“Can you stay and take some action shots of warm up? And come back for a game to get some game night shots?” Apollo is way more enthusiastic than I’d expect. Does hereallyenjoy getting his picture taken? Or is he simply creating opportunities for me to be in Raffi’s space.
From the twinkle in his eye, Apollo’s new name should be Cupid.
“What, no black tie event you want some candids taken at?” The sarcasm drips from my voice, but the team captain’s face lights up like I turned on a light switch.
“Oh. Maybe.”
My stomach swoops. “I was kidding.”
“Don’t joke about things with the de la Peñas, Firecracker. They host those kinds of parties all the time.”
“Been a while though.” Ares pipes up from wherever he’s been quietly lurking. Traitor. “We’re overdue.”
“Dad’s company does annual headshots too.” Artemis chimes in from behind Ares.
They’re all in fucking cahoots. Meddling pricks.
Beautiful meddling pricks. I won’t need to do much to these photos when I get them onto the computer.
This situation is escalating. I’m not going to turn down business, but this feels awfully like charity, and I’m going to have to make sure they’re not creating opportunities to give me money just for shits and giggles.
They at least need to see mywork first.
“She doesn’t look amused.” Ares is pretty observant. I’m guessing my resting bitch face is in full force right now.
“I don’t want charity.”
Apollo snorts. Artemis pulls out his phone and opens a browser to the very rudimentary website I threw together. “You need to improve your website, Tori. It doesn’t do what it should to showcase your talent. And you need more portfolio pictures loaded so people can see the work you do.”
“You’ve looked at my website?”
Apollo nods. “I know we have a reputation for being lavish, but we don’t throw away cash. If you were a shitty photographer, we wouldn’t hire you.”
“No matter who wants in your pants.” Ares grunts as Apollo elbows him in the gut. “Fuck. Ouch. It’s true though.” Ares rubs at his stomach.
“It is true. You have an eye for a good shot, and we have photography needs.” Artemis is so matter of fact.
“Plus, we like keeping it in the family if we can.” Apollo tips his head to Raffi.
I can’t tell if they’re epic bullshitters or savvy businessmen. There’s a pretty good chance they’re both. What, if anything, has Raffi told them? Do they know he has a child? Do they know he forgot I ever existed?
Either way, they seem like genuinely nice guys, and if they’re paying a photographer for work anyway, there’s no reason it shouldn’t be me. They’re right—I’m damn good at what I do, even if it’s not what I set out to do when I first came to college.
Apollo claps his hands. “All right, get your asses on the ice before Coach has my head.”
Raffi kisses my cheek before grabbing his stick and helmet and skating out into the rink for practice. I’ve never seen a hockey practice before. As I walk around the arena snappingpictures of the players, the coaching staff, the equipment, I’m in awe. I can’t believe how much the coach rides their asses.
These guys are incredible athletes, pushing their bodies, and probably spirits, to the breaking point. I don’t know how any of them can walk by the time the session is done. And they have to train independently at the gym and play games on top of it.
It’s grueling.
I can barely lift six sets of one hundred pound hexagonal deadlifts with Phil at the gym, while these guys are literally skating circles around me. It’s incredible.
But it’s also unsustainable. Why would they put their body to such extreme physical trauma? How many of them will go on to be pro hockey players? How many play because they love it?
So many questions swim around my brain as Raffi makes his way over to me. “You hanging around?”
“Do you have plans?” I feel like a bashful teen asking a boy out for the first time. My skin prickles with heat as I wait for his answer.
