Page 13 of Pucked Together
"You're telling me that the starting goalie for an NHL hockey team doesn't have a social media presence?"
My ex played college-level and even he made sure to be on top of his social media game—always posting the epic photos I’d take of him during his games.
Ryker looks at me like I just spoke a foreign language. "I don't."
"Why? Isn't that how you guys get your big endorsement deals and stuff?"
"Maybe."
"So what? You don't play for the money? You play for the love of the game? Because the car you drive sure doesn't say that."
He's now fully turned around, and his eyes are raking across my room like he's trying to figure me out based on my belongings. They land on the DSLR camera Keelan gave me last Christmas.
"Is that yours?" He ignores my comment.
I look at the camera. "Maybe." I get up and walk over to my desk to pick it up and turn it on.
"You a photographer?"
"First, tell me why you're not on social media."
He leans against the wall next to the bathroom door and crosses his arms again. Those damn biceps bulge, and it takes everything in me not to recall him naked earlier.
Ew, Izzy. What is wrong with you? Stop being such a perv.
"Because, oh, little one. I find real life to be much more interesting." His eyes trail over me again. I can't help the feeling that he might be talking about me. "Besides, the world will only twist the things you give them access to."
There it is.
"You've been burned by the media."
"You can say that." His jaw clenches, and I can tell we're heading into uncomfortable territory for him.
"Ok, fair." I go to stand next to him and show him some of my most recent photographs. "And yes. I'm a photographer."
I stopped about twenty times just to capture some incredible settings I saw on my drive into Texas.
He leans his head over to see better, and I get a good whiff of him. Soap. The most deliciously clean and fresh scent that's ever tickled my nose. I hope he doesn't notice how deeply I just inhaled.
"These rock formations were in Joshua Tree." I show him a picture of Wednesday sitting on top of a rock with the sun behind her.
"These cacti were from a national wildlife reserve in Arizona." I keep flipping through, and my captive audience nods at each one. "That's a Gila monster." He lets out a breath through his nose in a laugh as he inspects the photo with Wednesday snarling at a giant lizard.
"She's feisty," he says. His voice has a hint of humor.
Wednesday lifts her head from where she is on the pillow like she knows we're talking about her.
A smile touches my lips—until I get to the next few photos. I quickly flip through the photos of the small Adobe church outside of Tucson.
Ryker studies my profile when he sees me skipping past them. I'm sure he wants to know why I'm not saying anything about these specific pictures.
"Anyways, you get the point," I say, dropping the camera down to my side and leaning my head against the wall.
He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, and he leans his head back on my wall, too.
My body is suddenly fully aware that I'm alone in a room with what just might be the most insanely handsome man on earth. And my breathing becomes slightly erratic.
No, no, no. Not now.