Page 10 of Faking It For Real

"So dramatic," she muttered, though I caught a flicker of something—uncertainty? regret?—in her eyes. "Look, I didn't mean to step on the ice. I was trying to get a better angle for the photo."

"Well, congratulations. You got your action shot of me crashing into the boards. Hope it was worth it."

"It might be my cover shot," she fired back, a hint of a challenging smile playing at the corners of her mouth despite her anger. "I'm thinking of captioning it 'Ego Check: Star Player Meets Gravity.'"

I opened my mouth to retort, but Coach Alvarez's voice cut through the tension.

"That's enough!" He skated between us, face set in his signature scowl. "Wright, back to the team. Now." He turned to the woman. "Ms. Navarro, I presume? The new photographer from the paper?"

She nodded, composure returning. "Mia Navarro, yes. I apologize for the disruption, Coach."

"Photography position is in the stands, Ms. Navarro. Not on the ice." Coach's tone was stern but not unkind. "Tyler will show you where you can set up safely."

Tyler, ever the diplomat, skated over with a friendly smile. "No problem, Coach. This way, Mia."

As they walked away, Coach turned to me with a much less friendly expression. "My office. After practice."

"But Coach—"

"Not a request, Wright."

The rest of practice was a disaster. My concentration was shattered, my rhythm disrupted. I could feel the scout's eyes on me, evaluating not just my recovery from the physical stumble but the way I'd lost my temper. Coach ran us through drill after punishing drill, and I pushed myself to the limit trying to erase the earlier mishap with perfect execution.

I deliberately avoided looking toward the stands, where I knew Mia, the photographer was capturing every moment of my struggle. My shoulder throbbed where it had hit the boards, but my pride hurt worse.

In the locker room afterward, I expected sympathy from my teammates. What I got was merciless teasing.

"Dude," Dylan said, dropping onto the bench beside me with a dramatic sigh. "That was the most entertainment I've had at practice all year."

"Shut up," I muttered, unlacing my skates with more force than necessary.

"No, seriously," he continued, undeterred. "It was like watching a nature documentary. 'Here we observe the male hockey captain in his natural habitat, suddenly confronted by a female intruder with a camera. Watch as he puffs up his chest and engages in territorial display behavior.'"

The locker room erupted in laughter. I glared at Dylan, who gave me an innocent look.

"What? I'm just saying there was definitely some... tension there."

"There was no tension," I insisted. "Just some clueless photographer who nearly got herself killed and me seriously injured."

"I don't know, Captain," Tyler chimed in, pulling off his goalie pads. "From where I was standing, there was definitely something happening between you two. And it wasn't just anger."

"Chemical reaction," Sanchez agreed, nodding sagely. "Like those volcanoes we made in sixth grade science. Just waiting to explode."

I threw my towel at him. "The only explosion is going to be my fist connecting with your face if you don't drop it."

Dylan clasped his hands to his chest. "And now the alpha male resorts to physical threats when his dominance is questioned! The drama continues!"

"I'm serious, Dylan," I warned, but he just grinned.

"So am I. That was quality entertainment." He slipped into a sports announcer voice. "Let's review the first-period action between Wright and The Photographer. Wright starts strong with an accusation of stupidity, but Navarro counters with a devastating 'entitled jock' combination that catches him off guard! Wright attempts to recover with a slippery ice reference—somewhat weak execution there—but Navarro lands a direct hit with the 'world revolves around you' uppercut!"

The team was howling now. Even I had to fight a reluctant smile.

"You're all idiots," I said, but there was no heat in it.

"Jokes aside," Dylan said, lowering his voice as the others moved on to new topics, "you might want to smooth things over with the photographer. She's going to be covering us all season, and the last thing you need is someone with a camera making you look bad to scouts."

I groaned, knowing he was right. "Fine. I'll apologize or whatever."

---