Page 161 of Between the Blue
forty-three
HER
I start making my way towards the tunnel as warm-ups are about to begin.
On my way, I slip my phone out of my pocket to check on the Valentine’s Day social media post, but look up from my screen when I notice the blurry image of two people in my peripheral vision.
“Excuse me,” I say, moving to step around them.
It takes me approximately half a second before the faces connect in my mind, and I stop in place, spinning on my heel.
“Natash– I mean– Miss Collins. Hello,” I stutter, holding my hand out to her.
Natasha Collins removes her hand where it’s hooked through her husband’s arm to shake mine. “Natasha is fine, Addison. It’s good to see you again.”
“It is,” I nod, then mentally smack myself in the forehead. “I mean, it’s great to see you again too.”
Mr. Moreno leans over, whispering something in his wife's ear. She pats his chest and nods at him, and he gives me a quick smile before he walks away, calling after a man standing further up the hallway.
It takes a few seconds for me to register that Natasha just chose to stay behind and talk to me.
And that the two of us are now alone together.
“You know,” Natasha says, stepping closer to me, “I saw your Valentine’s Day post on the car ride over here.”
“Did you?” I swallow.
She nods. “I’m not sure how you’ve done it, but you’ve just about turned the team into models.”
“Well, I can’t take all the credit. Their looks got them halfway there,” I say, being completely honest.
“And you got them the rest of the way there with your photography. You know, I’ve been around hockey players a long time, and they’re not exactly known to be the most cooperative. Don’t sell yourself short.”
I open my mouth and then close it, nodding. “Thank you,” I tell her.
“You’re welcome, Addison. But I’m just telling you what’s true.” She tilts her head like she’s surveying me, and when I don’t say anything else, she begins to turn away.
Despite how dry my throat suddenly feels, I force the words out. “Natasha?”
She turns back.
“I would give anything for another chance to work with you–”
“Friday,” she says, smiling tightly. “9 a.m. We’re reviewing the preview of our spring issue. And then we have an in-house shoot at noon. Care to sit in?”
I have class Friday morning, but I hear Tiffany’s words echoing in my mind immediately. “I’ll be there,” I tell Natasha.
“See you then. You know how to reach my assistant to coordinate,” Natasha says. “And, Addison?”
“Yes?”
“Always ask. It never hurts.” She leaves me with a wink, continuing on after her husband.
I’m left standing there in the hallway staring after Natasha for several long seconds, and am only awoken from my trance by the sound of the announcer coming over the speakers in the rink.
He tells everyone to get on their feet and welcome the Texas Storm to the ice for warm-ups, and I take off jogging.
“Shit,” I mutter.
