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“All I see is a lot of naked,” I said dryly to him. Marcel chuckled beside me.
“Oui, oui, naked strength,” he said, giving his body a small shimmy. “We unveil to the world the two newest, best teams in their leagues. And we show them strength,” he said, his arm pumping toward the ceiling.
“Pierre, I’ll be showing the world more than I’ve shown my own mother in the last ten years. This is too much.”
He shook his head and tossed his scarf over his shoulder. “Non, Gigi, I disagree. To get the world’s attention we need to be a little, you know, risqué.” His head shook from side to side.
“The girls clothing are somewhat more risqué than the guys,” I muttered.
“Ah, oui, vive le difference!” he said, throwing both hands up in the air. This had the unfortunate consequence of causing him to slip back again. Marcel and I both stopped his fall.
“Look, Gigi, I understand where you’re coming from,” Marcel said, looking down at me. “Angelique approved the costumes herself. She will have final say in the pictures, I guarantee you. But if you refuse to be a part of this photo shoot—I know she will be more than disappointed.”
Damn. He had to bring up his wife—who I’d also do anything for. Even wear a skimpy, stupid costume in front of a bunch of leering idiots. I was sure once she saw the pictures—and how much skin they showed—she’d overrule this stylist in a second.
I sighed as my shoulders slouched forward, along with my head. “Fine.”
Pierre cheered and said, “Horray, come wit me! I will fix you up quick.”
I thankedmy lucky stars I was a regular waxer. If not—yikes.
No need to leave anything to the imagination. Nope. Everything I had was completely out on display.
I couldn’t hide my heavy-duty bra and sports bra underneath this tiny contraption. The only thing Pierre let me wear were silicone nipple covers, because as he said, “The rink is cold, yes?”
Yeah, the rink was cold and now it was going to be freezing.
My hair was out to there, and my makeup was dark and sultry. It looked like I was ready to jump on a pole rather than jump onto the ice.
“Oh, magnifique, Gigi. You are utter gorgeous perfection,” Pierre said, bringing his fingers to his mouth and kissing the tips before flexing them out into jazz hands.
Surely Angelique would see how ridiculous we looked, right? This could not be how she’d want her team to be portrayed. Once she saw how her “girls” were dressed, she would burn these photos.
At least that was what I was hoping for.
Once I stepped out on the rink, the guys’ talking stopped. Their heads all twisted in my direction.
I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been more self conscious. Instant panic swelled up inside of me. Men could be pigs—I was no stranger to that newsflash. I drew in a shallow breath and kept walking.
Mother Nature had “blessed” me with a large cup size from a young age. Unfortunately, sports and boobs didn’t go well together. Over the years I’d learned how to wear two bras, strap them in as best I could and call it a day.
During the day I wore a lot of loose tops and hoodies. Which I was quickly realizing wouldn’t really cut it in the Vegas heat. Where I came from, our summers were short. The rest of the year was definitely hoodie acceptable weather.
Letting it all hang out was not something I was used to. Even though I worked on keeping my body in tip top shape—it was one of my prime objectives, each and every day—that didn’t mean I wanted every Tom, Dick, and Harry staring at me.
Eating the right things, exercising, and meditating were top priorities. The only thing I wasn’t that great about was getting enough sleep. But that really couldn’t be helped.
Wearing a sexy bodysuit that showed more than it covered was—well—uncomfortable to say the least.
As I made my way to the rest of my team, I heard a man’s voice say, “Jesus, would you look at that rack?” I bit down on my tongue in anger. If I’d been wearing more clothes, I swear I would have gone over there and found out who it was and socked him right in the junk.
However, I was particularly devoid of clothing at the moment, so I chose to ignore the comment.
“Gigi, you look hot, girl,” Jillian said, and all the girls joined in with whistles and catcalls. Jerks.
“Shut it. I look ridiculous,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest in a failed attempt to conceal them.
She smiled over at me and said, “Nah uh, you look hot. Half those guys had to adjust themselves as you walked past them.”
