Page 140 of The Girlfriend Zone

“I did,” he says, his eyes sparkling, clearly eager for me to share.

“So I actually had this idea when I was shooting the tunnel picture of you yesterday for the calendar.”

He holds up a hand. “If this is about a Miles-only centerfold calendar, I should warn you—it’s strictly a one-person distribution.”

I laugh, but the laughter softens as I focus on my plans. Nerves flutter in my chest, but I share them anyway. “Speaking of, that’s kind of my idea.”

His brow arches. “You’re saying people would be more interested in buying a calendar of you?”

“In a way,” I say, then explain. “I was thinking of offering boudoir sessions for some of the players’ wives and girlfriends—like Melissa, maybe Christian’s wife, or Freya, Alexei’s girlfriend—and making calendars they could gift their partners.”

The delight on his face is undeniable, and it tells me I’ve hit on a good idea. “Is that why you were looking at calendar templates on your tablet the other week?”

I nod, surprised, but delighted he remembers that. “I was brainstorming, and it hit me—it’s a perfect extension of what I’m already doing. Melissa wants to do a shoot, so I’m excited to pitch the idea to others too.”

He leans closer, his voice warm. “I love the way your brain works. I love that you’re sharing this with me.”

“Sharing isn’t really my forte, but maybe it can be,” I say.

“It can,” he says, and I know it’s true—I just had to get there on my own. “But I do have one suggestion.”

“Hit me,” I say, emboldened by his support.

“I think you should raise your prices.”

My face goes blank for a second. “Really?”

“You’re worth it,” he says, his voice steady and certain, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your landlord raised the prices, and you’re a phenomenal photographer who makes clients feel beautiful and empowered. Maybe just five percent, but it’s time. You’re worth it.”

You know what? He’s right.

I am.

Soon, he heads to the rink to work out, and I stop by Hush Hush to make sure I have everything I need for my next set of shoots.

I don’t love showing up at the Sea Dogs arena with him—it feels too public, too risky—so arriving separately also makes everything easier.

In the early afternoon the bus drops me off for another calendar shoot. This time, I take playful shots of Little Friends’ adoptable mutts causing mayhem in the locker room—chewing on skates, chasing pucks, or sitting triumphantly on the benches.

As the guys shift into pre-game mode, I put my camera in the bag and swing by Melissa’s cookie cart near the concession area.

“If you’re ready, I am too,” I say.

She draws a big, nervous breath but grins. “Sexy and sweet, here I come.”

Sexy and sweet. The words spark something—an idea that clicks perfectly into place. Her sweet with my sexy. “Would you ever want to do a collab?”

“I love partnering with smart, savvy businesswomen,” she says. “Tell me more.”

Within ten minutes, we’re brainstorming packages of lingerie-shaped cookies and sexy pics for boudoir-themed bridal showers, bachelorette parties, and other events. We even schedule a time for her session.

Maybe this is part of what I needed with time—time to see that I can keep growing my business. That I can give my work the attention it deserves and I want.

When the game starts, I take my spot in the stands. My good mood flickers momentarily when I see my dad in his suit, game face on, leading his players. I don’t want to keep lying to him, but I know I need to be certain before I say anything.

I do my best to push the thought aside, letting the fast pace of the game pull me in, feeling a connection to Miles that’s both wonderful and a little painful. I want to cheer louder for him. The loudest, actually. I want to wear his jersey. He’s never asked me to but I know he’d love it, especially considering how wild it made him the night I wore it on the dog-cam. I want to wave to him. To wait for him. To be the one who asks how he feels after a win or loss and to listen no matter how he feels. I want to be the safe space for him to open his heart to not just in his home, but out of it. But does that mean I’m ready to take this terrifying step into a future I’ve tried to meticulously, painstakingly plan for?

I shudder, wishing I had all the answers and trying vainly once more to focus on the ice. It’s hard to separatethoughts of him from the game. But by the time intermission starts, I’m ready to focus on my next shot.

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