That gets a round of laughter. I grin faintly and shake my head. “Not that. It’s… something else. Come here.”
I pull up Rose’s photos on my phone and hand it over. Laura scrolls, the screen light catching her glasses.
“Who took these?” she asks, eyes brightening.
“A local photographer. Rose Bennett. She shot some stuff at the game the other night. Thought you might like them for promo.”
She swipes through, pausing at the one where the team’s mid-huddle, the light glinting off helmets. “These are good.Clean lines, she’s captured the actual emotion behind the players. Not the usual stiff media stuff.”
“She’s got an eye for it,” I say, trying to sound casual.
Laura nods thoughtfully. “Would she be interested in doing more? We could use some fresh content. More in-the-moment shots. The fans love authenticity.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah. I think she’d be up for that.”
“Right.” She taps a note into her phone. “I’ll have the office reach out. Or, since you know her, maybe you ask? Save us the formalities.”
“Sure,” I say, too quickly.
Laura eyes me for a second, as if she’s weighing something up, then nods. “Good. Tell her to pop by next week. We’ll get her a pass.”
As she walks out, Ryan whistles from his stall. “Bloody hell, Fraser, since when are you the Panthers’ resident talent scout?”
I toss a towel at him. “Since you started missing open nets.”
“Touché.” He grins. “But seriously, who’s the photographer? You’ve been weird since that last game.”
“Just someone doing good work.” I grin slyly.
“Right,” he says, dragging out the word. “And totally not someone you’re suddenly defending like she’s the Queen.”
I glare at him, but he just laughs. The rest of the lads keep the jokes coming. I take it, and let it roll over me. But under the noise, there’s something else. An undercurrent of energy that wasn’t there before. I can feel it pulsing in my veins. Because now I’ve got a reason to see her again.
The day drags. I sit through a film review session, run another gym circuit, and still can’t focus. Every time I stop moving, mybrain fills with the same questions. What will she think when I ask? Will she wonder why I keep showing up in her orbit? Will she look at me with that same half-smile and see right through me?
By mid-afternoon, I’ve made up my mind.
I wait until after the weights session to head to the PR office. Laura’s behind her desk, laptop open, surrounded by sponsor folders and coffee cups. She looks up when I knock.
“Changed your mind already?” she says dryly.
“Nah. Just thought I’d get the ball rolling.”
Her brow lifts. “Efficient. I like it.”
“Figured I’d reach out to her tonight. Let her know what’s what.”
“Perfect. Tell her we’ll pay standard freelance rates and she’ll have full credit on socials. We’re going for a ‘community roots’ angle next month, so it fits perfectly.”
“Got it.”
As I leave, Laura calls after me, “Oh, and Cal?”
“Yeah?”
“Good eye. We need more stories like that. Makes the team feel real again.”
Real. The word sits heavy in my chest as I push open the door.
