Page 14 of Off the Post

Despite his closed expression, I sensed a vulnerability in his demeanor.

I’m still contemplating Soren’s strange behavior a few minutes later while I check in with Joelle in the back room of the studio.

“How’s it all going back here?” I ask, stepping into the room designated as the wardrobe fitting room. It’s set apart from the makeup and hairstyling area, and Joelle is working with Wyatt Pendergast to get him into costume. If you can call it that.

Wyatt wanted to represent Pride month for the June shoot, and when we’d discussed it last night on the phone, he had been ecstatic to appear naked, wrapped only in a Pride flag.

Dante, however, seemingly upped the heat a few degrees when he decided to paint Wyatt’s chest in an assortment of colors. Standing with his back to me, Wyatt smiles in the mirror, posing with the flag draped around his waist.

“Hey, Ali, what do you think about my makeup?”

My eyebrows furrow and I regard him with feigned disappointment. I tap my finger against my chin.

“I don’t know, Wyatt,” I say with a shake of my head. I twirl my finger at his appearance. “There just seems to be something missing, I just can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe you need more color?”

He laughs at my attempt at humor and a gleam of playfulness sparkles in the mirror’s reflection of his eyes. I lift my shoulders in a shrug.

Wyatt casts a glance over his shoulder at Dante, who stands at his side and is completing his masterpiece. Wyatt’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and a smile plays at his lips.

“You heard the lady,” he says, gesturing with a wide arc of his arms. Then he sweeps his hands in a waterfall motion from the top of his head down to his belly. “We need more color. Stat.”

Dante scoffs and waves his makeup brush and color palette in the air.

“I am the artist here and will not work under these conditions.” His wink tells me he’s teasing. “This is a masterpiece in the making.”

From the way they’re flirting, I’m thinking there may be something brewing between these two men.

Who knows? Perhaps I’ve helped facilitate a love connection today on top of a calendar shoot. That would look great on my resume. Event Coordinator. Part-time Matchmaker.

Wyatt holds his hands up in mock frustration. “Look what I have to deal with here… an overly sensitive, temperamental, too-hot-for-his-own-good makeup artist.”

I tilt my head and lift a palm. “Artists are notoriously difficult, Wyatt. I’d be nice and let him do his thing if I were you. After all, that palette has some sharp edges.”

I chuckle softly as the carefree vibe of fun in the room washes over me, the camaraderie occurring between the crew and models filling me with joy. It’s a novelty for me, something I haven’t experienced in the past. Once again, I’m reminded how lucky I am to have been given this opportunity.

Besides, how many people get a day job where they hang around a bunch of ripped and handsome hockey players?

I smile to myself and glance down at my tablet to note the time. We need to keep things moving at a faster pace if we don’t want to be here until midnight.

There’s a shiver of awareness that ripples down my spine, and when I lift my eyes, they connect with Soren’s. He stares at me from across the room with a scowl on his face.

I gasp and my belly does somersaults.

Soren crosses his arms, annoyance written over his face, and states loudly, “No way am I dressing up like an elf for the December shoot.”

I open my mouth to speak and then snap it shut when Wyatt hoots with laughter from behind me.

“The Wolf as an elf? That’s classic!”

Soren glowers at him. “Shut your mouth, Pendy.”

This has Wyatt laughing even harder. The cheekiness of Wyatt’s comment is deliciously funny, and I fight myself to keep from joining in. The image of the broody and gruff Wolf dressed up in a green elf costume is too much for me to remain straight-faced. I cover my mouth with my hand and stifle my giggle.

Soren turns to me sharply with a cutting look. And it’s then that I realize why there might be a slight misunderstanding. I reach out to gently touch Soren’s arm.

“Listen, Soren. I think I can clear this up for you.” His eyes narrow, and I clear my throat and then dislodge my hand from the heat of his skin.

“Tanner was just messing with you.” This doesn’t get the response I wanted. Soren’s scowl stays put and even intensifies. “There’s a scene featuring all the guys dressed as elves in front of a toyshop background scheduled for our December page, but if that makes you uncomfortable, there’s no expectation that you participate.”