Page 3 of The Girlfriend Zone

“How was practice?” she asks, eyeing me over the steaming espresso she slides my way.

“Great,” I say, pride surging through me. “Playing better than ever.”

“You’ve worked so hard. I’m not surprised,” Birdie says.

“I think it’s more that I have the best coach.” I owe Coach everything. I’m still grateful for the chance he gave me when my career was circling the drain a couple years ago. My last team let me go, and for a while there, I was sure my hockey days were done.

Now, everything’s looking up—and has been for my last couple of seasons with the Sea Dogs.

Especially with my future wife coming back next week.

So I can buy her a cup of tea and hear more of her opinions.

2

VERITABLE STUD

Leighton

Does High Kick Coffee grow hot guys? There are at least six seriously attractive men in this bustling coffee shop, with its retro vibe and mid-century sophisticated playlist of Cole Porter tunes and Ella Fitzgerald jazz standards. Something my dad would listen to when he’s alone in his office. He has such Dad taste.

And let’s not forget that gorgeous guy with the opinions and the showgirl mannequin. His heated eyes and cocky smile have been living rent-free in my head for three days.

Okay, where is the guy I’m meeting? None of the cuties here match the photo of the model I hired to pose with my new client, Katrina, this afternoon. His name is Crash and he fit the bill for the client—young, sexy, and confident—a veritable stud. He even sent me a video saying, “I’ll make Katrina feel like a queen.”

Sold.

I hired him for her first boudoir shoot since she divorced her lying, cheating, conniving scumbag of a husband who banged the babysitter.

Her words.

Mine wereThank you for trusting me with your pics.

I also promised her I’d meet with the model before I photograph them together later today. Just to make sure he’s not a dick.

I whip out my phone, scrolling through Crash’s photos as I shuffle into the line to grab a tea and figure out which guy I’ll be paying today. That’s when my phone rings—directly in my ears of course.

Veritable Studflashes on the screen, and I smile, relieved Crash is calling. I swipe to answer, then peer around to see which of these guys is on his phone.

Not a one.

With a foreboding feeling, I say, “Hey, Crash. Are you almost here?”

“Yeah, about that…” His apologetic tone is not a good sign. “I totally messed up the days. My bad.”

No kidding, it’s your bad.But this is the other reason I wanted to meet him early.

“It’s okay,” I say. It’s not, but I can make this work. “When do you think you’ll be here?”

There’s a mix of apology and excitement in his tone. “Yeah, I’m in line forThe Undead Infected Brainmeat Part Six, and if I leave, I’ll lose my place.”

Classic. Men are such clown cars of excuses. You never know which excuse is coming, but they never fail to surprise you with a new one popping up.

“But this is the date you agreed to,” I point out diplomatically, clinging to faint hope. “We were depending on you.”

Katrina deserves to feel beautiful today, dammit.

I’ve been working my butt off building my photography business—from boudoir to fashion and even to sports—since I graduated from college last year. I just returned to San Francisco a few months ago, and this shoot is a big chance for me to build my own boudoir business. I pride myself on making my clients feel like the beautiful, empowered goddesses they are.

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