Page 19 of The Game
I’m sad my dad couldn’t make it to this first game, but he promised he would try for the next one.
Hopefully, we’ll get to experience lots of games together in the coming months.
“Yeah, and I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for exciting content for the guys and their profiles,” she responds.
Samantha isn’t wrong, and I’ve planned to shoot some content for some of the guys and their profiles.
We also have all the professional photographers in attendance who will send their pictures and videos after the game, which we can use.
As the day progresses, the hum of excitement intensifies. When it’s finally time to head over to the rink, I’m bursting with anticipation.
We arrive before the doors open to the public, giving me plenty of time to shoot content with the players before they start getting ready.
I’ve just finished with one of them when I feel him. I don’t even need to look his way to know he’s there.
I sense his eyes on me, but I keep my focus straight ahead, not daring to glance in his direction.
“Okay, I’m up next!” Aaron says to me, appearing with a huge smile on his face.
We’ve decided to create a short video for his profile, giving fans a peek into game day as an NHL player.
He will primarily film the videos himself to keep them authentic, but we also chose to capture some shots of him around the arena, arriving and heading to the locker room.
I follow him with the phone I use for shooting content, and once we’re finished, it’s time for him to head to warm-ups.
I say goodbye to Aaron and head back.
Just as I turn the corner, I collide with a solid chest of hard muscle.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I say as I step back and look up, straight into Alexander McGregor’s eyes.
Instantly, that damn tingle starts in my belly, and I curse myself for being so affected by him.
“You know what, never mind,” I say and step out to pass him, but he steps in my way.
Seriously, how old are we?
I glare up at him, but that only seems to encourage him further, and he tilts his head slightly while looking at me.
“I’m not sorry at all. It seems that inflicting physical harm is your specialty,” he says, and even though his tone is teasing, I still feel my temper rising.
The way he’s looking at me, like I’m just a joke, irritates me.
He should be apologizing, for Christ’s sake.
But no, of course, the ego of the captain matches his height way above everyone else.
I huff and cross my arms.
“And verbal insults are your speciality,” I say, my tone sharp.
I step past him, and even though I’m tempted to step on his foot with my heel, I figure one of us should try to be the mature one and decide against it.
He’s also playing an important game, so damaging his foot wouldn’t be wise.
It would also kind of prove his point of physical harm.
Can’t have that.
