A long practice session finally wraps up, and the guys all exit the rink, calling out happy hours to meet up at. Me, I stay on the ice for a few more speed laps. I skate backwards around the rink, instinctively knowing where to turn. I could navigate this place with my eyes closed. My legs are lead after lifting weights before practice, but I’m still going to get off the ice, stretch them out, and go for a run after I leave this place. I never stop training.
As I round the rink a second time, Bill Baker presses both of his giant palms against the Plexi glass, his focus on me. We haven’t spoken since the odd meeting yesterday. I can’t say I forgot about it, though, as that had to be the strangest request I’ve ever had from an employer. That includes the time I was required to wear a hot dog hat when I worked at Scottie's Diner the summer after freshman year of college.
Plus, it’s not how I do things.
I win by working.
I’m not some pretty boy who uses people or even social media to get ahead. I roll my eyes upward at the mere thought of using social media for fake news publicity, but when I return my gaze to the ground, Bill is still staring at me. “What?” I call out, annoyance budding in my chest. “Did you need me for something?”
“Actually,” he says, his speech slow and easy, “since you offered, I need you to take a photo with someone.” His gaze slides to the tunnel where a woman stands, but not just any woman.
My throat dries as my gaze slides over her luscious silky mane of ebony hair that cascades down her slender frame, and I halt when I hook on her majestic jade eyes. They literally stun me into immobility.
She’s breathtaking.
Bill waves me forward, closer to this decadent woman. “Come meet your co-star, Sophie Summers. She’s agreed to take a photo with you.”
The name sounds awfully familiar, but I can’t place it. I’m relearning every day not to argue with Bill as he signs my paycheck. Against my better judgment, one skate glides in front of the other, and I advance, eyes locked forward until I step off the ice and join them. I’m cautiously silent as I have one eye on this beautiful woman and the othermore-suseye on Bill.
“Just one photo.” Bill flashes his phone at us already in camera mode.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft and sultry, unlike anything I’ve ever heard. “You’re Axl?” She stands near the wall with a ready-for-business posture.
“That’s me,” I rasp, still stunned with her beauty. “And you’re Sophie?”
She triple nods as if she’s also trying to talk herself into this disastrous idea. “Reporting for revenge.”
“Excuse me?” I tip my ear closer.
“Yeah, I’m only agreeing to do this to make my ex-boyfriend jealous.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, reminding myself that I have no desire to start dating and that I don’t want to know anything about her. I’m ready to get this whole thing over with so I can get on with my day. I shuffle to stand next to her, my arms hanging loosely at my side. We resemble a police lineup as we gaze forward at Bill and wait for him to snap the stupid photo.
“You’re going to have to do better than that.” Bill waves his index finger in front of us. “Make me believe this.”
Giving Sophie a side-eye, I scoot closer and clumsily lift my arm around her back. She reaches behind me, and we settle together, arms stiffly holding each other and both flashing cheesy smiles at the camera. “Got it?” I mumble through my clenched teeth.
“No.” Bill wags his head, disappointment etching his voice. “You have to make it swoony.”
“What are you talking about?” My brows crisscross. “There’s nothing wrong with my balance.”
“Not your balance.” Bill walks forward, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me to the center of the tunnel. “This photo needs to melt all the women’s hearts and make every guy jealous.”
He strides back and grabs Sophie, leading her by the hand to me. When they reach me, he tugs on my arm while guiding Sophie to stand with her back against my chest. Then he physically wraps Sophie in my arms as if I’m pretzel dough. A sonic boom vibrates my whole body, and I’m left numb. This is not the innocent photo Bill had insisted it would be. I’m cradling heragainstmy body, and sultry fumes of musky amber waft off her, directly up into my nose.Nobody warned me about that. It’s a smell of longing, and it slaps a sheet of sweat on my forehead.
“That’s better.” Bill steps backwards, his phone camera positioned in front of his face, and Sophie and I stand frozen in our pretzel pose as he snaps several photos before he lowers his camera.
I let out an explosive sigh of relief. “Glad that’s over,” I mumble, dropping my arms to my sides, shaking them off, already noticing that Sophie’s scent has been branded into my jersey.
Bill commands something else. “Dip her.”
“What?” I snap and not because I have a hard time hearing. I heard exactly what he said, but this is absurd. Nobody wants to see a photo like that.
“Just try it.” He waves his index finger in the air again, motioning for us to get back into pretzel formation, and I reluctantly hold out my arm for her to lean back. My lips sandwich together with spite as she folds over my arm. I glare at the camera, waiting for this to be over. “Can you lean over her just a little and gaze into her eyes?” He paces to the left a little to get a better angle.
Can I?
Is that really the question you want to ask me?
