The ping of an email jolts me out of my thoughts. My stomach flips when I see who it’s from.
Laura Denton – PR Manager, Manchester Panthers.
Hi Rose,
The team and I absolutely loved your work on the recent shoot, both the player portraits and the candid rink shots were fantastic. We’d like to invite you to join us for this weekend’s away game in Glasgow to capture additional promotional content for our media channels.
We’ll handle accreditation, logistics, and access at the venue. Let me know if you’re available, and we’ll sort travel arrangements accordingly.
Best,
Laura
I read it twice before it sinks in. They want me to go with them. My first reaction is pure, giddy excitement, the kind that shoots straight through my chest. Then, as quickly as it comes, it tangles with panic. Travel? Accommodation? Food? My brain starts adding up costs before I’ve even finished the email. There’s no mention of payment, and I’ve learned the hard way what “we’ll handle arrangements” can mean in PR terms: exposure, not expenses.
Still, my pulse won’t calm down. This is work that could lead somewhere. And, my traitorous brain adds, he’ll be there. Cal.
I grab my phone before I can talk myself out of it.
Rose: Hey. So Laura just emailed me. She’s asked if I want to come to Glasgow with the team this weekend to shoot the away game. Is that normal? Or a weird one-off?
The waiting feels endless. I stare at the screen so long the brightness dims and my reflection stares back at me, hair a mess, eyes tired. When the phone finally vibrates, I almost drop it.
Cal: Normal. Means you impressed them.
I smile, though I try not to.
Rose: Right. I just wasn’t sure if it’s something I should say yes to. It’s a long trip and not sure I can afford the travel and hotel stuff on short notice.
His reply comes fast this time.
Cal: They’ll cover all costs. Transport, hotel, food. You’re working for them, remember?
Rose: Still feels weird. Like I’m crashing a private thing.
Cal: You’re not. It’s good for the team. And good for you. You should come.
Rose: You sound very sure about that.
Cal: Because I am.
There’s a pause, then another message.
Cal: I’ll talk to Laura and make sure everything’s cleared. Don’t stress about logistics. Just bring your camera.
I reread that last sentence, my chest tightening in a way that feels both thrilling and terrifying. I want to say something flirty back, something light, but instead I just stare at his words until the letters blur.
The rest of the day passes in a haze of half-done tasks. I charge my camera batteries, check my lenses, back up files. The rhythm of it calms me a little. Every few minutes, I catch myself smiling. I keep imagining what it’ll be like, being on the team bus, watching the game from behind the glass, seeing him in his element. The thought makes me restless and giddy, and then guilty for feeling that way.
Clara, my best friend, Face Times me that evening, hair wrapped in a towel, eyebrows already raised before I say a word. “You look suspiciously happy,” she says.
“I got invited to shoot the Panthers’ away game,” I say, trying for nonchalant, but failing completely.
Her grin spreads. “No way. That’s amazing! Wait, Cal’s team, right?”
“Yeah.”
The grin turns sly. “So, you’re telling me you’re spending the weekend surrounded by hot hockey players, including the one who makes you blush every time he texts?”
