Page 66 of Just One Season
I’m so glad Lina and I have a positive relationship. We have weekly one on ones, and we’ve gone for coffee a few times. She’s invested in helping me get the Winchester FC job in England. She tells me all the time how great I’m doing here, which is refreshing after not getting much feedback from my boss at DC FC or my boss’s boss, who happened to be my father.
At the Blizzard, it’s delightful to know my chain of command doesn’t include Richard.
The door to the conference room swings open and I flinch, almost dropping my phone. In walks Kellen Bassey, a wardrobe bag hooked over his shoulder.
“Kellen.” I sit up straight in the chair.
“I’m so sorry about missing my appointment. And not responding to your text.” He looks around the empty room and shuts his eyes. “Shit. The photographer’s gone.”
“Yeah, they packed up a bit ago.” I stand and the office chair rolls back against the conference room table.
Kellen’s squinting his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. The vibes I’m getting from this man right now are so different than the usual casual, warm ones.
“Hey, you okay?”
Kellen hadn’t specified what the appointment was for with Ava. Given his current mood, I’m terrified it wasn’t a good one.
Kellen opens his eyes. “Yeah.” He’s a step through the doorway, one hand clenched at his side, the other still gripping the wardrobe bag. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and open flannel button down that projects perfect Colorado casual.
Something is definitely wrong.
The stupidest idea crashes into my mind but I run with it, like Bear with one of Atticus’s shoes.
“You know what? I can take some pictures on my phone. Or I can at least include them as placeholders until we can reschedule the session.”
What in the actual hell am I talking about?
“Yeah?” Kellen raises an eyebrow.
“I took some photography classes in college.” I did not. “And I took pictures of players sometimes for my job at DC FC.” Lies.
Kellen’s mouth quirks on one side. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
I press my lips together. I’m such an idiot.
“Great! We can start with what you’re wearing, then change to your suit, then the jersey. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been watching the photographer do this all afternoon, so I know what poses he’s looking for.” My voice is overly cheerful, and Kellen seems temporarily distracted from whatever his problems are.
What would be helpful right now is the photographer’s lights, professional camera, and, you know, overall training and job skills.
Like a lunatic, I gesture to the stool in front of the green background. Kellen lays his wardrobe bag over the back of a chair and takes a seat in front of the screen.
“How do you want me?” He’s got a hint of a smirk on his face, like he knows I’m completely full of shit. It’s much better than the anxious expression he had when he first walked in.
How do I want him? So many ways.
What am I doing? I have no idea.
Will I text the photographer and sayhey do you think these cell phone photos are good enough for a professional portfolio?
Obviously not.
So what, exactly, is my plan here?
There’s a fluttering in my chest. I want to do anything I can to make Kellen feel better. Get him to smile. To laugh. And maybe my plan is to spend time with this man, which is something I happen to enjoy. Too much.
