I’m sure she’d give me anything I want if I give her the right smile. Unfortunately for her, she isn’t the woman I want something from. “I came with my own expert, so I think I’ll be well guided.”
My hand comes down on Winter’s lower back, just hovering enough to feel her body heat soak into my palm without actually touching her. Nonetheless, she stiffens and stands a little straighter.
Her eyes bounce from me to Kayleigh before clearing her throat. “Our original photographer had a family emergency, so our backup is running a little late,” she explains to the executive director, still giving me bedroom eyes.
Kayleigh’s focus is on where my hand is, and I can tell she isn’t very happy with the current placement. “Why don’t you wait here to make sure we don’t miss them, then? I’ll show Moskins around to familiarize him with our setup and explain how today is going to go.”
I begin to protest, but Winter steps away from me with a nod. “That’s fine. I’ll meet you as soon as they arrive.”
Kayleigh puts a hand on my arm, and the touch is a little too forward. Normally, I like that with women. There’s no point wasting time if all two people want is to get off in the end. I’d rather they not mince words or expect pretty pleasantries.
But her touch isn’t the welcome one I want.
So, I move my arm away and reach over to brush Oreo’s fur despite the bastard’s protests. “I will be right back. Take care of my cat for me.”
Kayleigh perks up. “That cutie is yours? She is—” She jerks back when Oreo swats at her with her murder mittens. Guess I’m not the only one she doesn’t like. “—adorable.”
Her voice is strained and forced when she finishes off the very fake compliment. We both know that’s not what she’s thinking.
But I say, “I know,” anyway.
All while staring at Winter.
*
Dodging women’s advancesisn’t necessarily something I’m used to, so I deserve a gold medal for the work I do to avoid the director’s more than friendly touches throughout the day. I don’t like it. Just like I don’t like the dark colors on her nails that aren’t bright or fun or meaningful like they are on Winter’s. She probably painted them for fun. Winter painted them for a purpose.
It’s easier to avoid Kayleigh when the photographer, who happens to be none other than my head coach’s wife, shows up full of repetitive apologies and her service dog trailing besideher. “So sorry, everyone. I’m a last-minute fill-in for today because the original photographer had to pull out.”
Honor, with the golden retriever standing next to her with his service vest on, sticks out her hand to me. “Hi, Moskins. I hope you don’t mind that I stepped in. When I heard today might not go as planned, I offered my services. Don’t worry. I won’t make you pose or force you to smile because I don’t want your scowl to break my camera.”
I huff out a laugh at her sarcasm. I’ve only been around the redhead a few times, and it’s easier to see she’s become more comfortable in social settings. She used to be more reserved. Civil, like she didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I like that she isn’t holding back. She’ll need that, being surrounded by a bunch of brutes like us.
“That’s good,” I muse. Because the cold shoulder I’ve been getting from Winter since Kayleigh pulled me away hasn’t particularly put me in a smiley mood. Part of me likes that she’s jealous enough to react. The other is pissed off that she won’t even look at me. If she did, she’d realize I’m not returning the advances.
“They better be paying you good money to do this,” I say, making small talk with Honor. “Bodhi mentioned how busy your studio has been lately.”
Honor beams as she sets up her camera, testing it by snapping a few pictures around the room. “I don’t mind doing side gigs like this because it keeps my connections fresh. If someone I know hears about certain events happening, they’ll refer me as the photographer. So if it means moving around my schedule a little, then it works out in the end. A paycheck is a paycheck.”
Bodhi Hoffman talked more about his wife’s success when I met with him to speak to Mikhail a few weeks ago than he did about his own. It doesn’t matter that he’s heading his own NHLteam and getting mad money for it. The only thing he really cares about is Honor’s booming studio photography business.
I get it, though. My old team didn’t know much about my personal life, but they sure as hell knew that my wife put herself through medical school. She didn’t expect me to contribute, even when I got my contract with the Penguins. I saw the grueling hours it took for her to get where she is now, and I didn’t let people take away the credit where it was due. I may have helped her study a little, but her success is hers and hers alone. That’s exactly how Bodhi is with Honor.
Winter is silent more than she isn’t after Honor starts, only speaking to our famed photographer when she needs to. It’s easy to see that she’s mad at me, and the reaction is comical at best.
It tells me exactly what I want to know. That she’s impacted by me as much as I am by her. I want to say,it’s not fun, is it?I want to make a comment that will make her blush. Maybe one that will make her glare and flip me off.
Instead, I behave like the good little boy I am, no matter how much I want to mess with the glowering blonde watching from the sidelines in frumpy clothes that do little for her figure. Is she trying to seem unappealing? Because not even the oversized shirt tucked into the worn pair of pants can make me uninterested at this point.
I shake hands and smile, and even sign a few pieces of paper when young fans come in. Outside of the professional shots Honor gets, I take pictures with a couple of the volunteers for their social media and a few kids who tell me they plan on buying my new Fireflies jersey once it goes on sale because I’m their favorite hockey player.
It’s a gentle reminder that people give a shit, despite what Mikhail or the media thinks. I may not be the best person, but I’m a damn good player. The fans who watch know that I’ve gotsomething not everybody has. I need to make sure I don’t totally fuck that up.
I go about the day helping sort through donations to check their expiration dates, stock shelves, and assist between the drive-thru and in-person distributions, all while Winter watches me with my kitten in her hand and her lips pressed into a line that tries not to give too much away.
Sucks for her because that expression says more than she wants to admit.
She’s jealous.
