Now I turn because I won’t let him gloat, and he’s so much closer than I expected. Sweat beads at his temples, and there’s challenge in his eyes. His shirt might as well be painted on by how it’s clinging to every muscle on him. I keep my gaze fixed on his face as my body betrays me.
“Leave me alone.”
“You’re unbelievable.” He exhales, his amusement fades into frustration.
“Yeah? And you’re bothering me.”
We go back and forth, and one of the trainers looks at me, along with some of the players.
“I can’t do this with you,” I whisper between clenched teeth, noticing we’re drawing too much attention.
“Great,” he says. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
We stare at each other, and he looks like he wants to say more, but I don’t wait around to hear it. I turn back to Hunter, ignoring that Patterson even exists.
“You good?” Hunter asks.
“Fine. Annoyed,” I tell him, placing the viewfinder to my eyes and snapping a few photos. But my mind isn’t present. It’s replaying and dissecting every part of the conversation we just had.
Hunter laughs. “Yeah. Patty has that effect on people sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” I scoff.
“Yeah,” he says, lowering his voice. “Play the game, Kendall. You’re winning.”
I tilt my head at him. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Of course. But come on. You have more power than you think.Use it,” he offers, not explaining more. He doesn’t have to.
A small smile plays on my lips as I stare at Hunter. “Maybe I will.”
He moves to the next machine, cockiness in his steps. “If you change your mind on that date, let me know. I’m not afraid of being traded,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear.
Laughter falls from my lips. “Stop. Even joking about it is dangerous, you dummy.”
“Not scared, babe. Give me a chaaaance,” he says playfully.
The rest of my time in the weight room, I photograph every player available, building reference images. Tyler does dead lifts with perfect form. Mason laughs between sets because nothing dims that man’s energy.
I don’t cross paths with Patterson again. I also don’t let my eyes slide in his direction, even though I’m hyperaware of where he is at every moment. My vigilance is exhausting. Some might say it’s stubbornness, but it’s much more than that.
After lunch, I head to the conference room for Wyatt’s session, but my neck is stiff, and my back is tight. I’ve been carrying too much tension.
Wyatt arrives fifteen minutes early, radiating nervous energy, asking whether he should smile, look serious, or tilt his head a certain way. I gently walk him through the process, explaining that I want to capture who he actually is rather than some manufactured pose. As we talk about hockey and ice skating, he relaxes. By the end of the hour, I have what I need, and I think it fully represents the earnest kid underneath the professional athlete. He leaves smiling.
“I’m gonna have to tell the other guys this isn’t as scary as everyone thinks.”
“Pfft. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They call you The Destroyer, Kendall. There’s a reason for that,” he says, looking at me from head to toe. I haven’t heard that nickname in years. “I see the allure though.”
“Sir, respectfully, you’re too young.”
“Oh, I assumed,” he says. “Thanks.”
After the door closes, I sit alone and let silence surround me.
The portrait schedule for next week needs to be finalized today because I promised my dad I’d give everyone at least a week’s notice in case someone needed to switch.
