Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“I’m excited for my friends to meet you,” I say, and I know they’ll like her since I do. Leighton and I have become friendlier over the last week or so. I sort of feel like a friend matchmaker tonight.
I wave the group over then make quick introductions. “This is Leighton McBride. She’s a freelance photographer I hope to work with more. She’s phenomenally cool so I wanted you phenomenally cool ladies to meet her too.”
Josie flashes her trademark welcoming grin. “That’s good enough for me. How about us phenomenally cool ladies get chocolate and hang out?”
“I’m game,” Leighton says.
The five of us order a chocolate sampler and catch up on our weeks, but mostly my friends want to get to know Leighton.
“What kind of photography are you into?” Josie asks, ever the inquisitive one.
Leighton smiles, and it’s both a little bit sneaky and a little hopeful. “I’m trying to figure that out, and I’m dabbling in a bunch of things,” she says, then lowers her voice and says almost in a confessional whisper, “But I actually kind of like boudoir photography. I’ve been assisting at a studio and helping out a bit with that. I’ve done a couple shoots so far.”
Maeve clears her throat as her eyes bug out. “Ma’am. Show us.”
“Really?” Leighton asks, but it’s clear she wants to share.
Fable nods, then makes grabby hands. “Now. Show us now.”
Leighton swipes her finger across her tablet. “Just don’t tell my dad. I don’t know exactly how to have that conversation with him.”
I give her a playful look. “Right. I was totally going to tell the coach,” I say, then gasp when she shows us her shots.
They’re artful and sultry, pretty and powerful.
“I’ve been researching why women do boudoir shots, and some do it for their partners, but a lot of times it’s because it makes them feel…beautiful in their own skin,” Leighton says.
I sit up straight. She can’t know how that hits, but it’s like she’s speaking to my soul.
“I’m in,” Maeve says. “I want to do one.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Fable teases.
“Me too,” Josie says. “But I also want to give them to Wes. He’d like them.”
Max would too, I want to say.
Then another surprising thought hits me—a few weeks ago, I might have slammed the door entirely on a boudoir shot. I’m not saying yes to one, but it’s no longer an immediate no.
That change in me feels like something I can be proud of.
This is a project I took on just for me. An image makeover for how I see myself. One that is further along than I’d suspected.
After we finish our flight of salted caramel chocolates, I say, “I have an announcement.”
Josie gapes at me, like she’s worried I’m about to tell everyone that I’m involved with Max even though pretty much everyone knows how I feel for him except Leighton.
But instead, I say, “Why don’t we go lingerie shopping right now? I happen to be a huge fan of satin and lace, and I can help you pick out the best sets for your shoots?”
They’re pushing back their chairs and getting up and out of there in no time. And that’s another thing that feels empowering—shopping for pretty things with my friends.
And I make sure to pick out something special for me because I have a feeling I’ll be ready for it on a secret date very soon.
But not in Vancouver, where we go on Sunday for a quick away game. Though Max and I do have a secret date there. That is, if you count Max sneaking down to my hotel room to rip open a bag of popcorn and watch Pretty Woman—since we’re still in our makeover movie era.
When the credits roll, he says, “I have an idea for our next date. Something you owe me.”
I arch a brow. “I owe you now?”
“You offered me a raincheck.”
Oh. Right. When he asked me to skate. I actually haven’t been on skates in a year. No particular reason. I’ve just been busy. “You were serious about that?”
He holds my gaze, his blue eyes intense. “I’m serious about everything when it comes to you.”
Talk about subtext.
My heart catches then speeds up, beating too fast for my chest. How is this man my former nemesis and now he’s romancing me like no man has romanced a woman before?
“Yes,” I say, then I tug down his gray sweats and show him how much I appreciate him sneaking down to my room.
We return with a win and some good media coverage, including a feature on Wesley Bryant. Feeling accomplished, I get ready for my next secret date with Max. It’s Wednesday evening, and I slip into the new lingerie I bought for him the other night, looking at myself in the mirror in the white lace before I put on a sweater. It’s my morning ritual but I’m doing it before our evening date.