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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With Lacey's verbal warning about game day photos, I made sure I didn't miss them this time, arriving an hour early to wait for the team's bus to arrive at the arena. I wasn't the only one waiting for their arrival with other paparazzi stationed alongside the barricades and random girls around my age who obviously had connections to be here.
The girls couldn't stop talking about Connor and what he'd be wearing to tonight's game, and, despite my best efforts, I couldn't shake the lingering feeling of jealousy. This weird territorial part of me wanted to tell them to shut up, and why do I feel this way? It's not like I have any right to stake a claim on him. Sure, Connor mentioned we'd buy a house together someday, but when it boils down to it, that's just what he says to get into a girl's pants. We're not together. We're just...
I'm pulled from my thoughts when the bus arrives at the curb, the girls trying but failing to hide their squeals of excitement. I roll my eyes as I squat down and ready my camera, waiting for the doors to open. And when they do...
Holy
Fucking
Shit.
One after one, the boys file out dressed in their best outfits. I mentally curse myself for not capturing these looks the last time because...wow. I can see why Lacey was pissed. The thirst traps these men are giving...
Levi comes down in a maroon-tailored suit that seems painted on his body. His white smile is radiant against his deep, tan skin. I capture it instantly, and his eyes flicker to the shutters, sending me a wink. "Nice to see you, Aria."
I send a quick wave. "Hi, Levi. Good luck tonight."
With a salute, he stops to sign one of the shirts a girl is waving in front of him before disappearing behind the doors. Connor is next, and his eyes are fixated on mine as he steps off the bus. He knows what type of shot I need. That, or he's teasing me just for the hell of it. In a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a loose-fitted t-shirt, a silver chain dangles from his neck, and a backward white ball cap holds back his curls. He stares straight into the lens, knowing I'm looking, and with a seductive little grin, he removes his hat to rake a hand through his curls, shaking them out before he replaces it. He's chewing a piece of gum, his jawline working overtime, and I swear, I've never seen a more attractive man.
The girls beside me are overjoyed as they call out his name, damn near about to have a heart attack. At first, I thought they were being dramatic, but now, as Connor sends a wink right into the lens, I can't say I blame them.
He strides for the door, and I'm expecting him to acknowledge the girls in some way, but all he does is dip a chin in their direction before he stops right in front of me, one of his dimples poking out. "You're drooling, baby," he teases.
"Correction: you wish I was drooling."
He shrugs, his eyes dipping down to my generic jersey. The one without his number on it. "Disappointing," he mutters. "The number three looked so good on you."
