Page 21 of Off the Post

Before I was drafted by the Vikings organization, I previously played for a German team where I saw the damage this type of situation can cause. My friend and teammate, Karl Stolz, had a younger sister who was barely legal when she started hanging out with Sasha Petrov, a D-man from Russia. I’ve never seen anything quite like the animosity that instantly grew between the two teammates when Karl found out about the relationship, and it’s not something I would want to replicate on my own. I like Rossy too much to create that kind of tension.

There’s also the fact that I’ve behaved like a complete dickhead to Ali throughout today’s photoshoot. My usual sullen moodiness and surly manners have shown their ugly heads several times today.

Jesus, I’ve been such a prick to everyone, but especially to this sunny woman who is only here to do her job and manage a bunch of hockey-playing idiots so her organization can raise money for kids.

I shake my head at my ridiculous behavior as I head back toward the studio, where my mouth drops open in surprise. Ali has worked her magic and transformed the set.

When she hears my approach, she whirls around, her smile the brightest thing since the invention of the light bulb.

Ja.

There’s no way in hell that a woman so full of sunshine would ever choose to go out with the likes of me.

But a guy can fucking dream.

11

Ali

Holy smokes.

This situation couldn’t get any more fantastical if a genie had been thrown out of a bottle and granted me my wildest fantasies.

A nearly naked goalie is waiting on me to tell him what to do.

While he was off finding his helmet, Joelle and I had located a small step stool, which we placed behind the mountains part of the set so it will look like Soren climbed to the top of a snowy mountain range and is defending his domain.

And doing it bare-chested, to boot.

Could it get any hotter than this?

Beads of sweat roll down my cleavage. I have to stop thinking about him in any way other than professional. He’s married and has a family.

Damn my fantasies all to hell.

“Here, can you lather Soren up for me?” asks Joelle, absently thrusting a bottle of oil into my hand. My arms clumsily try to juggle that with my iPad and coffee cup. “I need to set up for the shot and Dante’s still working on Tanner’s hair. I want those abs to glisten.” She waves a hand and waggles her eyebrows unabashedly at Soren, who has returned with his helmet in hand. I blanch at her command, at a loss for words as my mouth opens and closes like a fish.

I stare down at the bottle, then at Soren’s physique, and swallow.

She wants me to do what now?

I expected to get my hands dirty during this shoot—no pun intended. I was ready to run around and coordinate the scenes, get models in their spots when needed, and be here to ensure everything went smoothly and without a hitch.

What I didn’t expect was to get my hands literally dirty with oil and run them all over Soren’s body.

I chew on my bottom lip, then stammer out my reply. “Uh…um… okay. Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

Moving slowly forward, I stop in front of the man in question. His imposing figure towers over me, his eyes fixed on my face, and his full lips quirk ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth, which morphs into a smirk.

Is that a twinkle in his eye? Maybe a dare?

Oh, Jesus. I can’t breathe. I’m too close. I get a whiff of his masculine scene and feel lightheaded.

Nope. Not going to go there. He’s married. End of story. My stupid hormones can take a hike.

I shake my head, dislodging my brain cobwebs, and look up at him. “May I?”

“Be my guest.” He raises his brows and hoists his arms out to his sides, making the muscles of his biceps and shoulders contract in a gorgeous series of slopes and valleys.