A new season, a new bet

The Canucks and Penguins will be opening their new seasons with a duel in Vancouver. So Jay and I are reviving the bet from last year, the winner's team earns her a short story. We're still working out who the lucky players who may be featured will be, so stay tuned.

5. Good Side

Ryan and I stopped at a little, 24-hour, pan-Asian restaurant and placed a to-go order. We made a little small talk as we waited the fifteen minutes until our food was ready, and then we were right back out the door and in his car.

“Ugh, it smells so good,” I observed, breathing in the fumes that were being emitted from the plastic bag in my hands. Even though I had eaten dinner and split nachos with Carla at the game, my stomach started to vehemently demand food as soon as we walked into the restaurant. The aroma of good food did that to me. “I can’t wait to eat.”

“I’m surprised you’re hungry, considering everything you ate the last time we went out.”

I laughed, covering up the embarrassment that I felt from overeating like that. But it had been so long since I had eaten real food, and when he ordered his meal, the chicken dish that had originally caught my eye had lost its appeal and I started craving steak. It wasn’t ladylike and it definitely wasn’t attractive, but my appetite had gotten the best of me. “Yeah, it wore off pretty quickly.”

He was silent for a moment as he threw the car in drive and eased it out onto the road. I was staring out the windshield, but I saw out of the corner of my eye as Ryan cast a sideways glance at me. His voice was quiet. “So, uh, just checking, but we’re going to my place tonight, right?”

It was cute, like he was making sure he was going to get lucky. After the performance he had given on our last date, of course he was gonna see some action tonight. “Yeah.”

Ryan lived in a really nice section of Vancouver, but it’s not like I would expect any different. The house had a gorgeous façade, and the inside was even nicer: hardwood floors, black leather couches, a giant flat-screen TV, and the whole place was brightly lit. The rooms were open and inviting. He led me into the kitchen, where I set the take-out bag down so I could slip out of my jacket.

“Ugh, the bag’s leaking,” he groaned, ripping off some paper towels to clean off the marble countertop. Then he looked up at me and grimaced. “Your shirt.”

“Oh, no!” I hollered, looking down to see a big red blotch on my nice RK17 shirt. I loved this thing, and I didn’t want to see it ruined. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Upstairs, second door on the left,” he explained, and as soon as the words left his mouth, I took off in a dash.

As soon as I found the door, I barged in, flicked on the light, and tore off my shirt. I turned on the faucet, pumped some soap onto the spot, and began to furiously start rubbing it out.

Ryan’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Amanda, don’t worry about it....”

“But I love this shirt,” I sighed, scrubbing away. I didn’t want to have to throw it away.

He stopped in the threshold of the bathroom, watching me. I was so absorbed in my task that I forgot that I was standing there in my bra and no top. My brand new black lace bra that I had bought specifically for him to take off. It had been a long time since I had bought new lingerie, but not only did this occasion practically demand it, but also I could finally afford it because of all the publicity I had cashed in on—literally—from shooting his clothing line.

He added, “I can get you a new one.”

“But—”

His hand was over mine, stilling it. I could feel his body heat radiating off of him and his presence at my back. His breath made my hair blow slightly. “Leave it.”

I turned to face him, and then I opened my mouth to rebut again, but he prevented me from speaking by kissing me. Really kissing me, not like the soft pecks he had treated me to before. This was deep and intense, overwhelming and all-consuming. Ryan pinned me back against the sink, and then when that wasn’t good enough, he reached around and grabbed the backs of my thighs and hitched me up so I was sitting on the ceramic ledge.

My hands couldn’t stay in one place for long. They combed through his hair, wrapped around his neck, squeezed his shoulders, moved up and down his arms... I wanted to touch all of him at once. I pushed him back a few millimeters so I could rip off his tie and unbutton his dress shirt. His body was perfect, muscular but not too defined or bulging to be disgusting. I stared at his chest while he stared at mine.

Before I could unbuckle his belt, he yanked me toward him and off the sink. We stumbled out into the hallway; I worked on undressing us further as he pointed us in the direction of his bedroom. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going because I didn’t care, just so long as there was a horizontal surface for us to put to good use.

Our stray clothing littered the floor. By the time we made it into his room, I was in my bra and panties and he was in his boxers—those damn Illegal Curve boxer briefs that conjured up the image of his chiseled body in black and white. I moaned.

“You like these,” he breathed. Maybe it was a statement, or maybe it was supposed to be a question—but either way, he knew I liked them and I didn’t have to answer. But I especially liked the way they tented in the front.

“I do.”

“I like these,” he added, his fingers brushing the front of my black lace boy shorts.

“Do you?” I turned and faced the bed so he could get the view from behind. The panties were completely see-through, and I hoped that that would be the kind of thing that would get him off.

“Oh yeah,” he answered. Ryan surprised me by urging me toward the bed and then falling on top of me, pinning me face-first against the mattress. I could feel how hard he was because his erection was right against my ass.

He kissed the back of my neck, nipping at my skin. His hands deftly unclasped my bra, and then they slid between me and the mattress and cupped my breasts. I turned my face and called out his name, “Ryan.”

“Amanda,” he said against my skin.

We rolled over and he totally discarded my bra. As I straddled him, he kneaded my tits and squeezed them and then tweaked my nipples. I started to grind on top of him, wondering what it would feel like when he was finally inside of me. I had been thinking about it for a whole week; I hoped it would be just as good as I was imagining it would.

“Ryan,” I repeated. I planted a hand on either side of his head above his shoulders and leaned over him. He pushed up and met me halfway, pulling a hard nipple into his mouth and biting down softly—almost making me forget what I wanted to say. But I remembered. “Fuck me, please.”

We switched positions again so he could be on top. I pushed my panties off while he took care of his boxers, and then we were completely naked. He rolled on a rubber and then grabbed my legs, pulling me down on the soft, plush bed. Ryan slid a hand up my stomach, between my breasts, and then down to juncture between my legs. His thumb barely grazed my clit, but it got a mighty response from me as my back arched involuntarily and gasp escaped my mouth.

Slowly, he eased himself into me, filling me until I wasn’t sure I had any more room for him. Ryan felt good, amazing, just like I had expected and maybe a little better, too. He rocked his hips so his pelvic bone massaged my clit, and I grabbed onto his shoulders and wrapped my legs around his hips.

He kept that up until I started moaning and breathing hard and deep. I offered him encouragement and praise all the while to let him know that I was enjoying everything he was doing. “Oh, yes, Ryan. Right there. Just like that. Ooh, yeah.”

With a grunt, he began to thrust in and out—and that felt even better. I continued to hold onto him, clutching Ryan like he was a life raft and I would drown without him to anchor me. I was crying out, begging him not to stop.

Ryan grabbed my legs from around him and pushed my knees toward my chest, deepening his angle and moving even faster. There was a sheen covering his body from the exertion of the physical activity, and his hair was sticking to his forehead. I slicked it back before I cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in for a long, deep kiss right as I climaxed, suddenly and almost furiously.

After a few tell-tale pants and grunts, Ryan plunged in again as far as he could, his balls slapping loudly against me, and he came, too.
_______________________________________________

We lay on my bed for a while, not saying anything but just kind of coexisting in the same space. I was on my back, and she was on her side, curling up against me, and I had my arm around her shoulders. My fingers absentmindedly ran up and down the length of her upper arm.

I wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, choosing instead to just hang out and bask in the kind of satisfaction of a good day that can only come post-coitus. And then I remembered about our food. “I think our meals’re getting cold,” I yawned, looking down at Amanda. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly pouted.

I chuckled to myself; she had already fallen asleep. I carefully removed my arm from around her and headed for the kitchen to put our food away. Well, I ate a couple bites before I set the Styrofoam containers in the fridge, and then I headed back up to bed. Amanda was still sleeping, so I pulled back the covers as much as I possibly could and took my place beside her again. It had been a long since I had fallen asleep next to someone in my own bed, content to spend the entire night that way.

It was easy to fall asleep. A lot of times, after games, I would be all wound up and full of adrenaline, wide awake and unable to sleep until hours later. But the extra physical activity in bed and the rush of the release helped to drain me of that excess energy. I slept well.

When I woke up, I was groggy and disoriented. Sometimes that happened after a great night’s sleep, since we were on the road so often throughout the season. It wasn’t uncommon for that to happen, to forget in the morning if we were home or away. It was especially weird because I woke up beside someone, a warm and soft body. That had really thrown me off, until I remembered who it was and what happened last night.

Amanda was still asleep, and I let her continue to snooze. The girl sure could sleep, because she was out before me, too. I lay there and enjoyed the moment. It still surprised me, the way that I felt so comfortable around her when I only knew her for a short amount of time. Hell, we had only been on two dates, but it didn’t feel like it mattered that I didn’t know a whole heck of a lot about her, because I felt at ease and like myself when I was around her. The way she made me feel weighed more in my estimation than what I knew. The fact that I was content to merely lie around with her said a lot.

She stirred a little, but didn’t yet wake. A few minutes later, she squirmed again and yawned. Her eyes stayed close. She said, “Morning.”

“Good morning,” I replied. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked back at me. When she smiled, I smiled right back at her. Our faces were close, but we didn’t kiss. Morning breath.

Amanda nestled under the sheet and comforter, burying and cocooning herself in the bed so I could only see the top half of her head. She closed her eyes again, and her words were muffled by the blankets. “What time is it?”

I glanced at the alarm clock on her side of the bed—or the side of the bed she was taking up. It was way too early to be assigning her a side. “Hmm, about seven thirty.” I put an arm around her and pulled the blankets down enough to uncover the rest of her face. “I’ve got about an hour before I have to take you home and go to practice. Do you want breakfast?”

“Mmm, you cooking?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“As a matter of fact....”

“Okay, sounds good. Can I just get a second to get cleaned up and dressed?”

I got out of bed and threw on a fresh pair of boxers, knowing that I had a clean outfit down in the laundry room that I could wear. “Sure thing.” I left quickly to give her some privacy.

After I stepped into a pair of jeans and pulled a polo shirt on, I headed into the kitchen and rooted around for something to cook. I didn’t often cook breakfast, usually opting to grab some granola bars or fruit or just eat something offered at the rink, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t cook, just so long as I had the ingredients. Luckily, I was able to find some pancake mix, and I had some eggs and some sausage links in the freezer. I was thankful that I was prepared, because I would have looked like an ass if I had offered Amanda breakfast without having anything to actually make.

“Smells good in here,” she said as she padded down the stairs and joined me. Amanda looked so natural in so many ways: she looked pretty in jeans and one of my shirts that she had pilfered from my dresser—I had completely forgotten that hers had gotten ruined last night—as well as looking like it was no big deal to be here with me on a morning following a night in my bed. Any other girl would have made this morning so awkward and unbearable—but this was more than just tolerable, it was enjoyable. Plus, her hair was finger-combed and still kind of messy, and her face was freshly scrubbed; she was still cute even under simple circumstances, not like girls who needed make-up and all the accoutrements to look good. Best of all, she was smiling widely. “I’m kind of surprised to find out you cook. Or do you cook for every girl you bring home?”

She was either teasing me or testing me. So I answered honestly, “I hardly ever make breakfast, and I never cook for anyone.”

“I’d say I’m honored,” she chuckled, her hand coming up to her cup her cheek and hide her slight blush, “but maybe I’ll wait to try it before I do.”

“You be the judge,” I laughed, flipping a pancake.

It took a few minutes for everything to finish, but I placed a hot plate in front of Amanda, who took a perch on one of the stools at the counter. I pulled out the maple syrup and then asked, “Do you want ketchup?”

“No thanks.” She picked up her fork and cut into the stack, but didn’t eat. “Aren’t you having any?”

“No,” I replied, taking the other stool to sit with her. I grabbed a banana from the counter and began to unpeel it. “I’m not a big breakfast eater, so I usually just grab something small to eat before practice so I don’t have an empty stomach.”

“So you made all this... just for me?”

I nodded. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal to me because it was something that I had wanted to do for her, but I guess that wanting to do it for her was the big deal. Amanda busied herself with eating and then insisted on doing the dishes since I cooked. I was perfectly fine with that, watching the way she moved around in my kitchen in my shirt. It was oversized on her and tucked in just in the front of her jeans.

“Okay, all clean,” she said, turning toward me. “So, I guess we can leave now? I know I’ve got some work to do that I can get started on.”

“Yeah.” I grabbed for my keys and paused for a moment. “You know, we never ate last night.”

“I don’t think we were very hungry.”

“So do you wanna come over for lunch then? I mean, we shouldn’t let that food go to waste.”

“How very practical of you,” Amanda laughed. “Or is that an excuse to have more sex?”

It was my turn to laugh. We certainly hadn’t skirted around the physical aspect of a new relationship, but I thought that things had progressed like that just because we felt so comfortable with each other already. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to also get to know her, her, and not just how to push all the right buttons on her body. “It’s an invitation for conversation and company while we eat.”

For good measure, I hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against me, and then I lowered my voice as I said in her ear, “And if an afternoon delight ends up being a part of that, well, I certainly wouldn’t be complaining.” Just so I was clear that I wouldn’t turn down anything extra.

She slung her arms around me and kissed me, firmly at first and then getting softer as she slowly pulled away. “Well, I guess you can call me when you’re finished with practice then, and we’ll see how things go. But I’m helping Carla move tomorrow, so you’re not allowed to wear me out.”

“She’s moving?”

“Yeah.” Amanda shrugged dismissively.

“Is this because—”

“No,” she explained. “She’d been wanting to move for a while, and now that business’s picked up like this, she’s found the reason to get her own place. That’s actually why I could use a few hours at the studio this morning, since I’ll be busy tomorrow. I’ve got a bunch of proofs that I have to have ready for some clients on Monday.”

I twirled my key ring around my finger, looking at her carefully. She had her own things going on, her own life, and I liked that. “Well, aren’t you a busy little bee?”

Amanda smiled. “It’s all thanks to you. I know I’ve said this before, but it’s all publicity from your photo shoot.”

“I’ve seen your work, though, what you were doing with Tanner and Emily. You’re good. Your assistant said something about a picture being worth a thousand words, but when I looked at them, I don’t know, they kind of left me speechless.”

Amanda smiled and thanked me for the compliment. “That means a lot. You know, I’d love to shoot you again someday. Will you let me?”

I grimaced. “I’m not really that comfortable in front of the camera, Amanda.”

“You may not feel comfortable, but you take a damn good picture. If I hadn’t’ve been on set, I never would have thought you weren’t a natural.”

“I think that’s more thanks to you than it is a credit to me,” I laughed. “I think my modeling career’s over. I’ll tell you this, though... if I have to do it again for Firstar, I’ll have to have them write it into my contract that you’ll be the one photographing me. You make me look good.”

“Nah, you look good all on your own.” She smoothed my collar and then headed for the door, and I started to follow her. “I just make sure to get you on your good side.”

4. A Thousand Words

On Sunday morning, I microwaved the coffee that I had brewed last night and sipped on it. I popped down to my studio and checked the messages on the answering machine, taking notes to return some calls on Monday. I showered and changed, and then I gathered up some things to wash down at the laundromat. Before I could leave, though, Carla was awake and she had a very serious look on her face.

I tried to beat her to the punch. “I’m sorry about last night, Carla. I didn’t intend to break the ‘no sex’ rule,” I explained. We had had that rule since we dormed together: never bring anyone back to our room unless the other made it clear that she’d be gone for the entirety of the night. Otherwise, we were always go to over to his place to do the deed. The room we shared in university as well as our apartment now were just too small to make having sex there okay with the other in such close proximity. “It just happened, I didn’t plan it, and I mean that. The whole thing took me by surprise and I didn’t even have time to think about it.”

“I’m moving out,” she replied bluntly.

My mouth fell open, and I stammered, “All because of last night? Carla....”

She expounded on her reasoning. “It’s not just about last night, and I don’t want you to think that. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

“Why?”

“We’re adults now. I want a place where I can bring guys over and not worry about our ‘no sex’ rule. I want to invite friends over to my place and not worry about whether my roommate is sleeping in my living room.”

“You know I said I don’t care. I can wear ear plugs. That’s why I said you could have the bedroom and I’d take the living room.” Carla was such a good friend of mine, one of my best friends from university, and it felt like she was breaking up with me.

“But do you know how weird it is to explain to someone I have over that my roommate sleeps in the living room? I need a more grown-up place, a place of my own.” She sighed. “Don’t worry about it, though, because you said that you’ve been getting a lot of calls, so I’m sure you’ll be making enough in no time to cover all the bills yourself.”

While money was definitely a concern of mine, it wasn’t my primary worry with this coming change. “But... are we still friends?”

“Yeah, of course we’re still friends,” Carla chuckled, offering me a smile as well. “We’ll always be friends. I just, you know, I think it’s time we grow up, be adults. Live like adults.”

“We’re only twenty-two.”

“But we’re adults nonetheless, women with degrees now and real jobs. And don’t you want to be able to bring your dates back here and do whatever you want with them without worrying about if I’d be coming back and if I’d interrupt you? Am I right?”

It did sound like a good idea. Just thinking about the things that Ryan and I could have done if Carla hadn’t have come home when she did made the spot between my legs tingle and pulse with excitement and anticipation. My entire body turned on and begged for the kind of satisfaction that I had been hoping for last night.

After all, I had seen his body, his tight abs and strong chest, and I wanted it—all of it, not just the little taste I had had. Ryan was perfect all over, proportioned just right, and even though I hadn’t fully gotten to experience it I ached for the opportunity to have a real and honest go at him.

“I guess you’re right.” It’s not like I liked sleeping in the living room either, being woken up when Carla got home late from the bar or when she had to leave super early for work, but I dealt with it. Living with Carla was comfortable, something I was got used to in the past four-plus years of my life, and it would be very weird and very hard to get used to the idea that I wouldn’t be living with her anymore.

“So I take it your date went well?” she asked, switching subjects.

I wanted to ask her more about her plans to move out, if she had any ideas about where she’d be moving to, and how soon that would be, but it was easier to avoid those topics for now because it hurt to think about. Thinking about my night with Kesler was much more agreeable to me. “Yeah, it went great, really great.”

“What’s he like?”

Smiling, I explained. “He’s nice, friendly. Open. Funny. Down to Earth, natural.” I sighed. “Easy.”

Carla snorted. “Yeah, I coulda guessed that since you got down and dirty with him on the first date.”

I laughed and clarified, “That’s not what I meant. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with, easy to be around.”

“And is he cute?”

“So cute,” I sighed dreamily. “Hot. Fucking hot.” I got distracted as I remembered having my mouth wrapped around his hard cock, and then thinking about his fingers inside me. My stomach clenched with the memory.

“I know that look. So, are you going to see him again?”

“Well, I hope so. He said he’d call, and what’s the rule? They wait three days?” Carla nodded and answered my question. “So I guess I’ll wait ’til Tuesday. Or would it be Monday if you count both Saturday and Monday as one of the days?”

“Don’t over-think this, Amanda. If he likes you, he’ll call, sooner rather than later.”

I wasn’t surprised when Ryan didn’t contact me on Sunday because I hadn’t expected him to. But on Monday, I started to get anxious and antsy as I awaited his call. Luckily, I had appointments at eight, ten, and twelve before Tanner and Emily’s appointment at two, so I didn’t have too much free time on my hands on think about it.

He didn’t call, but he had a good excuse not to because he showed up with his teammate and his teammate’s fiancée. I was so excited to see him that I didn’t even think to be annoyed with having to deal with his presence and the way that just knowing he was around caused this pooling sensation low in my stomach.

First I shook hands with Emily and Tanner again. I waved them back past the front desk and consultation area to the actual studio, where all my equipment was set up. They had on nice outfits, matching khakis, a button down for him, and a pretty patterned top for her. Doug stayed in the background, dutifully adjusting the lights and backdrop as we got ready to shoot. We started out with a lot of formal poses that were boring and ordinary but the kind of thing that couples usually preferred. Once those were out of the way, they headed into the back to change into jeans and their Dartmouth jerseys to try something more individual and fun. That’s when I took the opportunity to talk to Ryan.

“Hey,” I said, setting my camera down on the desk and moving closer to him. I still kept some distance, though, just in case he would think that I was being too forward. I found myself in a weird position because I realized that I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he liked me—I mean, it’s not like any guy would ever turn down a free BJ, but he didn’t have to return the favor if he really wasn’t feeling me....

“Hey, Amanda, how are you?” he asked. I got my answer, kind of, when he gently placed one of his big hands on my shoulder, leaned in, and kissed my cheek. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it still counted as something.

“Pretty good, you?”

“Me, too.” Then he squeezed my shoulder softly before brushing those delicious lips against mine. The kiss was so light that I was worried I had made it all up. My body, the great betrayer, shivered as a tingle ran up my spine. Ryan could feel it; I could tell by the grin on his face that he knew exactly what he had done. “Better now, for sure.”

It was still a little awkward, though, until he really broke the ice. “So, how’s Carla?”

I laughed. “She’s good.”

There was a glint in his eye, but he sincerely asked, “She’s not mad, is she?”

“No, not really,” I told him. I decided to not tell him about our conversation on Sunday morning, in case it would make him feel bad. “As you can imagine, a small apartment is not exactly conducive to two single ladies living together.”

Ryan leaned against the desk, tilted his head to the side, and grinned at me. It wasn’t quite mischievous or lascivious, but it seemed to imply everything but innocence. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

“Can you?” I tried to tease back, not able to think of anything wittier when he looked at me like that.

“Mmhmm. So I guess on our next date, I should bring you back to my place?”

“Well, I guess that depends on when our next date might be,” I replied, leaning my weight against the desk and mirroring his posturing. However, I was fully tempted to grab a hold of him and pull him up the back stairs to have my way with him right then and there. Why wait for a date?

“We leave for a two-game road trip tomorrow. So, how about Friday?” His voice dropped in volume as he moved toward me so I could still hear him. “Come to my game. We’ll go out after.”

Our faces were so close; I stared at his mouth and lips, knowing full well what they were capable of. I couldn’t think of anything else when I was in such close proximity to him. I had to ask him, “Go out after, or go back to your place and stay in?”

When he laughed, I could feel his hot breath on my skin. “Whatever you like.”

Tanner and Emily, having changed, emerged from the back. I could tell that they tried to appear nonchalant and like they weren’t really watching us, but I knew that they had seen how close we were and how we were a little suggestively positioned.

“Duty calls,” I sighed, shrugging slightly, picking up my camera, and heading toward my clients.
_______________________________________________

Tanner gave me a look as Amanda walked away from me, but I ignored it. I didn’t want him to think he had any part of this, of facilitating something between me and her, because—even if he had been encouraging—he hadn’t done anything. Instead, I stayed there by the desk, and I watched as her assistant fiddled around with the laptop. He turned to me and asked, “Do you wanna see the pictures?”

By standing in front of the computer, I could watch Amanda direct her subjects, telling them how to move and how to act, and then immediately see the results pop up on the screen. It was really kind of neat to see the process and the outcome in such quick succession.

“Emily, stand at a forty-five degree angle. Can you sweep your hair over your left shoulder? Okay, Tanner, you stand behind her and put your arms around her waist. Yeah, like that, so I can see Emily’s number on the front of her jersey and see yours on your sleeve. Fold your hands together. Good. Now, Emily, you put your hands on top of his with your left on top so we can see that ring. Perfect. All right, Tanner, just take a half step to right. No no no, your right. Your other right. There you go. Now turn your faces toward me and smile.”

“That’s nice,” I commented, checking out the image. It looked like anything I could see if I opened the announcement section of the newspaper.

“She’s only getting started,” Doug told me.

I heard Amanda talking to them. “So, how did you guys meet?”

Emily answered, “The university gym. He’d lift weights right in front of the treadmills. You couldn’t miss him, totally showing off to pick up chicks.”

Tanner added, “Well, I think it worked, didn’t it?”

Amanda took another picture of them. They were in the same pose, but their faces were so different. Their smiles weren’t faked, they were genuine. It was almost like you could feel everything they were feeling. “Wow, yeah, that’s a good one,” I said aloud, not realizing that I was speaking.

“Gives you chills, doesn’t it?” Doug asked. He didn’t wait for a response from me. “That’s what photography’s supposed to do. It’s not just supposed to capture a moment, you know? Like, people just take a picture so they can remember where they’ve been or who they were with. But a good picture’s supposed to capture the feeling of being there. What you were feeling at that moment in time, that emotion, and convey that forever. Immortalize it. And that’s what this picture right here does. And all the good photographers can do that.”

I couldn’t help myself as I posed the question, “So you think she’s good?”

He nodded. “I’ve certainly learned a lot working under her, more than any professor’s taught me. They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but the really good ones... they’re worth a whole lot more than that.”

I stayed until the end of their session. Amanda printed off a few of the pictures for them to take home, explaining to Emily that she’d touch up the pictures and have the proofs ready in a few days, which they could pick up and then decide which pictures they wanted, how many, and the sizes. While she did that, Tanner came over to me.

“So, Kes, you lock up date numero dos?”

“Yeah, she’s coming to Friday’s game.”

“Should we make plans to go out? You, me, the girls, maybe a few of the guys and their chicks, too?”

“Nah,” I declined. I didn’t feel the need to explain that we had our own post-game plans. He didn’t know about our extracurricular activities after our first date either, and I liked it that way. I had fucked plenty of girls since Sarah, so that wasn’t a big deal. But dating someone was a big deal. “I think we’ll just do our own thing. Thanks though.”

“All right. Play on, playa,” he chuckled, holding out a fist. I bumped it and shook my head.

I hung around, waiting for them to leave so I could plan out the details with Amanda. She asked for two tickets, so she could bring Carla with her—who happened to be a huge Canucks fan, turns out—and I happily obliged her. I thought about asking her to wear my number, or even offering a jersey for her to wear, but I hesitated and thought better of it, since that could come off as pushy. It was just a date, after all. No, it wasn’t even a date because we wouldn’t be spending the time together; I’d be on the ice and she’d be in the seats, so our date wouldn’t start until after the game. And I wasn’t sure that we’d be spending any of that time getting to know each other.

It was a relatively short trip, just to Calgary and Minnesota before we boarded the plane back to Vancouver. I tried not to get ahead of myself and think about Friday’s game against the Kings, but it was tough not to. I wanted to make sure I played well with Amanda in the stands, knowing that she’d be there to watch me.

As much as I wanted to get my head in the game, the guys kept me grounded in the present, ragging on me nonstop about that damn underwear shot. It was viral, spreading all over the Internet like wildfire. My agent assured me that it was great publicity for the RK17 line. Anything that got you in the spotlight was supposed to be good for you and the team, but I hated that the attention came at the expense of my self-respect. I felt like an idiot.

“Good to know, Kes, that you’ll have a future in modeling once your hockey career’s over,” Mason laughed, checking something on his iPhone. “I swear, everywhere I look, I see your ugly mug. And don’t I have to see your naked ass enough in the dressing room?”

“You only have to see it if you make it a point to look at it, Raymond,” I responded. “I didn’t know you were looking.”

“N-no, I’m not,” he quickly stammered, defending his sexuality. If only he protected the puck with those kind of reflexes.

We won our games on the road, and the team headed home feeling pretty good. There was an optional morning skate on Friday, and I stayed home and rested to get myself ready.

It was a good game. We won, and I scored two goals. I tried hard for that third—I’d never had an NHL hattie—but even with the guys feeding me pucks left and right, I couldn’t get it. Tanner gave me a swift smack to the ass as I headed for the door, I guess for encouragement. Not like I needed it, because I was already ramped up and ready to go. There was so much adrenaline in my system after the game, and I was excited for my second date with Amanda.

I had wondered if she would wear my number, if she would be there not just because I asked her to but because she wanted to cheer me on. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see her in that blue RK17 shirt. It was kind of my number. She looked good in it.

“Hey,” I greeted, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze that was half kind of like a hug and half not. There were a lot of people around, so I didn’t want too much full-body contact. I kissed her cheek. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Sure did. Congrats on your goals. You were on fire out there.”

I shrugged. I had laid it all out on the ice, but I didn’t want to make it look like I was trying as hard as I was. “Is Carla here?”

“No,” she chuckled. “Bringing her back here would have been a disaster. I told her that I was going to drop off the proofs for Tanner so she’d leave without me. Otherwise, we’d probably have to surgically remove her from one of your teammates.”

The idea of that was pretty funny, and something I probably would make a point of seeing in the future. Some of the guys were horribly awkward around the forward fangirls; I’d just have to wait to see who I’d want to get back at so I could introduce Carla to him.

I smiled down at her. “Ready to go?”

Her grin matched mine, and I was pretty sure her thoughts did, too. “Yup.”

“I’m kind of hungry, I’m thinking of getting some take out. You interested?”

“Yup,” she repeated. I placed my hand on the small of her back and guided her out toward my car.

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.
_______________________________________________

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.

2. Schmoozing

It was a slow day at the studio, so I sat by the phone, hoping for some calls to set up some appointments—to make some money—while I played around with the photos on my laptop. It was important to have an up-to-date portfolio at all times, and I was constantly tweaking pictures to look their absolute best—that way, when a potential client looked at the pictures, they could see what I was capable of and hire me.

Instead of productively Photoshopping my masterpieces, though, I sat there staring at the pictures of Ryan Kesler I had taken about a month ago. It was hard not to. Once I had edited the pictures, I sent them to Tom at Firstar, and then the matter was out of my hands. I got paid to take the pictures and nothing else; they decided which of them they would use or not. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t keep a copy of every single picture that I took of him, and there were a few of them that I couldn’t help but drool over.

The entire shoot could be chronicled through the pictures I had taken: the early pictures were of him looking straight-faced and serious. The next series were of Ryan smiling, but nervously or unsurely. Then, the last set of pictures looked really good because he looked natural and relaxed.

My favorites were the boxer pictures. He looked amazing in them, drop dead gorgeous. I liked the ones in which I told him to stretch, because between that and his made-up bed-head, he looked like he had rolled out of bed. It was hot, because I imagined that that’s what he looked like the morning after an all-night sex romp between the sheets. And I liked the ones in which he looked like he was about to take his shirt off, because, well, any girl would love to imagine Ryan Kesler taking off his shirt for them. Looking at any one of those pictures for too long made me need to change my panties. Hot damn.

But I also liked the picture that they chose to advertise for their line. He was minus the shirt and just in those boxers—the boxers named Illegal Curve. How appropriate, because those those boxer briefs should be made illegal, especially on someone with a physique like that. I couldn’t understand why he was so shy when he looked that good. But the best part was the smile on his face.

I touched the screen instinctively, wondering what it would feel like to touch a body like that. His abs had such definition, and his developed chest had just the right amount of hair—enough to see it, but not enough to get in the way. And the thin happy trail bisecting the swimmer’s V peeking out of the waist band. I wanted to touch all that. And I liked that he was so unassuming about his body; so many models worked hard to look good because that’s what they got paid to do, looking good, but Ryan was oblivious to all that. If there’s anything better than a good looking man, it’s a man who doesn’t know he’s good looking.

Even though it had been a while since that photo shoot, I still thought about it. In fact, I was wearing the blue women’s lace front jersey tee that Tom gave me from the set. It was really comfortable, and I thought that the blue looked nice on me.

Doug walked in, disrupting my reverie, so I clicked out of that picture and tried to turn my wavering attention to my portfolio.

“Amanda, why are the lights off?” he asked me.

“I’m saving electricity,” I told him very matter-of-factly. While the Firstar account had padded my wallet a little bit, I was trying to refrain from spending money unless I had to.

“Oh, whatever. Here’s the mail.” He handed me a few things, most of which was junk. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know. There’s not much for you to do. No appointments today, and everything’s stocked.” I sighed. I hated slow days, because everything felt like such a waste of time. “You can go home, if you want. I’ll still sign off that you got your full hours this week for your internship.” I liked having an intern because it was free help. I wouldn’t have been able to afford to pay someone, and it was valuable experience that I wished I would have had in college. “Unless you want to stay, and then I guess you can just man the phones.”

He shrugged, not exactly enthused by the idea of sticking around just to answer phones but feeling like he should just for the sake of honestly putting in his time. “I mean, I don’t have anything else to do right now.”

I slid my finger underneath the flap of an envelope addressed to me personally through the studio from an address I didn’t recognize. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

“An invitation to the RK17 Official Ryan Kesler Apparel by Firstar release party or something.”

“Oh, when is it?”

I found the date. “Ew, it’s next week. They must have forgotten about me and mailed this last minute.”

“Are you gonna go?” Doug asked me, leaning over the desk and reading the invitation upside down.

“I don’t know. What would be the point of going? I’d have to get dressed up probably, and I wouldn’t know anyone there—”

“You could take me.” He was looking at me and trying to make big puppy dog eyes to convince me.

“Wouldn’t you rather spend your Friday night doing something else? It’s just rubbing elbows and networking with people. It’s not like it would be any fun.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe not, but it would be a good way to plug your studio! They’ll probably have catalogs or whatever with the pictures in it, and you could pass out business cards. Word of mouth is the best way to drum up business, Amanda.”

“Doug, you’re a genius! I don’t have business cards, but I bet I could get some printed before then, right?” When he nodded, I mirrored the gesture. “It couldn’t hurt. You’re absolutely right, I should go. This is a great opportunity.”

“I know. You need to go.” He paused and smiled at me strategically. “And I can totally go and help you out.”

“So that’s how you’re going to weasel your way into going,” I laughed. He had such a pleading, almost desperate look in his eyes that I didn’t want to deny him the experience. As an intern at my small studio, he wasn’t getting a ton of experience because I didn’t have a lot of appointments, but he was certainly getting to be hands on and very involved with every aspect of the process. This would be a nice extra for him, to go to the party. “I guess you earned it since you helped on the set. All right you can come with me next Friday.”

“Yes! Do you think we’ll get more free stuff?”

“I don’t know. Do me a favor and stay by the phone. And while you’re at it, look up somewhere who will make business cards,” I sighed. “I probably should have done that months ago.”

“So what are you going to do while I’m doing all this?” he asked, starting to type into the search engine.

“I’m going upstairs. I wonder if Carla will have anything that I can wear.”

I left Doug behind as I trudged up the back staircase to the second floor. I rented the whole building, and Carla and I shared the one-bedroom apartment above the studio. We were college roommates, and after graduation it made sense to keep living together. It was cheaper to rent the upstairs, too, than it would be to rent the studio and a separate apartment—but it was still pretty expensive, more money than I could afford by myself. Carla had the only bedroom while I used a curtain to divide a corner of the living room into my bedroom. It was a pretty crappy living arrangement—for me—but Carla’s rent was the only guaranteed steady income I had.

She was mulling around, enjoying her day off, when I joined her in the kitchen. “Hey, Carla, I got a question for you. I got this invitation in the mail today. Do you think you have anything I could borrow to wear?”

Carla finished off the container of yogurt she was eating and thought for a moment. “Yeah, I probably have something. But don’t you have a dress you can wear?”

“No, not really,” I sighed. “Most of my clothes are jeans and shirts, something I can work in. Dresses aren’t really practical for me, and I don’t really have the money to go out to spend on a new outfit for one random night of schmoozing.”
_______________________________________________

“Tom. Tom!” I called out, chasing after the Firstar representative. It was too late now, but I thought that I at least deserved some answers. Tom stopped and turned around to face me. “That picture wasn’t supposed to see the light of day. I thought you just wanted to take it to ‘see what it’ll look like’ or whatever.”

“I did,” he replied smoothly. Stupid marketing people, always thinking they knew best. “And it was the best picture of the bunch. Sorry, Kes, but we had to use it.”

“But... I’m practically naked,” I stammered. I waved my hand toward one of the big blow-ups of the pictures taken weeks ago, on display for the big party. “My junk’s right there, for everyone to see! Can’t you at take it down, at least? Something?”

“Sorry, man, but we’ve made our decision, and that picture’s staying there.” He quieted his voice and leaned toward me. “What’s the big deal anyway? It’s a great picture, great for the line, and it’s not like it’s a bad picture of you.”

“But....” How could I explain it so that Tom could understand? I knew I wasn’t unattractive and that I was in shape, but it was a whole nother thing to openly show off like that. I was a private person, a homebody, and low-key despite what the guys thought about me on the ice. That’s one of the reasons why I was cutting back on the chirping and agitating on the ice; well, that and that the coaches and management decided that we needed to play more disciplined as a team in order to obtain the ultimate goal. So I was not the kind of guy who felt comfortable with this kind of publicity. It felt weird enough having my picture taken wearing sweatshirts or a uniform, let alone like that.

Tom placed his hand on my shoulder reassuringly in a very paternal-feeling gesture. “Don’t worry about it so much, Kes, okay? It’s only a big deal if you make it one.”

I wanted to tell him to tell that to my teammates—they were the ones who were going to ride me relentlessly once they saw this. It was a recipe for disaster; I had already gotten a bunch of text messages, mostly asking me how much they had to airbrush it to make it look like I had abs, or to make my dick look bigger than a pencil in those boxer briefs.

Surrounded by a bunch of life-sized pictures of me at the party venue, I tried to ignore them all. Since I was dressed in a suit, it was easier to feel comfortable under all those layers of clothes. Or at least more comfortable.

The press releases had been issued that day, so the media had already gushed out stories about Firstar and the RK17 line, and my name was pumped out all over the Internet and newspapers more than, I’d imagine, if I would ever score a hattie. I didn’t think I’d ever understand this weird fascination with when athletes came out with clothing lines. Crosby’s done it. Ovechkin’s done it. Zetterberg did, too, and probably a bunch of other guys too who I wasn’t thinking about.

Things went pretty smoothly, and I was drinking a beer and eating whatever hors d’œuvres were being carried around. I mingled around like I was told to do by Tom and by my agent, talking to people and trying to be friendly—but my mind was really thinking about heading home and relaxing in sweats and watching a movie in bed so I could rest up for tomorrow’s game.

I had my back turned to the boxer brief picture the whole time so I didn’t have to look at it and also didn’t have to see anyone else looking at it. It surprised me how many people were interested in this stuff. I noticed a woman staring at one of the pictures of me, the one in which I was wearing the bowling shirt. I recognized her as the photographer, even though she looked different all dressed up. Her hair was down and mostly straight, with a few little curls throughout instead of pulled back. And she was wearing a strapless, knee-length black dress with flats and not the functional clothes I had first seen her in. I wasn’t talking with anyone at that moment when I noticed her, so I decided to go say hi.

“Hey,” I greeted simply and only a little awkwardly, stepping beside her.

“Ryan, hi,” she replied, smiling at me before turning back to the picture. “I’m just admiring my work.”

I didn’t know what else to say, but she kept talking so I didn’t have to worry about figuring out how to respond. “This one is my favorite, I think.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not the best angle, I think it’s too low, but it’s the best of you, I think.”

“Better than the underwear one,” I sighed quietly, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet.

“Hmm, well, I had nothing to do with that.” It’s like she knew how much I hated it. “I just take the pictures.”

“Well, yeah.” I couldn’t help but think that if she hadn’t have taken the picture in the first place, it wouldn’t exist—but it wasn’t her fault. It was Tom’s. “I guess that’s your job.”

“Oh, yeah, here,” she mumbled, suddenly shifting her focus from the picture to the tiny little clutch in her hand. She fished out a business card and passed it to me.

“Foster Photography,” I read aloud, looking from the card to her.

She properly introduced herself, “Amanda Foster, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you, Amanda.” I slipped her card into my pocket, knowing I’d probably never look at it again. “These pictures turned out good, you did a great job.”

“Thanks.” She smiled prettily, and I could see her brain working behind her eyes as she tried to search for a compliment to pay me in return. “Your line is really nice. I actually got one of the shirts from the set. It’s really comfy, I like it a lot.”

“Oh, thanks.” I nodded at her. “So, you work out of Vancouver?”

“Yeah. I’m a BC girl through and through. My studio’s only about a ten minute drive from the rink. You ever need pictures for anything, don’t be afraid to call. I’ll give you a Canuck discount. Seventeen percent off,” she laughed, joking around with me.

Our conversation was the most fun I was having all night, even though we were just engaging in small talk and not talking about anything in particular. Never before had it been so easy to talk about nothing.

But it didn’t last for long. She locked eyes with a guy across the room, the guy I also was able to recognize. He was her assistant from the shoot. They exchanged a couple of wordless messages through their glances. “It was nice seeing you again, Ry,” Amanda said, giving me a small wave of her hand as she took a step back. Then she sighed. “But I’ve got some more cards to pass out. See you around. And good luck with your season.”

“Thanks. And good luck to you,” I replied, trying to return the favor, “with your pictures.” With your pictures? What was I thinking?

She giggled but didn’t say anything else. I didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because Tom came over and introduced me to someone else from Firstar that I needed to talk to. I finished off my beer and shook hands with him. Tom kept me pretty occupied throughout the night, and the only people who left after me were the catering staff and janitors.

1. Ready, Set, Shoot

I checked the piece of paper in my hand again to make sure I had the address right: 800 Griffiths Way. Yeah, it was the right place. I had done my research when Firstar Sports hired me, and I knew they were a sports clothing line, but I hadn’t expected to need to show up at Rogers Arena to do the photo shoot. Then again, usually they showed up with the models and the wardrobe at my studio; I hardly ever went on location to shoot.

After graduating in the past year, I had invested in starting my own portrait studio. I didn’t really like that work as much I enjoyed nature or travel photography, but this was something that I could do immediately and make a living off of, and maybe even make a name for myself. Once business took off—which I was hoping would happen much sooner rather than later—then I could branch out as I saw fit. I just had to be patient in the meantime.

My intern-slash-assistant helped me unload the truck. I carried the camera equipment and lights while he handled the heavy backdrops. My arms were already feeling a little sore by the time we lugged everything in. That’s why I preferred working in my studio, where everything was already set up as I needed it and I didn’t have to move it very far when adjustments were made.

I made a mental list of everything I could buy with the lucrative paycheck I was making in this one afternoon—a hefty amount of money for a newly professional photographer. In just a few hours, I’d be making more money than I would in a whole week, maybe two if business was slow. There was only so much I could charge for engagement photos or pet portraits if I wanted a steady income. Firstar was probably thinking I was a steal compared to what other, more established photographers charged, but this was my highest paying gig so far. It was a lot of money, and I constantly reminded myself that I’d be able to make the rent on time and simultaneously afford groceries too this month. It was the only way I could cope as the prima donna female model bitched that I was getting her bad side. This would all be worth it when I’d be able to log into my bank account and see that I was in the black.

“With an attitude like that,” I mumbled to my assistant, Doug, “every side’s her bad side.”

Doug snorted as he checked the pictures popping up on the laptop screen behind me. Back as a student, I had had my fair share of work with professional models when I had to complete assignments for class. I hated working with pros because they always thought they knew everything. Just because they had a pretty face didn’t mean they had a brain working in that head. How hard was it to pose? I got dogs to do it on a regular basis. And it’s not like her job was hard, modeling shirts and hoodies in a sports line of clothing. It’s not exactly haute couture.

But some of the clothes were pretty nice, I thought. She came out in a blue shirt. “Oh, that one’s cute,” I thought aloud to myself, looking at the way the hockey laces tying up the front. A lot of the women’s clothes were obviously branded with the logo, and I wasn’t a fan of walking around like free advertising for companies. I didn’t wear American Eagle, Aéropostale, or any of that stuff for that very reason.

“We’ll make sure you leave with it,” the Firstar rep, Tom, told me nicely, “as a little bit of an extra ‘thank you’ for your good work.”

“Really?” I was so excited. It felt like Christmas.

“Yeah sure, it’s no big deal. They’re just samples anyway, we can’t sell ’em.” Tom turned to Doug. “You too, man. I’ll let you pick something off the men’s rack when we’re finished.”

It ended up taking an hour and a half to shoot her, and by the end I really wanted to shoot her. My arms felt like jelly from lugging in equipment and then holding my not lightweight camera. Doug began to disassemble the backdrop while I set my camera down and stretched my tired body. We were going to take pictures of the male model in the rink, so we wouldn’t need the gray background.

“Just leave that stuff there, Doug, and we’ll take everything back out to the truck when we’re finished.” The truth was that I knew if I could convince him to wait, then he would carry all the heavy stuff by himself as I took care of the little stuff again. I liked that arrangement.

I sighed as we made our way into the stands of the arena—and was pleasantly surprised to find out that our male model was already there waiting for us. He was waiting by the ice, talking to the Firstar representative who was overseeing the shoot. Typically, a professional model would never beat the photographer onto the set, which is what first alerted me to the fact that we’d have the good fortune to work with an amateur instead. Amateurs are much easier to work with because they actually listen when you tell them to do something.

I was even more surprised to find myself shaking hands with Ryan Kesler, one of the Vancouver Canucks. That’s when I found out this line of clothing was specifically designed for Ryan by Firstar—which explained why he was modeling. I had watched enough hockey with my puck-bunny roommate to recognize him instantly, even though I hadn’t been able to watch a single game this season. I hadn’t even really been into hockey until I lived with Carla, who never ever ever missed a game, but my schedule after graduation was way too busy, hectic, and unpredictable to catch the games.

When he was wearing all that equipment, he was a guy who was known to get under the other players’ skin, chirping and irritating them into getting frustrating and careless. But he was a skilled player, too. That’s not the kind person that he struck me as, though, without the pads and helmet. Ryan shocked me by looking uncomfortable when I pointed my camera lens at him; I figured a guy like this would be used to the spotlight.

Ryan was way cuter than what I remembered seeing on TV—which was saying a whole heck of a lot, because he had always looked like sex on skates. His eyes were a dark brown, sparkly from the lights around us and easy to get lost in. I had to tell myself several times to look away and break the eye contact. His hair was expertly made up like he had just crawled out of bed, which totally worked for him. There was a dusting of a five o’clock shadow along his jaw line. His smile was nervous but devilishly handsome. With the blue and green hoodie he was wearing, he seemed like any one of the guys I went to college with, looking like he just rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes just so he could make it in time for an eight o’clock class. Except none of the guys in my classes ever looked so devastatingly hot.

For a split second, I debated on telling Firstar that they could keep their money because working with this fine specimen of a man would be sufficient payment in and of itself. But then I remembered that I liked to eat and I liked to have hot water, so I better keep the money and get to work.
_______________________________________________

The sweatshirt I had been given to wear felt like it weighed two hundred pounds and like it was made out of the heaviest material ever invented. I was breaking out into a sweat, and the make-up person had to touch me up again.

It had been pretty cool this summer when Firstar had approached me about a clothing line. And once I saw the designs, which I really liked, I knew I had to agree to it. I liked seeing them incorporate the Canucks colors, and I really liked the logo they had created with my initials and number. But if I had known that I would have had to be so active in the marketing of the product, well, I’m not sure I ever would have signed on for this.

Considering I had never done anything like this before, I was nervous. I didn’t know what was going to be expected of me. The photographer made things easy on me, though, giving me instructions all the while. After the first couple of shirts, the process was getting smoother. At first, she told me to act serious and stuff, but the more I was able to relax, the more she told me to smile, and the more comfortable I felt doing it.

The atmosphere of the set was low-key. There weren’t many people around—just her, her assistant, Tom, me, and any of the Arena staff walking around. The photographer was dressed in khakis that hugged her curves and a fitted tee that clung to her body, which gave her the mobility she needed to move around and do her job expediently. Her long, honey-blonde hair was braided over her shoulder, out of the way. She was all professional, calculating, deliberate, and efficient behind that camera, and that attitude brought out the best in me.

“Smile,” the photographer told me, ordering me to relax as I sat in one of the seats of the arena. It all felt like a farce as I did my best to cheese for the camera as instructed. “Okay, maybe not,” she sighed, obviously not pleased with the image she had captured. “Let’s go for... serious. Like you’re trying to get your mind ready for the game.”

That was a little easier for me to handle. I tried to block out the camera, the photographer, the Firstar representative, and the few other lingering people around the arena. For a moment, I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the game like I would in the dressing room before hitting the ice, and then I opened them and stared out into the rink. I was focused, so I didn’t really notice the photographer buzzing around me as I sat still even though I noticed the flashes of light. It wasn’t until they told me to change into the next sweatshirt that I realized she had done what she needed to do.

Once I felt more confident that this was working out, it was easier to smile and relax and follow directions. We went through the wardrobe quickly and relatively painlessly. Which was nice, seeing as though we had just started the season and I didn’t want to be spending a lot of time on set of a photo shoot like this. I probably should have been working out or resting, preparing for the long season ahead.

“Almost finished,” Tom said, checking his watch. “Just a few more things.”

While I went to go change, I heard the photographer’s voice carry in from the hallway. “They could have at least told us not to take our equipment down just in case. How was I supposed to know they’d want to shoot him in front of the backdrop, too? We were told rink background. This is stupid.”

“Oh well, no big deal,” her assistant sighed. “It could be worse. You could have to do this all by yourself.”

I felt bad, since they were having to put all this work in for me. I slipped the hat on and stood in front of the gray background, thinking that I was glad that the last thing would be the easiest. I was comfortable enough that it was easy to plop the ball cap on my head and smile naturally, and then I was done. That was, until the Firstar rep handed me a pair of the boxer briefs.

“Last one, Kes,” he said nonchalantly.

“You’re joking, right?” I asked in disbelief.

Tom raised his eyebrows and looked at me, ready to battle. “You’re supposed to model the men’s wear. All of it.”

“But this isn’t men’s wear,” I argued. “This is underwear. As in it goes under the men’s wear. I’m not getting my picture taken in this.”

“It’s in the contract, Kesler. It’s the last thing. Just put them on and let’s get this over with, because now you’re just wasting time.”

He left me alone to change, which I did reluctantly. All I could picture in my head was those ridiculous Calvin Klein underwear ads that got posted as billboards. Would I be expected to pose like that? I would look stupid. I’m not a model; I’m a hockey player.

I left my white undershirt on as I walked out of the dressing room to spite them all. Tom rolled his eyes as everyone fell into their places on the set—but the photographer wasn’t taking pictures. “I can’t see the logo,” she stated, looking at me and then at Tom.

“Kes, take it off,” he ordered. He was a no-bullshit kinda guy.

When I hesitated, she suggested, “Why don’t you try holding the hem up like you’re in the process of taking off your shirt?” I crossed my arms over my front and grabbed the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up just enough to reveal the band with the string of RK17 designs on the band. “That’s good, just like that.” She snapped a few pictures, angling the camera and walking around me. “Now just put your hand over your stomach and hike it up a little bit, like you’re yawning and stretching. Yeah, just like that. Good.”

She crouched down, took a picture from that angle, leaned to her right, leaned to her left, and took the same picture five different ways. I thought we’d be finished, but Tom said, “Can we try it without the shirt?” He was standing at her laptop, watching as all the pictures she took of me appeared on the screen so he could see exactly what everything looked like.

She shrugged. “Whatever you guys want.”

“What’s wrong with this?” I asked, desperately wanting to keep my clothes on. These pictures were going to be ads, used to market the clothing, and I didn’t want to see me in a pair of boxers or have the whole world see it either. I wondered if it would have been obvious if I had stuffed a pair of hockey socks down the front to pack some more heat. If the guys saw this, I’d never hear the end of it.

“We’re not selling white shirts. I just want to see what it’ll look like. Off, Kesler.”

I did as instructed, knowing I no longer had an option; I had run out of plots and plans to stymie the naked picture I was just about to take. With a sigh, I stripped off my shirt and watched the photographer’s face change. I knew I wasn’t a model, so I knew I probably wouldn’t live up to the ridiculous standards of body proportions that she’d be used to seeing, but I didn’t expect her to look at me like that without saying a word. I shouldn’t have taken it off. This should be left to the professionals.

I didn’t know what to do next, so I tried to pose like all those Calvin Klein guys and I tried to flex. That snapped her back to Earth, and she shook her head and blinked a few times before she began to take pictures again. But I couldn’t keep a straight face since I felt like a fool. My face exploded into a smile as I laughed nervously.

“Well, I think I got it,” Tom announced, and I felt relieved. The photographer nodded and began to pack up her camera. I immediately put my shirt back on, and once I deemed that I was no longer needed, I headed back into the dressing room to put my street clothes on, secretly swearing to myself that I would never ever model again.

Once I was in my jeans and a RK17 hoodie—I had to wear the clothes, it was part of my contract—I wove through the hallways for the parking lot. As I was leaving, I overheard the voice of the photographer. “No, Doug, it’s fine. If you have to go, you have to go. I’ll manage with the equipment.”

“I’m so sorry, Amanda, I’ll—”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I pay you, so I can’t force you to stay. I’'ll pack it in the truck, but you’re gonna have to help me unload it first thing in the morning and set it up before our first appointment at nine. I can’t do that by myself.”

“Sure thing. Thanks, and I’m sorry.”

I watched as he left, and then watched as she struggled to pick up the heavy-looking roll that was the backdrop. She awkwardly tried to hoist it up enough to carry it toward the door, and I knew I had to help. “Here, let me get that for you,” I told her, jogging toward her.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she said, even though she didn’t offer much of a fight. “I probably can’t let you help. It’s a liability. You might sue me if you get injured or something.”

“I won’t sue you, promise,” I replied, giving her a smile as I got a better hold. It was heavier than it looked, and I was surprised that she had lifted it as far as she had—but there was no way she could maneuver this through the doors alone.

“Thanks,” she sighed, grabbing her camera bag and laptop case before she held the doors open for me to carry the roll out for her. She watched me carefully and intently as I slid it into the back of her white truck, probably wanting to make sure that I didn’t do anything to ruin it. She tossed her bags on the passenger seat in the cab.

“Do you need me to help with anything else?”

“No, we got everything else packed up. Thanks a lot, Ryan,” she said to me. Then she added, “Good work today.”

I snorted. I knew that I hadn’t done a great job, but what could anyone expect from me? I didn’t know what I was doing. It felt a little like when you make a mistake on the ice, and your teammates say, “Don’t worry, Kes, you’ll make it up next shift.” So I thanked her and headed off for my car while she got into her truck. I headed home without looking to see what direction she pulled out in.

A Picture's Worth

For those of you who've followed this blog from the beginning, you know that MelTing and I entered into a bet months ago over the Canucks at Pens game. The Penguins triumphed and I cashed in on the bet, so MelTing goodnaturedly wrote the Alex Goligoski story, "Fresh Air."

Well, I'm repaying the favor by writing a Kesler story for MelTing. I mean, who wouldn't be inspired when this is the kind of material you have to work with? This picture was the inspiration for it all....