“Well, that’s a lie. I’ve seen it.” The moment she blurts the words, her face turns red, and she bites her lip.
“Oh,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest again. “Someone went snooping last night.”
She’s now busy studying the tile floor.
A smile twitches at my lips. “Relax, it’s fine. I knew you would. You seemed like the nosy type, which is probably why you and Fergie get along so well.”
She looks up, her face flushing with indignation. “I amnotnosy. Just… curious. And you have a very pretty home. I just wanted to see more of it, that’s all. I didn’t touch anything.”
“Glad we cleared that up.”
“So, you’re wearing the kilt, then?” she asks, her eyes gleaming.
“You really think it’s a good idea? Doesn’t exactly scream date, or romantic, or whatever it’s supposed to scream.”
She bites her lip. “Oh, yeah it does.”
My brow wrinkles. “Really?”
“Really.” She nods, her face flushing a deeper shade of red before she spins and walks away.
Well, I guess I’m wearing the kilt.
When my kilt and I show up at the training centre the next day—well, I’m not wearing it yet; it’s deep inside my bag—I’m hit with the fact that half the place has been transformed into a bloody photo studio. There are props and costumes everywhere. It’s honestly disturbing.
Everyone on the team is watching game tape, and we’re supposed to head to the photo room when our name is called. Grand. Can’t wait.
And I don’t have to wait long before Millie calls my name. Heaving a deep breath, I follow her to the conference room—well, photo studio now. Overall, the room is dimly lit except for the blinding studio lights aimed at a green screen setup. The photographer is an older guy with a camera that looks like it’s seen more than a few players stripped down. Noticing me, he gestures lazily toward a folding screen in the corner.
“You can get changed over there.”
“Cheers,” I grunt.
I step behind the screen and shrug off my top, swapping my shorts for the kilt. When I step out—wearing nothing but my kilt and boots—Millie’s eyes stretch wide, her lips parting as though she forgot how to breathe for a second.
“Um,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “Where do you want me?”
She blinks, her cheeks reddening. “Right. Uh—on the X. Just there.”
I step onto the taped X in front of the green screen.
“Maybe… we should do the Scottish Highlands behind you?” she suggests, looking thoughtful. “That’d be a good fit.”
I shrug. “Sure. Whatever you think would work.”
She glances over at the photographer, who gives a noncommittal grunt of agreement. When Millie turns back to me, she’s hiding a smile. “What pose are you doing?”
I wince. “I don’t know. Just standing, I guess?”
The photographer doesn’t exactly look thrilled, which makes me wonder what the others did before me. And whether Millie enjoyed the show. Gordon was bragging about making her flustered earlier, but he also claims he once beat Finn in a push-up contest, so, grain of salt.
“I think it’ll work,” Millie says, pulling me back into focus. “Stand in the middle there, slightly turned to the left, like that.” She steps on the carpet with me and angles me into position. Her fingers are soft but cold, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. She must have noticed it too because she mumbles, “Sorry, my hands are always cold.”
“You’re—” I clear my throat. “It’s fine.”
She glances upat me, then nods. “Can you cross your arms? To give us a bit more, um, definition.”
I suppress the urge to grin like an idiot and do as I’m told. “Like this?” I fold my arms tightly against my chest.
