the offer
1242 Words
The Falcons' training facility was bigger than I expected. Everything smelled like ice, coffee and expensive sports equipment.
I was halfway through checking my camera when a puck slammed into the glass beside me.
I jumped. A laugh came from the ice.
“Sorry.”
I looked up. Nate Callahan was skating toward me.
I’d seen pictures of him. Pictures never did him justice. He was taller than I expected, broad through the shoulders, with dark hair falling messily over his forehead. And those eyes. Gray. Almost silver.
He stopped in front of the glass. “You’re Avery.”
I lowered my camera. “You’re Nate.”
His mouth twitched. “I was hoping you’d be less intimidating.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You look like you could murder someone with that camera.”
I looked at the camera in my hands. “Maybe I can.”
He smiled. “Good.”
Then he skated away. I stood there for a second. What the hell?
The photoshoot started twenty minutes later in a side room they had cleared for us. Softboxes, a white backdrop, a couple of chairs that looked too clean for a hockey facility. Nate walked in still in half his gear, pads off, hair damp, that same half-smile like he already knew this was going to be a problem.
He was impossible. He refused half the poses. Complained about the lighting. Made faces whenever I tried to photograph him.
And somehow, every picture looked good.
“Stop smiling,” I told him.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m charming.”
“You’re annoying.”
He grinned.
“That too.”
I adjusted the softbox and tried again. He shifted his weight, arms crossed, looking past the camera like the whole setup bored him.
“What happened to your photography career?” he asked.
My hands stopped on the lens.
“Excuse me?”
“I saw your old work.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“Online.”
“How?”
He shrugged.
“I looked.”
There was something about the way he said it that made my pulse jump.
“You researched me?”
“I wanted to know who was going to photograph me.”
That sounded reasonable. Probably. I raised the camera again. “Most people just ask for a portfolio.”
“Most people aren’t me.”
“That’s not the flex you think it is.”
He laughed under his breath.
“Maybe not.”
The shoot continued. I moved around him, changing angles, waiting for the moments when the practiced arrogance slipped and something real showed up in his face. He noticed the ring on my right hand before I did.
“You’re engaged?”
I looked down. It was an old habit. I’d forgotten to take the ring off.
“No.”
His expression changed. “Then why are you wearing it?”
I slipped it off and dropped it into my pocket. “I forgot.”
He looked at the place where the ring had been.
Then at me.
“You forget a lot about him?”
I frowned.
“Who?”
“Your ex.”
I stared.
“How do you know about Mason?”
His jaw tightened.
“Everyone knows about Mason.”
There was something else in his expression.
Something I couldn’t read.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
I lowered the camera.
“If this is some rivalry thing, you can find another photographer. I’m not here to be a statement.”
“Who said you were?”
“You requested me specifically. Don’t pretend that doesn’t mean something.”
He stepped closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that the air felt different. Damn that tension.
“I requested you because your old work was better than anything else they showed me. Clean. Honest. You didn’t try to make people look like something they weren’t. I need that.”
“And the fact that I used to be with the guy you hate is just a bonus?”
“I don’t hate him.”
“Could’ve fooled the entire league.”
Nate’s mouth flattened.
“Mason and I have history. That doesn’t mean I’m using you to score points. If I wanted to get under his skin I’d do it on the ice.”
“Then why bring him up at all?”
“Because you still wear his ring without thinking. Because the second I said his name your whole body went tight. Because if we’re going to work together I need to know you’re not going to freeze every time someone mentions him.”
I felt heat climb up my neck.
“I won’t freeze.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Stay. Finish the shoot. Take the job if they offer it. And stop looking at me like I’m about to turn into him.”
I raised the camera again because it was easier than answering.
“You’re not him.”
“Good.”
We shot for another twenty minutes. He still complained. He still made faces. But the complaints got quieter, and the faces stopped looking like performance. I caught one frame where he was looking straight at the lens with no smile at all, just that silver-gray focus, and something in my chest reacted before I could stop it.
Before I could ask anything else, a photographer from another outlet called his name from the hallway. Nate ignored him.
“Avery.”
“What?”
“If you work with me, I need you to promise me something.”
I waited.
“Don’t let them turn you into someone you’re not.”
I laughed softly. “Isn’t that what these photos are for?”
“No.”
He looked directly at me.
“They’re for showing people who I really am. Not the nightclub version. Not the guy who walks out of interviews. The real one. I need someone who can see that without trying to fix it first.”
For some reason, I believed him. Then his phone rang. He checked the screen. His face changed instantly.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer. He walked away, already talking low into the phone, one hand pressed to the back of his neck.
I watched him go. The room felt larger without him in it. I packed the lenses slowly, trying not to replay every second of the conversation. The ring in my pocket felt heavier than it should have.
Five minutes later, Olivia came rushing into the room.
“Avery.”
“What?”
She looked pale.
“The Falcons changed the campaign.”
“How?”
“They don’t just want photographs anymore.”
She swallowed.
“They want Nate to have a girlfriend.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The sponsors think it’ll help his image. Soften him. Make him look settled. Like the kind of guy who goes to charity events with someone on his arm instead of leaving nightclubs alone at two in the morning.”
I laughed, but it came out thin. “That’s not my problem.”
Olivia looked at me. “I know.” She hesitated. “But Nate already chose who he wants.”
My stomach dropped. “Who?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD