Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
I sigh, dropping the facade. “Thanks, man.”
He’s right. That’s something I’ll have to work on this season, even if it feels impossible right now. Especially when an image lands on my phone a little later—the shot of my brother and me. I like the pic, but I love that she sent it.
27
THE FUCK IT STAGE
Leighton
Two weeks, four wins, two losses, and thousands of photographs of hockey players later, my savings account is finally growing.
It’s working, this plan to squirrel away money.
It’s working because I’m working nonstop most days—bouncing from photo shoots with the Sea Dogs, to freelance shoots for The Sports Network covering the Renegades, to Birdie’s shop for coffee art, to boudoir shoots at Hush Hush. Word of mouth is my favorite thing, and since Cora and Aliza passed my name along, along with Katrina, who told her single mom support group, I’m booking boudoir sessions into December.
On Wednesday afternoon, I’m at Melissa Bergstrand’s house, AKA Cookie Melissa. Since video is nearly as easy to shoot on my phone as photos, I’m recording her as she takes me through her husband’s walk-in closet. Her nail art is pink and mint, inspired by unicorn cookies she made earlier today—she told me she always matches her nails to her cookies.
“Ooh, this will be perfect for the next home game,” she says, plucking the shirt from its hanger. “It’s a little team spirit without screaming, ‘Put me on the Jumbotron.’”
I nod, smiling, and ask—off-camera, of course—“And what will you pair it with? Inquiring fans want to know.”
She taps a nail against her lower lip thoughtfully. “We can’t go too literal—team colors can’t carry the whole look,” she says, pivoting to a rack of suit jackets. “This charcoal gray suit is the perfect finishing touch. It’s dark, so we can lean into his defender role on the ice.”
“And now the big question. Tie or no tie?”
“I’m a no-tie woman personally. He’s playing hockey, not presenting a PowerPoint.”
I stifle a laugh, and since she’s such a good sport, I toss out one more question. “And what about when he’s not playing hockey? Do you pick his clothes then too?”
With a confident smile, she says, “Of course. For the weekend when we take the kids to the farmers market for face painting, I’ll put him in a peach polo. It’s my favorite color, and he likes wearing my favorite colors. There you go.”
I stop shooting and meet her gaze. Her face is freckled and heart-shaped, a perfect match for her warm, open nature. “That’s so sweet that he likes wearing your favorites.”
“He’s such a great dad and husband,” she says, and these two are seriously couple goals with their affection for each other and their support. “I love to be able to help him shine since that’s what he does for me.” She pauses, her brow furrowing, and for a second, it looks like she’s about to ask me something. But instead, she smiles brightly. “This is so much fun. What a great idea.”
“It was Miles’s idea,” I say, giving credit where credit’s due.
“But you’re the one who’s putting it together. Never underestimate that what goes into the cookie is just as important for its success as the idea for the cookie.”
That’s good advice there. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
I shoot some B-roll of her in the closet, selecting clothes for the upcoming road trip, and on the way out, she stops me at the door, a curious glint in her warm brown eyes. “I’ve seen your photos…” she begins, her tone unusually tentative.
I wait for her to say more. I figure she means the pics on the team feed.
“And they’re so gorgeous. The lighting, and the sensuality, and the poses,” she blurts out, like it’s a relief to have said it.
“I’m so glad you like them,” I say, pleased she means the boudoir work.
Melissa exhales a little laugh, glancing at her nails. “I’ve thought about doing one of those shoots. You know, for him. But I don’t think I’d have the guts.”
That surprises me. She’s always so poised and self-assured. “You’d be amazing at it,” I say sincerely. “And if you ever decide to try, I’d make sure you feel completely comfortable.”
She brightens slightly, though there’s still a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Maybe someday. For now, it’s probably more my speed to offer cookies in the shape of bras or panties.”
“Sexy and sweet,” I say with a smile.
“Yes!” Then she gives me a goodbye hug since she’s a hugger, and I head on my way.
I edit the video that afternoon, tweaking every detail until it’s just right. Chanda posts it that night, and within hours, it’s racking up views.
My phone blows up with messages from Chanda, Everly, and even Zaire, all gushing about how great the video turned out. It hardly feels like my doing. Melissa is just…likable. Still, I reply with thanks and exclamation points to everyone.