Chapter 8

Ivan

I should have said no,but that word didn't seem to be in my vocabulary when it came to Cheyenne. I was free to do modeling and acting as long as I kept hockey out of it, and that didn't sound like it would be relevant in a perfume collection, but I was going to get endless shit about this if this commercial had any kind of primetime success. I didn't know how it worked, but I saw perfume commercials on television and online all the time.

"You look nervous," Gabe teased me as we walked into the building the cab dropped us off in front of.

"I'm not a model," I said. "That deodorant commercial was a slog because I kept messing up the lines and they said I didn't look happy enough. Whatever the fuck that means."

"It means you're a broody Russian bastard and need to lighten up."

"You want to do it?"

"No one asked me," he said. "I'm just tonight's wingman."

"Yeah, yeah." I wasn't really grumpy about the situation.

I could have said no, but I hadn't wanted to, so now I had to man the fuck up, no matter how uncomfortable I was suddenly feeling.

It wasn't about being insecure about my looks or anything. I knew I was a decent-looking guy. But Cheyenne was literally the top supermodel in the world. Anyone who worked with her would automatically be in the spotlight, and I wasn't sure we were ready for that. More me than her, but I'd just gotten her to agree to spend some time with me, so adding this level of scrutiny would be interesting. And maybe not in a good way.

"You must be Ivan." A waif-like woman with dark hair and glasses was waiting as the elevator doors opened.

"Hello." I nodded, holding out my hand. "Ivan Rochenko."

"Alexa Humboldt." She had a handshake like a man, which was in direct contrast to how physically slight she was. "Thank you so much for coming. Our male model walked out—fucking Europeans, so sensitive. Anyway, we have to do a few test shots first. Are you okay with that?"

"Whatever you need," I said quietly. "This is my friend, Gabriel DeLugo."

"Nice to meet you, Gabe." She shook his hand too. "You guys are saving my ass, so anything you ever need—dresses for a wife, girlfriend, mistress—just name it."

"My fiancée would strangle me if I had a mistress," Gabe said, laughing, "but she'll be excited about the prospect of getting an Alexa Humboldt dress for our wedding."

"Well, maybe a surprise early wedding gift, then? Just let me know." She whirled around, the scarves around her neck flying. "Now, let's get going. Chey's using the little girls' room, so she'll be out in a minute. Ivan, go see Lola over there." She pointed. "She'll do your makeup. Gabe, plant yourself wherever you're comfortable as long as it's not in the way."

"Got it."

Gabe moved off and I followed a blond with a pixie haircut who led me to a small dressing room. She sat me down and gripped my jaw with two fingers, lightly but firmly turning my face in a couple of directions.

"Great bone structure… gorgeous eyes… you broke that nose a few times, huh?"

I chuckled. "Twice. I'm a pro hockey player."

She laughed. "Well, a little contour cream and no one will know."

"Whatever you say."

She went to work on my face, and I just sat there, waiting for Chey to arrive, but she never came in. I wondered if she was purposely keeping her distance so I wouldn't start talking and disrupt what Lola was doing, or if she was already behind the camera.

"Well, that's a pretty good job if I do say so myself!" Lola announced, turning me to face the mirror.

I looked the same.

But I didn't.

My skin tone was even now, any pores or blemishes covered.

She hadn't done anything obvious, like blush or lipstick—even though she'd used those things—and simply enhanced my features. And as promised, my nose seemed straighter somehow.

Whatever contour cream was, it worked.

I didn't care so much, the bump on my nose didn't bother me, but I wanted to do whatever was necessary to look good for Cheyenne. And Alexa. I instinctively liked her, which didn't happen too often. Gabe was right that there was a stoic part of me that I attributed to my early Russian upbringing where we were told not to laugh when out in public because people would wonder if you were crazy.

"Oh, very nice." Alexa came over as soon as I stepped back into the main room. "Now, Chey is out on the balcony. I want you to go out there and pose with her. I need to see you two in different positions so we can get the pacing right for the video. Then we'll change your shirt and get you looking a little more mystical.

I didn't know what that meant but walked out onto the balcony anyway. The vision awaiting me nearly made me stumble, and I had to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of Cheyenne. She was poised against a pillar of some kind, wearing a loose, flowy dress that floated around her legs like a cloud. It was a silvery color, low-cut in the front and backless from what I could see.

Her blond hair was long and free, flowing around her shoulders in loose waves. Her skin practically glowed, as if some inner radiance simply shone through, and I couldn't help but drag my eyes down her body, taking in every glorious inch.

"Like what you see?" She met my gaze with a smile.

"The question is, do you like what you see?" I asked, trying to cover how much she affected me by deflecting. "I don't usually wear makeup."

"Everything is enhanced on film," she said, coming over to me and putting a soft finger on my cheek. "And you look incredibly handsome. Of course, I knew you would."

"Did you?" My hand moved to her waist, pulling her a little closer.

"Of course." She seemed content to just gaze up into my eyes and I forgot all about the shoot, Alexa, Gabe, and the myriad crew milling about. It was like it was just the two of us.

She licked her lips, making them shine even brighter, and leaving me almost frozen with desire.

No woman had ever been as beautiful as Cheyenne was right now.

The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming, but just as I leaned in, someone yelled, "Got it! Fuck, that was hot."

I blinked and the moment was lost.

They'd been taking pictures the whole time.

None of what we'd just shared had been real.

Shit.

Chey was a professional and she'd known exactly what to do to put me under her spell. She made millions of dollars a year with that exact look she'd just given me, and I'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

"Oh, these are great," Alexa breathed, staring down at the camera the photographer held. "You guys are going to make Freddy look like an amateur. All right, Ivan, go back to Lola, and she'll do something about that shirt."

I looked down.

"What's wrong with my shirt?" I asked, suddenly irritated.

"Well, for one thing, it's not silver. You're taller and a bit more muscular than Freddy, but I'm sure we have something that'll work. Go on now, I pay double after midnight. The owners wanted us to be out by then but it's already ten and we haven't even started shooting."

I moved away from Chey without looking back.

I felt horny and stupid and frustrated all at once.

What was wrong with me?

Chey had made it clear we were just friends who occasionally hung out.

She wasn't into me.

And I had to remember that in the future.

* * *

It was a long night,with us shooting until almost two in the morning. I was going to be exhausted at the morning skate, but the evening hadn't been as bad as I'd thought. Once I'd shaken off my arousal, my bad mood had gone with it, and I'd signed something Alexa put in front of me without reading it. Chey wasn't going to allow anyone to screw me over, I knew that, and if I'd made a mistake, well, I'd get my lawyer to take care of it.

I hadn't said much to Chey when we'd finished, thanking Alexa and the crew for making the experience painless for a novice like me, and then I'd left, telling Chey I'd text her about Thursday. She'd looked almost hurt at my abrupt departure, but I needed to get some rest, and frankly, I needed to get away from her.

Every time we were in the same room together my world tilted, and I didn't know what that was about.

She wasn't into me.

Not like that.

So I had to stop trying.

"You look like someone kicked your puppy," Canyon said to me when we got to the arena the next day. "Late night?"

"Yeah. Kinda."

I didn't want to tell the guys what I'd done last night, but once the commercial was on the air, everyone would see it.

"I shot a commercial last night," I said finally, yanking on my shoulder pads.

"Yeah?" He looked intrigued. "For what?"

"A new women's perfume. I was just in it for a few seconds. It was something Cheyenne was doing, and I wound up filling in for a model who couldn't make it. Totally unplanned." I wasn't going to talk about that Freddy guy who'd walked out.

"Oh, cool. I've done a few for sports drinks and stuff, but nothing as cool as working with Cheyenne. You guys are hooking up, right?"

"Just friends," I muttered.

"She friend zoned you, huh?" He laughed and I gave him a dirty look.

"We're both busy, almost never in the same city at the same time. Both of us being in New York this week was a total coincidence."

Canyon nodded. "That tracks. Woman as successful as her probably isn't ready to settle down with someone who has to be in one place, but potentially a different place every few years."

He had a point.

"Yeah, well, I'm not ready to settle down either."

"Same." He grinned. "Well, hurry up, you look like you're draggin' ass and if Coach notices, you're up the creek without a paddle."

I was definitely dragging after only getting five hours' sleep.

That wouldn't cut it on a game day.

I was going to go back to the hotel to nap after practice.

I was just about to lock up my things when my phone buzzed, and I took a quick look.

CHEY: Good morning! Sorry we kept you out so late last night. You left before I could properly thank you, but I really appreciate you jumping in like that. I'm looking forward to tomorrow night. And by the way, I'm coming to the game tonight!

She was?

My traitorous heart forgot all about last night's fuckery and I quickly typed out a message.

IVAN: I can leave tickets for you, if you want to bring a friend. Text me later and maybe we can get a drink.

CHEY: I already got tickets, but yes, I'll see you later.

I locked up my things and headed for the locker room.

I couldn't think about Chey right now.

I thought about her far too much.

Cheyenne was in my head constantly, and I realized I didn't even know her last name. She only used the name Cheyenne professionally, but she obviously had a surname. I'd just never bothered to ask what it was.

Maybe that was the first step in getting to know her better.

I had to start somewhere, because ignoring the attraction between us wasn't making it go away. If it was one-sided, I needed to come to terms with that sooner rather than later. Until then, I was going to focus on hockey.