Page 92 of The Import Slot
“Umm, sorry, am I not allowed to be in my dressing room?”
She scowls at him.
“You two need to sort your shit out,” Ryan says, pointing his finger between the two of them.
There’s a moment of silence before Johnny stands up and walks toward Vicky.
“Yeah, he’s right, Vicky. I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Vicky asks. All heads turn to Johnny.
“I’m sorry for being such a douche and telling you what you should do with your life. I can’t help it, but I care. And I’m jealous. Not that I’ve been trying to meet anyone but—”
“I don’t need you to lecture me, Johnny.”
“I know. I’m just going to keep out of your business from now on. Hell, if you want to marry Liam Preston, crack on. I’ll say no more about it.”
She hugs him, and it’s like nothing ever happened.
“You’re still a doofus,” she says, punching his arm before turning the conversation to the not-so-real reason we’re down here.
“Right, Jen. Since I’m here,” Vicky says, looking around. “We’ll need the equipment managers to set up the dressing room for game day, but we will take a few photos of the as-is, mainly empty stalls and closed lockers.”
Ryan and Johnny stand back, chatting, and Vicky sets up a few shots of the stalls to make the players’ nameplates visible. I snap a few photos, and we review them before she says we should be okay with what we’ve got.
“Johnny, you’re okay to support the shoot next week?” Vicky asks him.
“Sure.”
“Right, I want everyone’s nameplates tidy, helmet straight and centre, with the number showing.” She lists off a pile of demands before Johnny stops her.
“Vic, you need to tell the equipment guys, not me.”
“Right,” she says, grabbing her notepad from her satchel bag.
After considering the lighting, Vicky nods and mutters to herself before taking a few shots.
“I’ll see you later?” Ryan asks me as Vicky and I turn to leave.
We say our goodbyes and Vicky and I head back up to the offices, stopping to grab a brew on the way.
“So, was it worth the risk?” Vicky asks as we sit back down at our desks.
“What do you think?” I ask, docking my laptop and flipping the lid open.
“I hate to say it, but if he’s anything like his brother, I would take the risk too,” Vicky says, tapping away at her keyboard.
She sighs and gives a longing look.
“Vic, do you think you can get over what’s gone on? You still have feelings for each other.”
She doesn’t reply, but when I glance over, I notice she’s got a web-browser open and she’s looking at flights. I wonder if she’s going to fly over to Toronto. I’m not hawk-eyed enough to see the details and realise I’m being very nosey, so I put my focus back on my screen.
“Sorry, what?” she says.
I ask again.
“He’s living his dream now, Jen,” she says sadly, and I leave it at that.
