Page 54 of Banter & Blushes #1

MIA

A nd here I thought this day would be a bust. When Sophie asked me to come along to help take some social media-level video shots while she interviewed the owner, I said yes, despite the stack of student papers waiting to be graded.

Not that they need much time to read. My students are second graders, and their assignment was to write one paragraph about their summer plans, which I suspect will have a universal beach theme because they usually do.

What else should I expect when they live in a cozy beach town with some of the highest rated beaches in the country?

With less than three weeks left of school, it seemed apropos.

Today is supposed to be a teachers’ day, so we can catch up, but I agreed, and here I am.

Yet I didn’t expect to lock eyes with one of the players.

And a hot one, too. I’m kind of feeling responsible for the way he’s splatted out on the ice.

If it were snow, he could make an awesome snow angel in that position.

I bite the side of my lip and wave at him again.

He waves back with his gloved hand and grins.

I grin. How can I not? The guy is staring up at me as if I’m some kind of goddess or a celebrity. A girl could really get used to that.

For the hell of it, I take some shots of him. Who knows if something like this will ever happen to someone like me again? I’m a boring grade school teacher who loves her job—just wanted to make that clear—but doesn’t get much adventure in her life .

Those papers I mentioned earlier? Yeah, that’s my hot date for tonight—grading papers. See? Booooooring .

Thus why I said yes to coming today. I’d like to have some interesting stories to tell my grandchildren someday. Not that I’m in that big of a hurry to get married and have kids. I basically ‘mother’ a bunch on a daily basis as it is.

But I am a woman. I have dreams. And falling in love ranks high on the list.

Hot hockey guy rolls to his side, then pushes himself up, giving me a glimpse of his last name—McKennan.

He turns around, and I can tell he wants to ask me something, but then the guy with the whistle lets one rip.

McKennan gives me a pointed stare and gestures at the seats behind me, as if he’s telling me not to go anywhere. More like ordering with that molten look.

I’m a modern woman. You’d think my rebellious streak would rise up and give him a much-needed eye roll—and I’m known for my epic eye rolls. But what do I do?

I giggle.

Seriously. A full on laugh, which seems to please him by the grin splitting his face. I barely catch a glimpse of it, though, as he kicks off the ice and flies down to where the rest of the team has gathered.

“How’s it going?” Sophie’s voice startles me from behind.

“Fine. Just taking some shots, like you asked. Did you finish your interview?” Please say no. Mama needs some more eye candy.

“Not quite. Rebecca had to take a call, so I told her I’d come back after lunch.”

My insides are dancing around like my second graders, but I need to play this cool. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Sophie blinks her dark eyes, the same color of her hair, at me. “If you don’t mind? This interview is turning into a full feature. I texted Marty about it, and he approved my idea to expand it.”

“Wow, your editor-in-chief gave you the green light. Imagine that,” I snark.

She grins at me. “Funcle Marty is the best.”

“Because he knows you are. He’s always believed in you.”

He may not be her uncle by blood, but Sophie has called him ‘funcle’—favorite uncle—since she was a kid because he was her father’s best friend.

So sad when her dad passed away unexpectedly several years ago.

I was so glad she had Marty to grieve with since her mother died when she was a young child.

Sophie points to my phone. “Show me what you got so far?”

“Why, so you can critique my technique, Miss Photojournalist?”

She bobs her head. “Yes.”

I groan. “Fine.” I scroll through the images and videos I took before swiping again to the one of McKennan.

Sophie laughs. “I wasn’t expecting footage like that.”

Pausing the video, I study McKennan’s face staring up at the camera. “He’s cute, right? ”

Cute doesn’t do him justice. The guy steams my sunglasses like the Florida humidity in August.

Sophie laughs. “More like he thinks you are.”

“You think so?” I know so, but having confirmation, especially from my best friend, helps a lot. Boring school teacher here, remember?

She frowns at me. “Are you kidding? Look at his expression. He’s totally into you. Better watch it, though. I hear hockey players have a type.”

“What’s that?”

She glances at the smiling image of my hot hockey guy again, then at me. “You.”