Page 31 of One Shot

“You’re the captain! I’m just the stand-in photographer,” she giggles.

God, I love that sound. It should be recorded into a song so I can play it on repeat when I need a mood booster on arough day.

“Let’s just get some snaps of you shooting. Don’t pay attention to me at all. Just be in your element.”

“Yes, Photographer Lauren.”

She snaps some pictures from far away while I shoot pucks into the net. She moves closer and closer. My eyes keep straying back to her.

“You’re not supposed to be looking at me, Captain.”

Shit. I can’t help it. She makes me fall into lust whenever she calls me Captain. Whenever “Captain” rolls off her lips it sounds sultry to me and my groin starts to stir. I start to think about her calling me Captain over and over as I please her, which only makes my blood rush more frantically south.

“Sorry,” I mumble back to her, trying to focus.

“Alright. I’m going to stand right in front of you. This time I want you to look right at me. I want to see intensity in your pretty-boy eyes. Just don’t hit me with the puck, please. I don’t have time to go to the ER today.”

Pretty-boy eyes, eh? She admits she’s stared into them a time or two—good. I honestly can’t tell how she feels half the time.

“I promise I won’t hit you. No ER for you today.”

She’s about three feet in front of me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to focus. I need to give her that intensity in my eyes. I shoot about ten times.

“Last shot. I mean camera shot. I need you to go against the glass.” Laur grabs my arm and pulls me over to the glass. She’s pushing me slightly against it and my mind can’t help but wander back to thinking about pleasing her.

“Take your practice jersey off,” she continues, “and put it over your shoulder and place it so I can see number 98 on the sleeve.”

I take off my jersey. Good thing I didn’t put any pads on underneath, or I would be much sweatier.

“Hold the hockey stick and turn your body to the left, but only turn your head slightly.”

She’s directing again, and I don’t mind when she tells me what to do. I think I do what she asks, but I’m not entirely sure. I’m far from even being an amateur when it comes to this modeling shit. I hear the click of her camera a few times.

“I’m going to adjust you, is that okay?”

Why is she asking me that? Of course it’s okay.

“Yeah,” I mumble. She puts the camera around her neck.

“Leave your feet where they are, let me just move your body,” she says.

Fuck. I would love for her to move my body. Her hands are cold on my skin. She puts one hand on each shoulder and gently moves me, so I’m angled more to the left. My muscles tense under her soft touch. I’m not sure if she notices. I want her to run her hands all over my body more than I’ve wanted anything.

She takes my chin in her hand and angles it more toward her. Our eyes lock, and my heart starts to beat faster. This girl has an effect on me that no one has ever had. She smiles that perfect Bellinger smile.

“Okay, don’t move. But I want that intensity in your eyes. That hunger like you need to win this game or you’ll throw punches.”

She’s instantly snapping photos, more than she’s taken of any other shot. It feels like she takes at least two hundred.

“Perfect. Thank you so much for filling in for Tyler. I know you didn’t plan on spending your day like this.”

She signals we are done with the mini shoot.

“It’s not a problem. I had fun.”

She smiles that perfect smile again. Damn. I am not going to be able to get that view out of my head.

“For the record, I would never throw punches. Only if I’m kickboxing or actual boxing. Never against a player.”

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