Page 103 of The Girlfriend Zone

“Twenty percent,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. She flops into the chair, throws her head back dramatically, and lets out a groan. “I didn’t know landlords were taking villain lessons these days.”

My stomach sinks. “Twenty percent? That’s highway robbery.”

“And his reasoning? Get this.” She smirks. “Costs have gone up. Like, what? Air costs more now?”

I hang the robe with deliberate care, gripping the hanger tightly. “It’s space. He already owns it.”

My mind spins. Twenty percent more rent isn’t just an inconvenience—it’s a threat to everything I’ve built here over the last year or so. Everything I need to make it on my own. My chest tightens with worry.

But there’s no point in stressing. Time to solve this problem. “We could look for another space. Maybe band together with the other photographers here and find something better?”

Mai’s eyes light up. “Yes! Girl, yes.”

The truth is finding another space could be just as expensive—or worse. My to-do list feels endless already: dog-sitting for Miles, this studio, shoots for the hockey and football teams, my editing backlog. Can I handle adding a studio hunt on top of everything else?

No idea, but I’ll have to find a way.

By the time I arrive at the Sea Dogs arena, after stopping at Miles’s place to let the four-pack out, I’m no closer to an answer. But I do my best to set the studio issue aside when I run into Melissa at her cookie concession cart. It’s closed now, since there’s no home game of course. But she’s hanging up some new signage with Christian’s wife, Liv, who’s got two little twin toddlers sitting nearby on the floor, listening to a story that Melissa’s school-age daughter—I’m guessing that’s who the blonde with pigtails is—reads to them from a kid’s book.

“Hey, Leighton!” Melissa calls out, urging me over.

I stop, checking out the pink and purple typography on a pretty white sign advertising cookies. “Hey. How’s it going? The new sign looks good.”

“Thanks. I bribed Liv to help me out,” Melissa says, nodding to her friend. “With my new sexy and sweet cookies.”

“You did it? You made them?”

“I did. You’re the inspiration,” Melissa says.

“And they worked. I’d pretty much do anything for them,” Liv says.

And the proof of that is right in front of me with Livhelping out. “I’m so glad. I’m guessing you’re not selling them here though?” I ask Melissa, since I doubt lingerie-shaped cookies will fly at a family-friendly sporting event.

They both laugh. “Nope. I’m selling them online,” Melissa says, then bends down behind the counter of her cart and pops up quickly with a bag. “But here’s some for you if you want. As a thank you for the idea.”

I peer inside at a handful of pink, red, and white bra-shaped cookies. They’re adorable. “I will enjoy these tonight.”

I say goodbye, then tuck the treats into my bag and head to my temp desk to edit some evergreen content—more high-pawing shots of Scuppers and the team, as well as adorable snaps of players tossing crocheted rescue dogs into the stands at the last home game. The team partnered with a local charity to make and sell the dogs in the likeness of Scuppers, and the pictures are perfect for Chanda to post on off-days.

I narrow my focus to the task, only the task. But the number keeps circling in my mind—twenty percent, twenty percent. No matter how I slice it, it’s too much.

I pause on a shot of Miles, flinging a crocheted dog to fans eagerly stretching their arms to catch it. He’s having a blast. Something he didn’t have in Vancouver with his injury. Something he’s having now, playing for this team that my dad manages.

My heart squeezes.

He’s not doing it on purpose and yet my feelings for Miles always find a way to complicate things—on the ice, off the ice, and somewhere in between. Then again, I complicate his life too.

All those complicationsshouldbe reason enough to resist him. Really, theyshould.

By the time the marketing meeting starts, I’ve managed to finish the batch of photos. Everly, Zaire, Chanda, and Jenna gather around the conference table, and Chanda briskly runs through the week’s schedule. It’s all business until she glances at me with a grin.

“And,” she says, excitement spilling into her tone, “the pics of the Sea Dogs with rescue pups were so popular we’ve decided to do a team calendar this year with Little Friends. And thanks to the fan vote on last night’s picture…” She raises her eyebrows my way. “Miles, in his suit covered in puppies, was voted the cover model. Can you take on the project of shooting the calendar?”

Another project on top of everything else? But I’m not saying no to something that I made happen. I took that picture because I had a feeling it’d be social gold. And, I was right. That’s enormously gratifying. And this project feels meaningful, no matter how busy it makes me. It’s a chance to grow my brand, to prove I can handle work like this at a high level. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help me keep the studio afloat. Isn’t that what a businesswoman does anyway? Adapt, expand, innovate.Grow. Like Melissa with her bustier cookies.

“Absolutely,” I say as a part of me wonders if this is the start of more work with the team. And what if this turns into regular freelance assignments? If I leaned more into team photography, would that make our forbidden romance even more complicated? And more dangerous?

You’re not having a forbidden romance, girl. You had one sexy day. That’s all.

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