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.
“We have book club today, but I have time for a coffee if you’d like.”
“And food.” I point at him. There’s no way he’s trained that hard and doesn’t need food. This guy eats twenty four seven. He could have just eaten and still would find room for a snack.
“Always. My girl gets me.”
I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his teammates and friends. And honestly I’m not sure I can handle the globs of sweat trickling down his face and dropping from his nose and chin.
“Go shower. You smell.”
“And they say romance is dead.”
“No chance of me being romantic when you smell like that.”
“Fair point.” He gives me a casual wink before heading into the locker room and I snap a few shots of the Zambonis as they come out to resurface the ice.
Would Wyatt like skating? Is it something you’re born with an affinity for? I’d absolutely fall on my ass, but if my kid’s dad is as graceful as a fucking ballet dancer on the ice does that mean Wyatt would have wicked skating skills too?
Waiting out in front of the rink, I scroll through the photos on my camera. The screen is small so I don’t see the entire picture, but I’ve caught a couple of close up sincere shots of the guys during practice. Their smiles are genuine, their loyalty and trust clear in how they look at each other. And I can’t help but laugh at Apollo and Artemis giving Ares a noogie after making a great save.
The warmth from the team radiates from my tiny screen. It’s so wholesome, and when they’re not all stern-stare concentrating, they’re smiling and laughing with each other. I’d love to submit these photos for a human interest story on team dynamics. I had no idea what it was like until I stepped into their space. It’s easy to see why Raffi loves these people.
“That’s a good one.”
Ares’s voice scares the fuck out of me. I almost drop the camera but clutch it harder instead, my knuckles turning white.
“It’s easy when you have a handsome subject though, no?” he says.
I don’t know whether to roll my eyes, smack him, or message Eloise to tell her to control her boy toy. Either way, the goalie laughs at my reaction.
“How is he?”
Oh. He’s here for a purpose. What the hell do I do with that?
“Raffi?”
“Sí.”
“I…uh…”
