoot", she says, ignoring my comment.
"Well, I'll let you know when I get there", I say, taking my empty plate to the dishwasher so I can head to the shower. "Breakfast was perfect, thank you".
"Ew, go shower now, stinky", she says, getting away from my sweaty hug and I laugh all the way to my room.
**
Four hours later, I'm finally on set, getting all the clothes ready. Not that this footballer will be wearing much. The brief I got sent said that only trousers and shoes will be needed. I guess the ladies and the gents who like him will go crazy when they see him showing off his muscles in all the photos.
I shake my head at the thought. I never got what's so fascinating about footballers.
"He's ready", says one of the women working at today's shoot.
"Great. Thanks".
When I get to the dressing area, I see there is a guy with his back to me and looking down at his phone.
"Hello?"
At the sound of my voice, he turns and looks at me for a couple of seconds before smiling. "Hi, you're the stylist, right? I'm Rúben, nice to meet you".
"Nice to meet you too", I tell him, shaking his hand. His really strong hand.
"Ok, I need you to undress", I say, quickly realising I'm too used to working with female models. When I look up at Rúben I can see him smirking at me. "You know what I mean".
"Do I?", he says, but I choose to ignore it.
"Someone will be here soon to do your body make-up. But I need to check if we got the right size for your clothes".
"Can't you do it? The body make-up?", he adds the last part when I look up at him, confused.
"I'm not a make-up artist".
"That's a shame", he whispers.
"What was that?", I ask, pretending to not have heard it.
"Nothing".
I'm thankfully saved by the real make-up artist, who starts to fuss around him the moment he takes his shirt off. I don't understand what she's saying to him but I can tell how uncomfortable he feels by the way he's smiling. I have to bite my lip to hide my smile at the scene in front of me.
"I was told your shoe size is 10.5. Is that right?"
"Yes", he answers and I start to put each pair of shoes next to the trousers he'll wear them with.
"Big feet for a big boy, huh?", tells him the make-up artist, laughing and staring at the arm she's holding to apply the make-up.
This time I can't help it and a small chuckle escapes my lips. Rúben gives me a "it's not so funny" look, which only makes my smile bigger.
"Ok, I'm done, darling. Your turn", she tells me with a wink.
"Here, put this on", I say to Rúben, passing him some green joggers while I turn to get the matching shoes.
Thinking that he is done getting changed, I turn again to find him bending down to put the joggers on. I know I shouldn't, I know it's unprofessional, but I can't help but stare.
How is he even real?
