Page 10 of Broken As Puck

“Is there anything else you need?” my boss, Stella Smith, asked as we double-checked the backdrop for the player profile photos was positioned exactly where it was supposed to be.

“No, I think I got it under control.” To tell the truth, I was pretty nervous. This would be the first time I worked one-on-one with the players, and it could set the tone for the rest of the season. I needed today to go well.

“You’re sure we’re better off taking the photos here than on the ice?” she asked, cocking her hip as she studied the fabric backdrop. It had been styled to look like ice and, while not particularly exciting in itself, it would provide a nice background for the portraits that would allow viewers to focus on the player rather than whatever was around them.

“I’m certain. For one thing, it means the pictures for all of them will be consistent. For another, we can control the lighting here.” I’d already set up lights to illuminate the faces of the players in a flattering way without casting them into harsh relief. “Doing them here means we won’t have any distractions in the back of the photos, and it will reduce the chance of photobombing.”

Stella pulled a face. At the end of the day, many professional athletes could behave like overgrown children. They worked hard, so they liked to play hard too, and from what I knew of this team, they didn’t always know when to stop. Photobombing wasn’t out of the question.

“Lastly, we’re less of an interruption to the training here.”

She sighed. “Yeah, Coach Dunn is happy to do whatever needs doing, but if we can avoid inconveniencing him, that would be best.”

“I’ll be back up in the office once I’ve got photos of all the players.”

She nodded and headed upstairs, where the corporate offices for the Chicago Chaos were housed. I sat on the chair against the wall to the side of the backdrop, unhooked my camera from around my neck, and switched it on to check the settings.

Once I was ready, I wandered over and stood outside the changing rooms to greet the players as they arrived. As they funneled past me, I asked each one to come around the corner and get their photo taken once they were changed and before they went onto the ice. I’d timed things well because the first player emerged in their gear after I’d already spoken to the better part of the team.

“Are we doing this?” Daniel Elliott asked, his stick in one hand and his helmet in the other.

I dithered, uncertain. If Elliott was ready for his photos, then I needed to do them before he became impatient. However, there were still a few players to arrive, and someone needed to tell them to find me before joining the others.

Elliott glanced behind me. “Morning, Matthews.”

My stomach dropped. Just great. I’d known I couldn’t avoid Matt all day, but it had been pretty good getting started without him. I turned toward him and dipped my head in acknowledgment.

He looked between us, a furrow forming between his fair eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

“I’m taking photos this morning,” I said, getting into it before Elliott could. The sooner I was away from Matt, the better. “Elliott is ready to get going, but someone needs to tell the rest of the team to each come see me before they start training.”

Matt shrugged and a lazy grin spread across his face. “I’ll do it.”

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to owe him, but I also didn’t see a better alternative. If not him, then someone else would end up doing it, and then I would look petty for refusing his help.

“That would be great,” I forced myself to say. “Thank you.”

He flashed me the smile that used to make me weak at the knees. “No worries.”

I led Elliott to the backdrop and showed him where to stand.

“Helmet on or off?” he asked.

“Off.” It would be better if the fans could see the players’ faces, especially with guys like Elliott, who were easy on the eyes.

I aimed the camera at him and fiddled with a dial until the focus was just right. I snapped a few photographs before asking him to change his position and put down his helmet. We did a few that were serious and a few where I asked him to smile and goof around a bit. People reacted well to seeing their idols relaxed. It made them seem more human.

When I had enough, I showed him the ones I intended to use and gave him a form to fill out to approve them. Another player, Rasmussen—whose first name I couldn’t remember—was waiting to go next.

I worked through the players one by one, getting each of them to agree to the use of a serious pose and a more playful pose in the team’s marketing. Some of the players were friendly, some were obviously impatient to get on the ice, and one or two were curt but did as I asked while grumbling under their breath.

Then there was Jesse Young. He was in a category all his own. The man flirted as easily as he breathed—despite the warning from his coach to be professional—and it was almost completely impossible to gauge his sincerity. He winked and dished out compliments, and I couldn’t tell if he was like that with everyone or if he’d act on the flirtation if I gave any hint I might be interested.

Fortunately, he was just a flirt and not a creep, so I didn’t feel uncomfortable. He was too playful, too boyish, to unsettle me. He also gave me the best photos of anyone so far. The fangirls would go crazy for him.

I knew the team’s previous management had done all they could to keep him out of the limelight because of his reckless behavior, but I wasn’t sure that was the best decision. He had all the makings of a fan favorite if managed properly. He was charismatic, outgoing, and good-looking in a relatively nonthreatening way.

Unlike Drew McKinley, who was currently scowling at me from his position in front of the backdrop, his messy hair flopping over his face and his eyes narrowed as if I’d personally pissed him off.