3. Date

I was just getting out of the shower when I heard the clamor on the stairs. Under normal circumstances, I probably would have been scared that someone was either going to rob me or rape me, but with how crazy the day had been so far, nothing was going to surprise me.

At the party last night, I felt foolish and pushy as I passed out a business card to everyone I laid eyes on last night—until I ran out of all one hundred cards I had printed. It just felt silly to openly market myself like that. I would have preferred to let my work speak for itself. And on more than one occasion, I had been caught staring at the pictures I had taken myself, resting on my laurels and a job well done, but Doug had kept pushing me right back into the crowd to talk to as many people as I could.

The hard work had paid off though, because I had been fielding calls all morning from interested people. I guess once you shoot a famous person like Ryan Kesler, people start to take you seriously. I had been woken up by the phone ringing in my studio on the floor below, I had been up ever since. I had to text Doug on my cell while I chatted with a potential client on the land line in my studio and beg him to come in on a Saturday. Once he showed up right before lunch, I got a reprieve and sneaked away for a shower.

So no, I wasn’t exactly surprised to hear pounding on my apartment door as I tried to get out of the shower quickly without slipping and falling. At least I didn’t forget clothes in my haste, searching and coming up with a pair of sweats and a ratty tee shirt before I answered the relentless knocking.

“Yeah? Doug, what is so important that I couldn’t get ten minutes to myself?”

He was out of breath from obviously running up the stairs. “You’ve got a walk-in. Well, kinda, they’re just here to talk to you, see your portfolio, get prices.”

Shaking my head, I wondered what the big deal was. “You know all that stuff, dude. Show ’em a book, give ’em quotes. I’ll be down in a little bit.”

“’Manda, you don’t understand,” he insisted between short breaths. “It’s Tanner Glass and his fiancée, Emily. Kesler brought them here, he’s with them, and they’re all three down there waiting for you.”

My blood pressure spiked as I thought about another high-profile subject waiting for me in my own studio. I was practically salivating, itching to get to work. “Well, what are you standing here for? Don’t keep them waiting, Doug. Get them started and tell ’em I’ll be down in two seconds.”

“But....” He lowered his voice. “What rate do you want me to quote them?”

“The same rate we always quote.”

“But—”

I read his mind, so I cut him off. “It doesn’t change just because they’re rich. That’s not how you do good business. I’ll be right down, okay?”

I hurriedly found appropriate clothes to wear: I threw on underwear, boot cut jeans, and, for shits and giggles, the RK17 shirt. I braided my wet hair quickly and then stepped into my black Converse sneakers before I descended the stairs into the studio. With one deep breath, I steadied myself and plastered on a big smile. First Kesler, now Glass. If I could snag a clientele like this—Canucks and other high-end Vancouverites—I would be very happy with that.

“Hi, I’m Amanda Foster,” I announced, joining them in my studio. I shook hands with Tanner and Emily as they introduced themselves to me. Then I looked at Kesler, who was looking smokin’ hot as always, and said to him, “Nice to see you again, Ryan.”

He nodded back at me. “Hey, Amanda.”

The phone rang in the background. I knew that Doug wanted very much to be a part of this meeting, but when I looked at him, he slinked off and answered it like a good assistant. Sometimes I really did wish I could pay him like he deserved.

Turning my attention fully back to my potential clients, I asked, “So, what brings you by today?”

Emily smiled. “We’re going to be sending out our save-the-dates soon, and I’d love to have a picture to go with them. I looked through all our pictures, and I’d like something more up-to-date, something nicer looking. We all saw the RK17 pictures you did, and Ryan said he knew you and that you were good—”

“Only a miracle worker could get Kes to look like that. And if you can get that outta him,” Tanner chuckled, thumbing in Ryan’s direction, “then you should be able to make us look great.” Then he added, “Nice shirt. Kes, you pay her to wear that?”

“No, it was free.” I glanced at Ryan, who was rolling his eyes and shaking his head, so I tried to suppress the laughter that tickled the back of my throat and got back to business. “And I’ll certainly do what I can to make the two of you look your best.” I addressed Emily, figuring that she would be the one with an opinion in this matter. “So, tell me, is there anything in particular you were looking for? Did you have any ideas about what you wanted before you decided to come in?”

“Well, a little, but not really. I’d like to see what you can do.”

“Okay, well, I’ve got some photos that you can look through of portraits I’ve done before,” I explained, walking behind the desk and pulling a scrapbook out that was labeled engagement. I motioned toward a bench I had against the wall. We sat down together, and I opened the book so she could look through it. “These are all standard, but we can always work together to get something you like, something you’ll be happy with. Something individual to you,” I further explained, trying to figure out what I had to say to win her over and get their business. “Maybe Tanner in his Canucks jersey? Or, even better, the two of you in your respective Dartmouth jerseys.”

Her eyes lit up, and I knew I had her with that last idea. The only reason I knew that at all was from Carla, who could regurgitate a gazillion factoids about any and all of the Canuck players, including information about their personal lives and loved ones. It was going to pay off, listening to her.

Emily looked at Tanner for approval, but I could already tell that I nailed it, and soon we were scheduling an appointment for them on Monday before the Canucks were leaving on a road trip. I was penciling them into my calendar when Tanner asked, “So are you gonna airbrush us like you did with Kes here?”

I laughed, unable to hold it in. “Well, I didn’t airbrush his pictures. There’re all him.”

“I told you,” Emily teased her fiancé with a sing-song lilt in her voice.

“I know, man, that you don’t want to accept that I’m such a stud,” Ryan replied with a smug smirk.

“Whatever,” Glass muttered. Once they were booked for Monday at two, they were out the door and I was excited.

Ryan smiled at me, and I returned it. He looked so good when he smiled. He told me, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought them down here. Emily and I were talking when she stopped by the rink after practice, and, well, one thing led to another....”

“No, it’s fine,” I admitted. “Great, in fact. Since last night, my phone’s been ringing like crazy.” I waved at Doug, who was still talking away. “All those cards I passed out, the word of mouth, it’s... well, crazy. We’ve never been so busy here.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, right?”

“It’s great!” I repeated. I didn’t want to tell him that business was finally picking up after I had opened the studio just six months ago. It wasn’t like I had dollar signs for eyes, because it wasn’t about the money; it was about making enough money so I could viably make a career out of what had merely started as a hobby over ten years ago. “And really, I have you to thank for it. Shooting you last month has opened a lot of doors for me.”

He smiled again, and I really liked seeing him smile at me. His next words surprised me. “We should celebrate, then. How would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

My answer came easily. “I would like that very much.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at six?”

I nodded and then watched him leave, waiting for him to go before I sighed. Things were going so good lately that I could hardly stand it. I was very excited for my date with Ryan, but—and as bad as this might sound—I was more excited to go out for a nice meal. It had been a long time since I had eaten anything other than cheap ramen or Carla’s leftovers.

Luckily for me, Doug was on the phone the whole time so he ignored my conversation with Ryan. The line died down after two, so I let him go home as I turned the answering machine back on and headed up to my apartment. Carla was getting dressed for her shift at the bar. I asked her for her opinion on what I should wear for my date that night, but I didn’t explain that it was a date with Ryan Kesler. It was bad enough trying to talk about the pictures I had taken of him around her without almost drowning in her drool.
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I glanced over the menu one last time, but I knew what I’d be ordering. “I’ll have the rib steak, medium, with a side of asparagus and a baked potato. And can I have a mixed green salad, too?”

“Sure thing,” the waitress politely replied, jotting down my request. Then she turned to Amanda and asked, “And for you?”

I watched Amanda as she scanned the menu again. She looked nice in a pair of black jeans and a bright green sweater, but not overly done up like she was trying really hard, which I liked. She was subtle and natural, traits that went a long way with me because that’s how I would describe myself. I hadn’t dated a lot recently, but when I tried to, I found myself getting annoyed with my dates who giggled and twirled their hair and batted their eyes. Amanda definitely wasn’t like that at all.

While she and Emily had huddled over a book and discussed possibilities, Tanner had suggested I ask her out, but the thought had already crossed my mind. The reason I had insisted on accompanying them to her studio was so I could have a good excuse to see her again. She was easy to get along with, easy to be around, and he could see that. Tanner was a great teammate, someone who loved to engage in the good-natured ribbing and teasing but was a good friend when I needed him. He thought that this was one such occasion.

“It’s been a long time since Sarah, man,” he had urged. “It’s worth a shot to ask at least, right?”

And I knew that I wouldn’t have minded spending more time with Amanda, even if just as friends. It had been quite a while since I had been romantically interested in anyone, especially as more than a hook up, since Sarah and I had broken up, but it had been a hard thing to get over. I still didn’t know why she left me last season; I had just come home after a road trip to find her ring on the kitchen counter with no explanation. And when I went back home to Livonia after being eliminated by the Blackhawks, she wasn’t there. It was time to begin seriously thinking about moving on. And dinner with Amanda was a great start.

“I don’t know, that sounds really good.” She passed her menu to the waitress. “I’ll have what he’s having. But can I have my steak medium well?”

Okay, if I hadn’t thought that she was different before, then I would have after hearing that. I had never been on a date with someone who hadn’t ordered a salad the first time I took her out. “Wow, you’ve got an appetite.”

She lifted one of her shoulders as the server walked away. She sipped her wine and leaned back against the padded back of the booth. “What can I say? It sounded really good. And I don’t get out too much, so I figured I’d indulge this once.”

I liked the way she said indulge, but I also liked seeing how relaxed she was around me. Amanda wasn’t flustered or tentative or nervous, and that helped me be at ease, too. We really didn’t even know each other, but we got along great and were comfortable around each other. “So,” I began, searching for a topic of discussion to get to know her that wouldn’t seem to cliché. “How did you get into photography?”

“I got a camera from my parents on my eleventh birthday. That was way back when we used 110 millimeter film, because the cartridges were so easy to load,” she laughed, obviously remembering something from her youth. I had asked the right question, because once she started talking, she kept going. “They fed my habit, buying me film and paying to get my pictures developed. I’ve got shoe boxes filled of thousands of photos of our dog and all these things I would see. I always took a camera with me, wherever I went. I was on the yearbook committee. And then when I started at UBC, I took a photography class my freshman year. I just, I don’t know, I really loved it, and my professor told me that I had an eye for it. So I switched majors and never looked back.” She paused, took another sip of wine, and then tried to keep the conversation balanced by asking, “What about you? How did you get into hockey?”

Although I could have kept listening to her talk, since it was easy to get caught up in her excitement and passion, I answered back. “Oh, well, I’ve played for as long as I can remember. My dad played in college, he coaches a junior team and runs a hockey school too, and he taught me, my brother, and my sister all how to skate. My brother, Todd, was really the one who got me into it, though. I liked it, so I kept playing, and I just decided to see where it would take me. That’s how I ended up here.”

“Not too shabby.”

“No, not at all.”

We kept the conversation volleying back and forth, learning a little bit more about each other as the night wore on. Our words flowed as freely as the wine, and we laughed and joked together as we familiarized ourselves with the other. And to my amazement, I watched as Amanda matched me bite for bite, until she moaned and sunk down in her seat.

“I think I’m going to have to unbutton my pants,” she groaned. “I can’t believe I ate so much, but it was just so good.”

“Well, you hung in there like a champ. I thought for sure you wouldn’t be able to do it.” I couldn’t help myself. “I guess that means you don’t want dessert?”

She moaned again, unable to entertain the thought at all, and I laughed. “I can’t even, oh God, even think about more food.”

“All right. What do you say we go somewhere where you can digest all that? We can see what movies are playing.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, resting her head against the top of the booth. With her hand rubbing her stomach, she added, “Let’s just wait until I can move again. Or else you’re going to have to roll me out to your car.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything playing that both of us wanted to see, but I still wanted to hang out with her. It was only about eight o’clock on a Saturday—too early to call it a night. With no other alternative plans on the tip of my tongue, I had to reluctantly drive her home. I thought it was pretty interesting that she lived right above her studio, and that I didn’t have to take her anywhere else to go home. The entrance for her apartment was in the back alley, which wasn’t lit very well, so I got out of my car and walked her to the door.

Amanda turned away from me as she asked, “Do you, uh, want to come up? For a bit? I can make coffee.”

She read my mind; how could I say no? “Sure.”

We headed inside and went up the stairs, where she unlocked another door and we stepped inside. “It’s messy, it’s not the biggest place and I share with a friend, so don’t mind it, okay?”

Messy was an understatement. It was clean, but there was stuff everywhere: a lot of pictures and clothes strewn about with magazines and books.

“Carla?” she called out, looking around for her roommate. When there was no answer, Amanda said, “Guess she’s out tonight. Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable? I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t get outta these pants.”

“Uh, no, go ahead,” I replied, taking a seat on her coach. I watched as she stepped behind a curtain in the living room, grabbed something, and walked into the bathroom. Thousands of different thoughts began to race through my brain. Change into something more comfortable... wasn’t that what girls said before they slipped into lingerie—something not more comfortable but infinitely sexier? I’d be perfectly fine with Amanda trying to seduce me. It’s not like she’d have to work that hard, because I had had a great time with her at dinner and I was definitely into the idea of her in something more “comfortable.”

Too bad she walked out dressed in a pair of navy blue cotton pants and a blue, long-sleeved, UBC shirt. I exhaled and tried to force myself to relax after allowing myself to get so worked up. Of course she would put on regular clothes, I berated myself. After everything she ate at dinner, she wouldn’t bother with anything other than sweats.

“That’s better,” she sighed, occupying herself in the kitchen as she measured out scoops of ground coffee to brew a pot. “Thanks again for dinner, Ry, it was great.”

“No problem,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling disappointed.

“It’ll just take a few minutes,” Amanda told me as she left the kitchen and sat beside me. She pulled her bare feet up underneath her on the couch and closed her eyes for a moment. Since she couldn’t see, I took the time to look at her. She left her hair down, falling over her shoulders, and she was still wearing make-up. She was pretty. I liked her—officially—I decided.

When she opened her eyes, she smiled at me. She didn’t blush or look away when she found my staring at her. So I moved toward her, and Amanda likewise leaned toward me, which surprised me and made me happy. Her lips were soft as they pressed firmly against mine. I cupped her face in my hand and then used my thumb to push against her chin to get her to open her mouth.

The more we made out, the more we got into it. Kissing her wasn’t enough, I wanted to feel her. I moved ahead slowly, waiting for her to draw the line somewhere, to let me know when I went too far. But she didn’t. In fact, she took the lead and reached for the button on my dress khakis. With a deft movement, she had them open and pulled down, revealing my RK17 boxer briefs.

Amanda laughed, this time a deep and throaty sound. Her finger ran along the length of skin just above the waist of my shorts. “Oh, I like these,” she told me, just before she pulled the band down enough to expose me, not bothering to take them fully off, and then put her mouth to work.

“Yess,” I moaned, closing my eyes as I felt her tongue sweep over my tip and then take me in as far as I could fit. Her hands held onto my hips for stability as she went at it. I was content to let her suck me off, relaxing and savoring the sensations and physical feelings of her hot, wet, and expert mouth. This was the best blow job in recent memory, and I wasn’t worried about making sure I lasted or anything other than enjoying it. And enjoy it, I did. Amanda didn’t treat this like a chore, but like she actually wanted to do it, so I was going to let her.

I forgot to warn her before I came, but she didn’t seem to mind that either. She swallowed what I gave her and then made sure that I was clean. She sat on the couch, wiping at her mouth and watching me.

Smirking, I teased, “I guess you want me to repay the favor?”

“I expect you to,” she replied, biting her lip and raising one of her eyebrows.

I stepped out of my pants but left my boxers on as I grabbed for her. She took my hand with hers and pulled me toward the bed behind the curtain in the corner. While she was still standing, I removed her shirt and then yanked her sweatpants down, taking her panties with them. She giggled at my impatience but stopped once I pushed her down to the bed and nestled myself between her legs.

At first, I just used my fingers to touch the smooth folds of skin between her legs, feeling her out and slowly working on pleasing her. Then I wrapped my arms around her thighs and held them apart as I gently kissed and softly suckled those folds, pulling them in my mouth and licking them.

Her hands combed through my hair, spurring me on as she grabbed handfuls and held my face against her pussy. Her hips moved underneath me, but I held them down so I could work at my pace. I circled my tongue around her opening, and I could taste her. Then I moved north a little and kissed her swollen, engorged clit.

“Oh, Ryan, please,” she moaned, thrashing her head around as she grabbed more hair.

I didn’t bother responding verbally; I kept my mouth on her clit as I took my index finger and swirled it around her opening before I slowly inserted it. She was so wet from teasing her, so I put in a second finger, too. Her breathing deepened and became louder. Amanda squirmed beneath me, but I kept pumping and sucking until I felt her tense, signaling that I had done my job.

Crawling up the bed, I hovered over her. I put my now sticky fingers in my mouth and licked her fluids off them.

“Jesus Christ, Ry,” she moaned, watching me with hooded eyes. “That was amazing.”

“Do you want more?”

Before she could answer though, we heard a bang downstairs. I was worried that someone was breaking into her studio, but Amanda just sighed and told me, “Carla’s home.”

We heard her come up the stairs and unlock the door. She entered and said, “Hey, Aman—fuck, it smells like sex in here. Did you bring someone home?” Carla must have answered her own question when she saw my pants in the living room. “Is he still here? Damn it, Amanda, are you having sex right now?”

“Not at this... very... moment,” she called out from beneath me. That’s when I first saw her blush.

“Way to break the rules, Amanda,” she huffed, and we listened as her heels clacked on the floor as she walked away from us and then heard a door slam.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, about that. I’m really sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks still pink.

“It’s okay. I guess, uh, that I should go now.” I leaned down like I was doing a push-up on top of her and kissed her lips again. “I’ll call you.”

“Please do,” she replied breathlessly, watching from the bed as I retrieved my pants, got dressed, and let myself out.