Page 12 of In the Defensive Zone with My Enemy

With a satisfyingharumph, I take a seat a few rows up to observe the team doing warm-ups and snap some pictures. After a few distant shots, I switch to a telephoto lens to get more close-ups of the guys as they stretch and practice shuffling pucks down the ice. Bet Mr. Sarcasm doesn’t know that some journalists do their own photography. Not all of them, but I prefer to have creative control over the imagery that goes with my articles—kind of like an extension of my art—so I studied photography in college, too.

Since the guys are on the ice, I’m standing behind the wall in front of the players’ bench so I can take somepreliminary pictures without the plexiglass in the way. Gabe and Derek are with the players, giving the team drill instructions, so I have the space to myself.

I shift the camera to the other end of the rink and focus. A fuzzy image sharpens to reveal Luke’s side profile, and since my traitorous heart has decided to wig out over the man’s attractive looks, I have to hold my breath to get the shot, or else it will be blurry.

After a couple of clicks, I check the images, enlarging them on the small screen. They’re mostly good. The one of Luke and two other players framed in motion as they pass the puck has a dynamic feel, and the colors are sharp. Once cropped, the picture will pop on newsprint and digital.

My imagination takes a detour to imagining Luke’s face when he sets eyes on the spreads about the team. That’ll prove to him I know what I’m doing. It’ll blow his mind like that emoji with his brains blowing up.

Derek blows his whistle, signaling the end of warm-ups. After jotting down a few ideas for an intro article and headlines in my notebook, I get more shots of the players doing scrimmages. I chose a special journal from my stash for this assignment last night and made a check the list of players with their numbers beside their names—something I used to do in college so I had a reference when it came time to write my articles.

I focus in closer on a player with his back to me near the glass below where I’m sitting. Number twenty-four. I know that one already. It’s emblazoned on my brain from the locker room when Luke pretty much dressed me down.

Before I can shift the camera away, he turns and stares as if he’s looking for something, then seems to zero in on me. His smirk flatlines into a grimace.

I lower my camera so fast I almost drop it. Shaking his head, Luke spins around and launches forward to intercept a pass. Marty said he wanted profile pieceson each player. I can already tell Luke will be the one I’ll dread doing. If he’ll even comply, seeing how he seems to dislike reporters.

Which I’m not.

Maybe I can get what I need from Gabe. Then I wouldn’t have to engage with Luke at all. When I did a preliminary interview with Gabe this morning, he mentioned knowing Luke back when they were on the same team out in California. Writing about how he transitioned from playing to coaching hockey will make a great introduction to the Sun Kings because I can mention what necessitated the change in leadership without making it the sole focus. The team’s had enough coverage in the way of criticism last season, and I’m not here to rehash the past.

Hopefully, all the interviews will go smoothly. I’m most wary of the flirtatious ones. Back in college, players often fixated on me being a woman, which made the interview challenging. I had to remind them I was a news journalist who happened to be female. Most got it. Some didn’t. Those were usually the masochists I learned to avoid.

Thankfully, Luke doesn’t strike me as one of those. Just untrusting. Something about that intrigues the journalist in me. Makes me want to dig deeper and find out what’s underneath that bristly exterior he wears like his gear.

What is he protecting?

Derek blows his whistle again, signaling the guys to return to the locker room for the next phase of practice, which is strength building. I drop my journal into my bag and pack my lenses into their padded cases.

The new team owner went all out in revamping the facility to not only accommodate an ice rink but also add some NHL-level perks like an updated and enlarged workout room, a treatment room with several tables to assess and treat the players when they’re injured or need physical therapy, and a smaller dressing room for the guys to keep their suits and regular clothes free of the usual locker room stench. There’s even alounge area with comfy couches and chairs, a large flat-screen TV, and a well-stocked fridge.

Now that the team and staff are moving about the facilities, I can take some shots of the different spaces in use instead of taking real estate type images. Way more interesting. I’m sure the fans will love seeing what happens behind the scenes. They eat that stuff up.

I hang back to follow some of the guys, figuring I’d have short convos with them and the trainers so they can get used to me being around. Ethan knows me, so I know his interview will be a breeze, considering I kind of already know what some of his answers will be. I may not have the years in this field like my father had, or Marty, for that matter, but I learned early on how to not only read the room but to read the person, too.

I calculated twenty players, plus the two coaches, three trainers, and one or two physical therapists, who, I found out, are being contracted locally. I’m especially excited about interviewing the owner of that facility, Hannah Lawless, because she not only started out in sports rehabilitation, but she also treats animals.

That right there will be a great example of highlighting the nuances of our little beach town, which is growing by the day. Fans will love a behind-the-scenes glimpse of what these guys deal with and the professionals that work to keep them safe and well.

Marty didn’t specify which ones to interview, and knowing how it takes as many behind-the-scenes as on the ice to keep a team functioning in top form, I figured covering everyone involved would connect readers and fans more to who the Florida Sun Kings are and what they’re about.

I stop to shift my bag to my other shoulder as Ethan passes by and winks at me, making me feel like less of an outsider. Luke seems to be lagging behind. Intentionally, too, I think, by the way he keeps glancing back at me. He clearly has something on his mind—thoselips of his are still flatlined.

Did I mention he has sculpted lips? I took an art course in college for fun during my senior year as a way to feed my creativity. Turned out that studying the human form helped enhance my photography skills. But the class made me very aware of lips.

I know that sounds weird, but when you think about it, our lips are one of the most multifunctional parts of our bodies. We use them to speak, express emotion, consume food, drink liquids, and…kiss.

Luke’s bottom lip dips down in the middle just above a small curve leading to his strong chin and jawline. His upper lip is almost as full, with a shallow divot beneath his nose. And then there’s that hockey hair—his dark waves will reach his shoulders before the season ends, I’m sure. I wonder if he’ll grow a beard, too, when the Stanley Cup finals start as a way to show his support.

I shut down the reel of distracting thoughts as he approaches. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m attracted to him. I mean, I am. I have a pulse. I am a woman. And Luke Jameson is a very attractive man, even if he leans toward the broody, grumpy side and never seems to smile.

Which brings me back to his lips… I wonder what they look like when he smiles. I bet they’re great for kissing, too. But I’m not interested in finding that out.

Not. At. All.

In fact, the thought repulses me. Why would I want to kiss lips that have already insulted me? I’ll remember that next time I’m drawn to his mouth.

But now he’s heading toward me, and heat is rising from my neck to my cheeks. What are the chances that he’ll think it’s just warm in here? It's unlikely since wearein an ice rink. I could make up an excuse about forgetting my camera and flee back to the players’ bench, then hide there until the coast is clear.

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