Page 44 of Playing it Safe

I sit. The ice is cold through the skirt, and I yelp. Keely captures the expression and says, "Perfect, that's the one."

Margeaux shows us the test shots on her laptop as we change back into regular clothes. Ducky, Tate, and Joey crowd behind me, making sounds that range from supportive to obscene.

The ice shots are good — I look fast, aggressive, and in control. Standard hockey photos, better lit. The bench shots in leggings feel like behind-the-scenes content, intimate yet tough.

But the skirt shots.

I stare at the screen. The woman in these photos has my face and my body, but she looks like someone who knows exactly what she's worth. My expression is — there's no other word for it — heat. Raw, certain, and alive.

"Can I send one of these to someone?" My voice comes out smaller than I intend it to.

Margeaux nods. “Sure, send one. Just not for posting."

I screenshot the one with my foot up, the quad catching the light, the Thigh Five tube beside me, and my face holding whatever thought Keely captured. I open my text thread with Cameron.

I type:

Had a photo shoot today. For an endorsement deal.

I attach the photo and hit send before I overthink it.

Three dots appear almost instantly.

Cameron

Briar.

A pause. More dots.

Cameron

What is that.

Thigh Five. The anti-chafe gel. They want us for their spring campaign.

Cameron