“Hey,” she says brightly, pulling a set of cue cards from her tote and handing them to Theo. “Got your lines here.”
Theo takes the cards, horror etched on his handsome face. His Adam’s apple visibly bobs as he reads the cards.
“Cool,” he mutters, eyes flicking once more to Mila before he turns and walks away.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Naomi grabs Mila’s arm. “Oh my god. The heat.”
Mila rolls her eyes, cheeks flushing. “Stop it.”
“Ma’am, I will not,” Naomi says, wiggling her eyebrows. “I need full details.”
Before Mila can respond, one of the AV guys calls from across the room. “Hey, we’re good to roll! First player’s ready.”
Naomi sighs. “Later.”
They head toward the set, cue cards in hand, Naomi already mentally prepping for whatever nonsense is about to unfold under the soft-box lights. Glen from the communications department is here, carrying a clipboard.
Carter is up first, and as predicted, absolutely nails it.
He delivers his lines with a cocky, lopsided grin. Naomi watches the footage on the monitor, double-checking the audio levels—and okay, admiring his face a little.
“That was perfect,” she calls out, giving him a thumbs-up. “If hockey ever doesn’t work out, you’ve got a future in deodorant commercials.”
Carter winks. “Say the word, and I’ll rap the next one.”
Naomi snorts. “Please don’t.”
“No promises.”
He lingers by the monitor, watching the next few takes. AndNaomi lets him. Flirting with Carter is fun and low-stakes. And why not?
He’s funny.
He’s hot.
He knows it—but not in a gross way. More in a “look at my biceps, aren’t they neat?” way.
If Mila’s going to spend her time in Hartford flirting, why can’t she?
She’s still turning that thought over when the next name gets called.
“Garrett Tall,” the AV guy says.
And boom.
There goes her entire brain.
Garrett strides into frame, his Whalers jersey stretched over broad shoulders. He’s ditched the beanie, and the effect is…catastrophic. His dark blond hair is shaved close at the sides, longer on top, the waves tousled like someone just dragged their fingers through it mid-kiss. It’s criminal. Unfair. A personal attack.
And the tattoos. Oh god, the tattoos. They crawl down one arm from beneath his pushed-up sleeve, black ink etched in sharp lines and dark shadows. She’s been pretending not to wonder how far they go, but now she’s very much wondering. Like, full dissertation-level curiosity.
She’s still staring when Carter leans in, stage-whispering, “Well. That’s my cue to leave.”
Naomi startles, blinking like she’s just surfaced from a dream. “Sorry—what?”
Carter nods toward Tall. “Pretty sure I just got death-glared off the set.”
Naomi whips her head around—and yep.
