Page 11 of Broken As Puck

“This is a waste of time,” he grumbled, reluctantly repositioning himself when I asked him to. “Smiling for some pretty pictures has nothing to do with winning a game.”

“Maybe not,” I started as I focused the camera on his face and checked that he was all in frame. “But you need fans to fund the game or else there’s no way to make money from it.”

It was a shame that Drew seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about publicity. If he didn’t, he could potentially be a good representative for the team too. He wasn’t as clean cut as Jesse, with his tattoos and his permanent grump face, but he had an edgier look that would appeal to a less mainstream audience.

He huffed. “No one wants to see me. Why don’t you just photograph Harris and Young and call it a day?”

I was about to explain why it was important to make all the team members at least partly publicly accessible when Matt strode up, glaring at Drew.

“Pull your head in, McKinley,” he snapped, the set of his jaw showing how tense he was, but then he glanced over his shoulder, grimaced, and rubbed his temple. “Sorry. I’m not trying to start anything. Just, if she says she needs photos of all of us, then that’s what we have to do. This probation thing is serious.”

Drew’s lips parted in surprise, and I just blinked at Matt, astonished. I opened my mouth but then closed it again, honestly not sure what to say. I didn’t know whether to be pleased by the show of support or annoyed that he’d interfered when I was handling things fine on my own. Drew hadn’t intentionally been causing problems, just expressing his opinion.

“Yeah, whatever,” Drew muttered, but he didn’t say anything else as I finished taking photos. Before he left, he stopped and quietly said, “Sorry if I was an ass. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I didn’t take it personally,” I said truthfully. Plenty of sportsmen didn’t like publicity. That didn’t mean they had anything against me.

My phone buzzed with a message from Layla.

Layla: How are you enjoying the man candy?

I laughed and tapped out a reply.

Chelsey: Keep an eye on the team’s socials. I’ll try to get some of the shots up later today.

Layla: Are any NSFW?

Chelsey: No. Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m a professional.

Layla: Boo.

“My turn?” Matt asked.

I jumped. Somehow, I’d forgotten he was there. Go me.

“Sure. Just tuck your helmet under one arm, have your stick in the other, and stand facing forward in the center of the backdrop.”

He did as I asked, lowering his chin in a way that told me he’d remembered the tips I used to give him about how to pose for the best photos. I gave all my attention to the camera, doing my best to treat him like any other subject. If I could pretend he was a waterfall or a mountain rather than a sexy man, that would be great.

“Lose the helmet,” I instructed. “Hold the stick across your body and angle yourself forty-five degrees.”

He transitioned easily and I kept snapping. Once I had enough serious pictures, I told him he could smile and let loose a little. He sent the camera the most wicked grin I’d ever seen. My heart rate picked up, and I tried not to remember how he used to look at me like that before he buried his face between my thighs.

Dear God, was he trying to kill me?

My finger twitched on the button, and I inhaled slowly and forced myself to calm down. Another few photos and I could send him on his way.

Then the asshole winked at me.

Seriously, fuck him.

“I’ve got what I need,” I snapped, dismissing him with a wave of my hand.

His face fell. “Are you sure? I⁠—”

“I’m certain.”

He bent to pick up his helmet and sidled over to me, glancing around as if to check whether anyone was paying attention to us. “Look, Chelsey, we need to talk. I’m really sorry about how⁠—”