Chapter Three

The next week went on much as usual for Payton. She had been really excited with the results of the shoot with Sidney. The prints were amazing. She’d chosen several to run in black and white and well as color and couldn’t be happier. It seemed so far away now. She had a studio full of crying children one day and a couple of sullen teenagers the next. The last two days seemed like an eternity. She’d left her schedule open for Wednesday since she didn’t really know what time he might show up. She’d laid the prints on her studio table and was thumbing through them. The deadline for the magazine was quickly approaching and she hoped that he would agree with her decision. She’d picked a dozen really beautiful shots of him, including one in the recliner. She hadn’t expected to use any of those, but the look in his eyes was very compelling.


She didn’t see him come in. He watched her at the table. It was near enough to the windows that the sunlight cascaded down on her hair. She was casual today, in jeans and a navy blue t-shirt and she was barefoot. After he left last week, he thought that it had been a momentary attraction. She’d been sweet and funny in a unique kind of way. He’d dismissed his reaction to her and concentrated on his own responsibilities. However, he’d dreamt of her on Saturday night. He’d gotten a hat trick against Boston and he’d wondered as he lay in bed that night if she’d worn her jersey. In his dream, all she had on was his jersey. He’d entwined his fingers in her long hair. It was soft, so soft. Her kisses were warm and wet as he smothered her mouth with his own. She’d pulled him down over her on that driftwood bed and wrapped her bare legs around him. He’d wanted her like nothing he’d ever felt. He’d fought that jersey over her head and held her wrists together with it. His gaze travelled over her body where he found no lace imprisoning her firm ivory breasts. He leaned down over her, his breath creating goose-bumps on her skin. She smelled slightly of vanilla and tasted so sweet, like strawberries in the summer. Her nipples became hard as pebbles as his tongue caressed one, his fingers, the other. Her soft moans were too much for him. He reached down and freed his confined cock, already so hard that he was in pain. A loud wail burst out. He started awake with a raging hard-on, cursing the alarm that chased away his delusion.

He hadn’t been able to completely get that dream off his mind in the days that followed. He had to admit he was excited and a little nervous to be here again. He barely knew her. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking of her. Maybe seeing her again could change that. Maybe it wouldn’t be there this time and he could let it go. That would be best. But standing here watching her, he was still under her spell. She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and reached for another photograph. She smiled to herself. He caught himself wishing he knew what she was thinking. He cleared his throat.

She’d been lost in the photos, remembering those few hours with Sidney. She was startled when she looked up and he was standing there. Her breath nearly caught in her throat when she saw him. She could see him every day for a hundred years and not get used to how beautiful he was.

“Hi,” she exclaimed moving quickly to greet him.

“Hi,” he replied, the velvet baritone of his voice was low and soft.  He was searching her face, looking for what she didn’t know. His eyes were lighter today, more green with flecks of amber. What he wears must matter. Today, he wore a spring green button down shirt, hanging over the top of his jeans. “You have something to show me?”

“Yeah,” she said nervously. She must have looked into his eyes a little too long. She moved quickly around the table and gestured to the photos.

He was taken aback. These photos were amazing and they were of him. She’d worked miracles. The spread really looked like it belonged in a magazine.

“Wow, these are great. How did you do that? People aren’t going to believe I’m just a hockey player.”

“Just a hockey player?” she exclaimed incredulously. “How could you possibly think you’re just a hockey player?”

“Uh, hello, hockey stick, puck, that’s what I am.”

“Surely there are things that you enjoy besides hockey. Don’t get me wrong, I bleed black and gold, but that can’t be the only thing that makes you happy.”

“You sound like my granny. She always wants to make sure that I have a life outside of hockey,” he laughed. But when he looked at her, he’d apparently said the wrong thing. She quickly looked away from him.

She was embarrassed by her intrusion into his personal life. It was none of her business. There she was again getting too familiar with him. She distracted him with the photos.

“These are the ones I want to send to the magazine. What do you think?”

He looked them over. The shot of him unbuttoning his shirt was there. It was in black and white and it was very good. He was surprised that he wasn’t embarrassed by it. There was also a color shot of him in the recliner looking at the camera as if it were a lover. This one did embarrass him, not because of the content, but because of what he was thinking at the time she took it. However, he couldn’t think of any other reason to reject it.

“I don’t think Granny Forbes or Granny Crosby would object to any of these. I was right to trust you.”

She was so happy, she could hardly contain herself. Not only did he give his approval, but he’d given her the greatest compliment she could have asked for. He trusted her. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around his neck, but just barely. Instead she packed the photographs and got them ready to be messengered to the magazine.

“I thought maybe you’d like to take some of these with you,” she said collecting some of the more modest prints and sliding them into an envelope. “Your mom might like them.”

He grinned, “And what about you? I could sign one of them for you.”

She grinned and then her face flushed. It gave her cheeks a soft, rosy blush that reminded him of the dream.

“I’d like that,” she said softly.

He took the black and white version of the one of him in the recliner, signed it and returned it to her. Always your captain, it said and had his name, naturally.

My captain. She looked up at him and breathed a “thank you.” He was standing so close to her now, she could feel the heat from his body. He was smiling at her in a way that made her embarrassed. She must be acting just like all his fans. She looked away from him and walked back around the table. A sudden thought made her very unhappy. This may be the last time she’d ever see him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She shook her head trying to throw off the thought.

“It didn’t look like nothing. Tell me.”

She just stood there and shook her head.

“Well, I’m not leaving until you tell me,” he stated, crossing his arms like a petulant child and leaning back against the table.

“That’s hardly a threat,” she laughed. Still he sat there, waiting, tapping his long fingers on his bicep.

“Tell me,” he insisted. And as embarrassed as she was, she couldn’t resist him.

“It was just… I, uh… I guess maybe I'll see you at the arena …,” she lied. She couldn't tell him that she was really afraid she'd never see him again.

He raised himself from the table and stood close to her, but she couldn’t look at him.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other,” he said with a knowing smile. “Thank you for making me look good.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” she said with a nervous laugh.

He did want to see her again. He was still intoxicated by her, but he was unsure if he should do anything about it. He sighed to himself and turned to leave and noticed the portraits on the studio wall. Inspiration struck.

“You know, I have a “Little Penguins” camp coming up next week,” he said turning back to her. “Would you be interested in doing pictures of the kids?”

“Of course, I’d love to,” she answered.

“Great. I’ll get it set up and get back with you about the details.