5. Axl

five

Axl

A long practice session finally wraps up, and the guys all exit the rink, calling out happy hours to meet up at. Me, I stay on the ice for a few more speed laps. I skate backwards around the rink, instinctively knowing where to turn. I could navigate this place with my eyes closed. My legs are lead after lifting weights before practice, but I’m still going to get off the ice, stretch them out, and go for a run after I leave this place. I never stop training.

As I round the rink a second time, Bill Baker presses both of his giant palms against the Plexi glass, his focus on me. We haven’t spoken since the odd meeting yesterday. I can’t say I forgot about it, though, as that had to be the strangest request I’ve ever had from an employer. That includes the time I was required to wear a hot dog hat when I worked at Scottie's Diner the summer after freshman year of college.

Plus, it’s not how I do things.

I win by working.

I’m not some pretty boy who uses people or even social media to get ahead. I roll my eyes upward at the mere thought of using social media for fake news publicity, but when I return my gaze to the ground, Bill is still staring at me. “What?” I call out, annoyance budding in my chest. “Did you need me for something?”

“Actually,” he says, his speech slow and easy, “since you offered, I need you to take a photo with someone.” His gaze slides to the tunnel where a woman stands, but not just any woman.

My throat dries as my gaze slides over her luscious silky mane of ebony hair that cascades down her slender frame, and I halt when I hook on her majestic jade eyes. They literally stun me into immobility.

She’s breathtaking.

Bill waves me forward, closer to this decadent woman. “Come meet your co-star, Sophie Summers. She’s agreed to take a photo with you.”

The name sounds awfully familiar, but I can’t place it. I’m relearning every day not to argue with Bill as he signs my paycheck. Against my better judgment, one skate glides in front of the other, and I advance, eyes locked forward until I step off the ice and join them. I’m cautiously silent as I have one eye on this beautiful woman and the other more-sus eye on Bill.

“Just one photo.” Bill flashes his phone at us already in camera mode.

“Hi.” Her voice is soft and sultry, unlike anything I’ve ever heard. “You’re Axl?” She stands near the wall with a ready-for-business posture.

“That’s me,” I rasp, still stunned with her beauty. “And you’re Sophie?”

She triple nods as if she’s also trying to talk herself into this disastrous idea. “Reporting for revenge.”

“Excuse me?” I tip my ear closer.

“Yeah, I’m only agreeing to do this to make my ex-boyfriend jealous.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, reminding myself that I have no desire to start dating and that I don’t want to know anything about her. I’m ready to get this whole thing over with so I can get on with my day. I shuffle to stand next to her, my arms hanging loosely at my side. We resemble a police lineup as we gaze forward at Bill and wait for him to snap the stupid photo.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.” Bill waves his index finger in front of us. “Make me believe this.”

Giving Sophie a side-eye, I scoot closer and clumsily lift my arm around her back. She reaches behind me, and we settle together, arms stiffly holding each other and both flashing cheesy smiles at the camera. “Got it?” I mumble through my clenched teeth.

“No.” Bill wags his head, disappointment etching his voice. “You have to make it swoony.”

“What are you talking about?” My brows crisscross. “There’s nothing wrong with my balance.”

“Not your balance.” Bill walks forward, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me to the center of the tunnel. “This photo needs to melt all the women’s hearts and make every guy jealous.”

He strides back and grabs Sophie, leading her by the hand to me. When they reach me, he tugs on my arm while guiding Sophie to stand with her back against my chest. Then he physically wraps Sophie in my arms as if I’m pretzel dough. A sonic boom vibrates my whole body, and I’m left numb. This is not the innocent photo Bill had insisted it would be. I’m cradling her against my body, and sultry fumes of musky amber waft off her, directly up into my nose. Nobody warned me about that . It’s a smell of longing, and it slaps a sheet of sweat on my forehead.

“That’s better.” Bill steps backwards, his phone camera positioned in front of his face, and Sophie and I stand frozen in our pretzel pose as he snaps several photos before he lowers his camera.

I let out an explosive sigh of relief. “Glad that’s over,” I mumble, dropping my arms to my sides, shaking them off, already noticing that Sophie’s scent has been branded into my jersey.

Bill commands something else. “Dip her.”

“What?” I snap and not because I have a hard time hearing. I heard exactly what he said, but this is absurd. Nobody wants to see a photo like that.

“Just try it.” He waves his index finger in the air again, motioning for us to get back into pretzel formation, and I reluctantly hold out my arm for her to lean back. My lips sandwich together with spite as she folds over my arm. I glare at the camera, waiting for this to be over. “Can you lean over her just a little and gaze into her eyes?” He paces to the left a little to get a better angle.

Can I?

Is that really the question you want to ask me?

Because we both know I can.

I also can do the splits and a backflip, but that doesn’t mean I should.

What he meant to ask me is how much abuse am I willing to take.

I grind my molars together and lean over, all the while shooting daggers out of my eyes at the camera. Someday I’ll play in the NHL. I chant all my goals over in my head to remind me why I put up with this stuff. Someday I’ll be rich and can show everyone how tough I really am. Someday I won’t have to listen to Bill Baker make these ridiculous demands of me.

Bill walks forward again, putting his hand on my face, and turning it toward Sophie’s. “Can you gaze lovingly into her eyes?”

No, I cannot.

I noisily sniff back a giant breath, holding all my inner dialogue back. Don’t run your mouth, Axl. “Just take the photo!” I growl, but when he doesn’t move the camera, I follow his instruction and let my gaze land on Sophie’s. Perfectly green emeralds spiral back light at me as if they’re holding a secret. Great, now my palms are sweating.

Bill commands, “Lean a little closer and pucker up, like you're about to kiss her.”

Someday I’ll be rich and play in the NHL and not have to listen to Bill Baker. I bite my lower lip so hard it hurts, but I refuse to run my mouth.

I can do this.

As dumb as it is.

My heart ticks up a notch and I lean closer, but I’m certainly not puckering up!

That’s for sure.

Sophie’s chin tips back and her lips part, and all the while her eyes spiral back at me, torching a trail between my eyes and my lips as they drift between the two. The heat that was already firing in my palms starts to blaze a trail right up my arm, not stopping until it plops into the center of my heart. This is the most intensive cardio I’ve done all year. “Take the picture,” I growl.

“Just move your faces together a little closer,” Bill instructs, and because I physically can’t stand to see how ridiculous this pose is, I close my eyes and tip my chin.

“Got it!” Bill exclaims, and I quickly push Sophie back up and take a step a good two feet away from her.

“Good. I’m hitting the showers.” I pivot, unable to take part in this ridiculousness anymore. Someday when I’m in the NHL, I can look back at this humiliation as I count my stacks of endorsement cash and laugh, but that day is not today.

Today I feel used.

I’m not a boy toy. I have serious talent. Just wait until I have several NHL championships under my belt, and this whole charade will be nothing more than a bad memory.