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“You let me know if you need anything,” he tells her, though we all know he’s no longer talking about this project.
“Right,” Coach says, moving this along. “As long as you girls stay out of the way while they’re training, there will be no problems.”
“Got it, Coach,” Dani says. “Do you mind if we take a few photos after training?”
Coach shrugs his shoulders as if to say he really doesn’t give a fuck, as long as it doesn’t impose on his schedule. “Sure,” he grunts, turning his attention back to us. “Get on with it.”
Not wanting to earn his wrath, we break away and get straight back into our training, but I find myself watching Dani every chance I get. My gaze is transfixed on her movements, the way she flicks her hair over her shoulder when it falls in her face, the way she stands and focuses the lens of her camera with such precision it could knock me over.
I know one thing—I won’t stop until I have this girl in my bed.
An hour later, we wrap up the most enjoyable training session I’ve ever suffered through, and I head into the locker room. The boys are a mess, dripping with sweat and grumbling non-stop after I kicked their asses on the ice. They all talk animatedly about Dani and Sophie, naturally making bets on who’s going to tap that fine ass first. We all know Tank has already been there, but what I didn’t expect was to hear him tell them all to knock it off. Maybe this chick was a better lay than he let on, or worse, she’s already set up shop in his head.
I take my skates off, and after ridding myself of my sweaty uniform, I grab a towel and head into the shower with one thing on my mind.
Chapter 3
Danielle
“Holy shit,” Sophie laughs as the boys file off the ice and head toward the locker room. “I knew Tank must have been an athlete, but the hockey team? Fuck! There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep it to a one-time thing now.”
I laugh at her misery. “I think we have bigger problems,” I say, glancing down at Coach Harris. “He hates us. He’s probably waiting for us to screw up so he can kick us out of here.”
“He’ll come around. Once this gets going and he sees some results, he’ll be all for it,” she promises. “Now get your ass downstairs and get a photo of them in the locker room.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “What?” I squeak, slightly panicked. The thought of going into that STD-infested locker room makes my skin crawl. “No way. I’m not going in there.”
“You have to,” she encourages. “You’re the photographer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m coming with you, but you’re the one with the skills, Missy. Now, get off your ass.”
“Fine,” I grumble as I get up. “Why do you need a photo of them in the locker room?”
Sophie scoffs and mutters under her breath. “So I can add it to my spank bank.”
“Be serious,” I scold, swatting her shoulder.
Soph lets out a sigh and glances back at me as we trail back down the stairs of the grandstand. “I think we need something exciting to kick it off, and the boys’ locker room has always been taboo, prohibited, dark, and downright disgusting. But we have a chance to break that stereotype. It’s the Garden of Eden and all the ladies will be dying to know what kind of fruit it holds. So, we’re going to give them exactly what they want.”
I smirk at her reasoning, but I can’t dispute her. The girl has a point.
We make our way downstairs and search out the boys’ locker room, but it’s not hard. We just follow the scent of man-sweat until we find ourselves cowering in front of the door.
I go to knock to warn them we’re here, but Sophie barges straight by me, not hesitating even a bit. “Cover up, boys. We’re coming in,” she announces, pushing her way through the door.
Ahh, fuck.
I hastily follow behind, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. I don’t know why I feel so embarrassed about being here, but damn it, I am.
Keeping my eyes down, I try to give them a little privacy, but as Sophie chats and giggles away, I realize these boys don’t have a single fuck to give. They’re all confident in what they’ve been blessed with, and from what I can see, they damn well should be.
Sophie begins to explain what we want to the half-naked boys, so they huddle around, ready for a photo with their ripped bods on full display. “Hold on,” Tank calls. “We’re missing Miller.”
A few of the boys moan and tell us to get on with it, but Tank insists we wait. After all, Miller is the captain, and what locker room photo would be complete without him?
