When Aria Monroe lands her dream job as the new photographer for Los Angeles's professional hockey team, the last thing she expects is to work with the cocky, arrogant center Connor Holden who rocked her world five years ago during a one-night stand...
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The California Cyclones had their first game tonight—a home game. I'd been aware of the constant traveling I'd have to do for the away games, and I was ecstatic. Since I was a kid, I dreamed of traveling and experiencing new places, but my parents didn't have the money growing up. Not that we were ever poor, but we didn't have the finances to go on extravagant trips, and I understood it. I never held it against them.
But last night, I reviewed the schedule for the multiple away games and felt an overwhelming sense of...nerves. The only place I'd ever traveled to was the Maldives with Esme and her family, but I had been with people. It's not like Brian would be traveling to every away game, nor would I expect him to. This is a big girl job, which means I have to travel alone. I'll be fine.
Everything will be fine.
The game is an hour from starting, and the stadium is already filled with rowdy fans drinking beer and shoving their faces with popcorn, creating a sea of white and black. I arrived early to ensure I got a view of the layout, attempting to determine where the best pictures should be taken, but truthfully, it's going to be a trial run tonight.
Although I graduated from college with a degree in photography, I've never shot professional athletes before. My work mostly stemmed from doing senior portraits or the occasional wedding, but never something as big as this. I'm fully aware that if Brian weren't the team's manager, I wouldn't have this job. My experience is non-existent compared to others.
"Where's your jersey?" Brian asks, coming to stand beside me.
My gaze strays to my jeans and a long-sleeved fitted shirt I put on while I was rushing to leave. Suddenly, my mouth seems dry. "I didn't know I was supposed to wear it," I admit, realizing how stupid it sounds as soon as it leaves my mouth. Of course, I'd be expected to wear it. It's their first home game!
One side of Brian's lips curves up. "Follow me," he says. "We keep extras in the locker room."
Guilt inks itself into my skin, crawling its way up my throat as I follow him into a hallway inside the stadium. I just started this job, and I've already fucked up in more ways than I can count. Brian put himself on the line for me, and I promised I wouldn't let him down. Not thinking to wear a jersey to the game was a stupid call on my part. One I won't make again.
"The team loved the headshots," he says, surprising me. "Everyone keeps raving about them. You even got Cal to smile. That's rare."
Cal, who I learned is another defenseman akin to Matti, seemed to be thoroughly annoyed about having to take headshots. The entire team was talking shit about Connor when he left for his interview, and when I added my two cents, not caring if my words carried back to him, the defenseman's lips tugged into a grin for a split second. I made sure to capture it.
I cling to the burst of pride that floods me as I say, "Well, I'm glad they liked them."
Brian pushes the door open to the locker room, completely unaffected by the men half-naked. I shield my face as he leads us to a grey storage closet in the back corner, opening it up to a multitude of shirts and jerseys to choose from. "Take your pick."
