Page 65 of The Girlfriend Zone

The camera nearly shakes in my hands as I stifle laughter. The guys wobble and flail, including Miles, butmanage somehow to keep it together while the rookies stare, wide-eyed.

Then my dad blows the whistle again. “One-skate sprint, now.”

I nearly break, laughing behind my camera as each of the guys unstraps a skate, clutching it in one hand as they try to balance and shuffle across the ice on one leg as fast as they can. It’s a hilarious, clumsy disaster, and I make sure to capture every glorious second.

When the one-skate drills wrap up, my dad’s whistle pierces the air again. “Rookies! Sprints, now!” The new guys scramble into line in no time.

For the rest of the practice, everything is business as usual, with all the players sprinting, then practicing shooting drills. I snap shots of every moment, documenting the energy and excitement, per Eleanor’s marching orders.

Later that evening, Chanda posts a “We’re Back” carousel, officially welcoming the rookies to the Sea Dogs with a lineup of shots that shows exactly what kind of team they’re joining.

And I sink down onto the couch at the apartment I’m leaving soon, taking the bag out of my pocket at last. Holding the slim silver chain up to the light. Running a finger over the camera charm.

Closing my eyes and picturing Miles putting it on me. I clutch it tight for a beat, my imagination running away.

When I open my eyes, I sit up, bend over and hook it on, the cool metal sliding against my skin, drawing my eyes to my legs.

Probably his, too, if he were here.

Over the next several days, I capture shots of the team running through drills, reviewing plays in the video room, talking to the media—day after day until I finally make it to the end of the week. I’ve somehow managed to juggle this job with my other work, too, including a boudoir session for Katrina. She finally made it, a year after booking, and left the studio absolutely thrilled. The thing I didn’t do this week? I didn’t spend time alone with Miles. I didn’t give in to kissing him. I didn’t flirt with him.

Now, I’m almost packed and ready to move this weekend. Just one last task today: a shoot of the players doing volunteer work outside the arena. After that, I’m done for the week.

The shoot goes smoothly, and as I’m heading to the bus, Miles pulls up in his car, rolls down the window, and grins. “Need a ride home?”

He’s a friend. We’ve proved this week we can do this friendship thing. “Sure.”

Once I’m in the car, he glances down at my ankle, mostly hidden beneath my jeans. “Is it on? The friendship bracelet.”

I raise an eyebrow, the teasing glint in his eyes daring me to answer. “Do you really want to know?”

“I do,” he says, his gaze steady.

I tug up my jeans just enough to reveal the delicate anklet with the tiny camera charm. He lets out a low, sexy rumble.

“I really wish you’d have let me put it on you,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion.

A suggestion that’s hardly friendly at all. I flash back to the day he gave it to me, to the words I said to him. “Maybe later,” I say, but that later feels like now.

22

A KISS, TECHNICALLY

Miles

When we’re a couple of blocks from her building, the clock feels like it’s plummeting. Each tick brings me closer to dropping her off, ending this stolen moment. I cast about for a reason to stretch it out as we pass a pool hall.

“Do you play pool?” I toss out casually.

“Not well.”

“Want to play?”

I’m angling for more time with her, and judging from the arch of her brow as she turns toward me, she damn well knows it.

“You want to play pool with me?”

“Or we could geocache,” I suggest, leaning into the familiar.

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