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Paisley

When I originally reached out to Bill Baker about doing a spread on his team, he graciously offered to arrange a small office space in the Mapleton Arena, where Granite Ice plays. It’s been perfect because I get all kinds of behind-the-scenes access to the team. Plus, it’s past the janitor’s closet, where nobody goes, so it’s super quiet. Not surprisingly, this spot has quickly become the place where I do my best editing.

I spent all Monday morning taking photos of practice and got nothing incriminating, which was a super huge disappointment. After lunch, I return to my office, but as soon as I open the door, I halt.

A beautiful camera sits on my desk.

My camera.

Seeing it’s all in one piece brings a giant sigh, and I plop into my chair and pick up the camera. There’s nothing to indicate who dropped it off. I assume it was the lady from the hotel. I’m sad I missed her stopping by, because I owe her a huge thank you. I’m so grateful to have it again.

My shoulders fall, releasing all my tension. At least I know the photos didn’t end up in the hands of someone else. Not to mention, three weeks of my hard work would have been lost. Add on the embarrassment of getting stomped on at the gala, and it would have all been for nothing.

I turn the camera over, examining it. The lens falls into my hand, and I see a long crack right up the center. My stomach sinks. I can replace the lens, but it’s not cheap. My stomach drops even more as I continue my examination. Sure enough, the onboard flash is missing. Again, I can replace that as well, but this is getting expensive. I turn the camera over to open the memory card slot, but the compartment is wide open.

The cover is broken off and the memory card is gone!

Cold sweat frosts my back as dread floods over me. I celebrated too soon. I shake my head at how stupid I am for not backing up the photos. Who doesn’t do that? It wasn’t an accident, either. In my arrogance, I didn’t want to put them on a computer because I didn’t want the photos to accidentally get leaked. These photos can be highly incriminating to me.

I sigh heavily. I want so badly to impress my dad, and he trusted me with this assignment and this camera.

The one time he gives me a real shot, and I blow it.

There are two things—and only two things—I know: hockey and photography. If I can’t get this assignment right, then I’ll never get anything right. With my deadline looming, this spread needs to be completed and sent to my editor, Steve.If the assignment was to cover people, I could call them up, but I can’t schedule extra hockey games because I lost the shots.

This is bad.

I clasp my hand over my chest, fighting the waves that want to send me into a full-blown panic attack. I set the camera back on my desk and place my hands firmly on the desktop when something rustles behind me, and I raise my gaze.

A man stands in the doorway, his hand propped up on the doorframe. He is wearing a beanie pulled down low, covering his ears. I immediately recognize his deep voice when he greets me, “Hey.”

He’s clearly lost.

Or I’m seeing things.

I squint, like I’m practicing for the optometrist. I’m wearing my contacts, but there is no way this is happening.

Eyes.

Yep, same eyes. Dark. Not scary dark like he’s a shapeshifter or something. Just puppy dog dark but almond-shaped. I like almonds.

Yep, and they are on his face where they were the last time I saw him.

Lips.

He’s got some of those, too.

They are smirking at me right now.

And a dimple right below his smile crease that points back to his smile. It’s the perfect little button that makes it hard for me to be mad at him because it’s just so cute.

That dimple isn’t fair.

My gaze looks behind him for a random clue of why he’s here, but he’s alone. There’s no reason anybody would be back by my office, as it’s strictly out of everyone’s way at the end of a dead-end hall. I speak to him as if he’s no more important than the random fly who is buzzing around my desk. "Are you lost?”

His feet stay firmly on the ground, not moving. “I’m looking for you.”

“Me?” I hike a brow, suspiciously eyeing him. The only other time I had someone down here looking for me was when they scratched my car in the parking lot, and they got my name after the police looked up my plates. “What did you do?”

“Ah, nothing. I don’t think.” His eyes dart side to side before returning his gaze on me. “I was checking on you. I’m Noah. I guess I should have led with that.”

I slowly raise a brow, contemplating what to do with this experience.“Noah,” I echo as if he’d spoken a foreign language. I heard him quite clearly actually. I have perfect hearing, but I’m still so confused. The earth could split open, and that would be less shocking than this moment.

It’s one thing to accidentally stumble across me three times, but there is no way Noah Miller came to see me on purpose.

His stance seems intentional. He’s here for something. As I pause, I almost slap the side of my face. “Ah, right. Hockey photo. I can delete it if you’re going to make a big deal about it.” I reach for my phone, and I mumble, “I lost all the other photos. It won’t matter if I’m down another one.”

“What are you saying?” He takes an uninvited step inside my office, and he crosses his arms over his chest. His gaze cuts to my camera, and he tacks on, “You have the other photos from the game.”

My facial expression flattens as my senses alert to his nearness. He’s so close I swear I can smell a recent black coffee wafting off him.

Smells amazing.

That’s not fair either.

I like coffee.

And I didn’t have enough for this encounter today.

I slowly set my phone back down. “I have photos from the last game.” I say the words like a confession. It’s so hard to accept responsibility in this life-imploding moment of failure. “No photos from any of the previous two games, because I lost my camera at the gala.”

“You didn’t back them up?”

“I didn’t,” I squeak out, careful not to disclose too much. I offer him a lazy one-shoulder shrug, but I don’t know how I manage to hide the fact that inside my chest I’m having an actual heart attack.

All my work is gone .

“That stinks.”

“Yeah.” My heart ticks up a notch as I try to protect the project as much as possible.

“Is that why you insisted on keeping bad photos?” He stuffs his hand in his Granite Ice jacket pocket and gives me a side-eye.

“Are we still hung up on that?” I grab my cell phone again and don’t stop until I have his photo. “Look.” My finger hovers over the garbage can icon as I hit delete. “Gone. Can you sleep now?”I roll my eyes to heaven at this pretty boy who can’t handle a less-than-perfect photo of himself.

“I sleep just fine . . . but thank you.”

“Alright.” I pull my brows up, feeling the exhaustion of this conversation seeping in. “Have a nice day.”

“Huh?”His feet stay cemented on my floor, and he makes no attempt to leave even when I cut a glaze to the open doorway.

“Well, I deleted your photo. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I grit my teeth, wondering how one person can be so concerned about his image. I have bigger issues going on.

He’s silent as he rocks back on his heels. He’s clearly cocky because of his superior athletic abilities. His presence has this vibe that I can’t place, but it makes my nerves twist, akin to nails on a chalkboard.

“I wasn’t here for the photo,” he asserts. “I came here to see you.”

“Well, you see me.” I look away, embarrassment still clawing its way up my throat. Of all the people to find me failing at life, does it have to be Noah Miller? I resist the urge to slam my head on my desk and pray he moves on.

“Maybe I came at the right time because I can help.” He gestures forward. “Maybe it’s not all lost yet. I can message some of the guys. I’m sure their families have photos they can send to you.”

“I can’t ask for help.” I grab my throat as my airway is tightening. “I’d have to admit I lost everything. Do you know how embarrassing that will be?”

“Look, ah . . .” His eyes pace my face before his lips bend down. “I don’t even know your name.”

There it is.

The biggest truth bomb of them all.

I’m invisible.

Not just to my dad, but to most people.

In high school, I skipped choir every day for a month to test this theory, hoping just once someone would notice my absence. Didn’t work. Since nobody ever noticed my presence, I wasn’t missed or even marked absent. I graduated with a record of perfect attendance.

I thought things would be different after high school graduation, but it’s just more of the same. I spent weeks stalking this team, going to all their practices and games, but nobody even noticed me.Like slamming my head against a brick wall, the sound of this truth bomb echoes all around me. I lower my gaze to the floor, warm tears welling in my eyes, but I shut my eyelids tight.

Stillness fills the room, seeping in a heavy cloud of tension.Noah dips his head, peering at my downturned face. “I didn’t hear you.”

I bury all my emotions, determined to hold my wounds deep inside. I nod, asserting myself with a strong breath. “My name is Paisley.”

“Nice to meet you, Paisley.” He pulls one side of his lips into a crooked smile, revealing his perfect teeth. “I can ask my teammates. It shouldn’t be hard.”

What is this encounter all about anyway?

Why is he even bothering me?

I deleted his photo.

I narrow my eyes, looking for clues to what he’s really after, but again, all I notice is that everything about him is handsome.

That’s not fair, either.

Of course he comes here all handsome.

That’s what flirts do.

I steel my jaw, resisting his charm, but a narration plays in my brain.

Really, very, incredibly handsome . . . like so, so very nice looking and—

“What do you think?” He interrupts my thoughts, but I’d forgotten his previous question.

“ Handsome,” I blurt out as confusion bubbles in my gut and rises slowly up my chest and into my throat until I cough and then blubber out, “I think you have a handsome . . . wall behind you.”

A snort bleeps out of his nose. Not like a growling animalistic one. It’s like the ones I sometimes emit when I think I’ve eaten the last chocolate chip cookie, but find a half broken one hiding in the bottom of the box.

He raises his palm to his chin and rubs it, his expression forgiving of my blunder and void of any sarcasm. “Should we stop wasting time and get to work?”

I want to ask him why he is helping me.

But his offer to help couldn’t have come at a better time, and he’s right. We are wasting time. “Ah, sure.” I grab a pen and note pad, positioning myself to scribble. “I’ll make a list.”This earns me a raised eyebrow of what seems to be respect. A very demure-looking eyebrow of respect.

Noah retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket and starts to scroll, and he starts listing names. “I got Jackson’s number.” He rolls in his bottom lip and quietly sends off a text. I write Jackson on the notepad.

He confirms once his text is sent, and he resumes scrolling. “I got Axl.” His voice drops off as he sends his text, and I add the name to my list.

“And I have Emma, Lexi, Shayla, Ashlyn, Aspen, Raleigh, Blakely, Brooklyn, and Lena—all cheerleaders,” he says, his voice monotone as if he doesn’t realize the massive list of cheerleaders’ names he just rattled off.

My jaw practically hits the floor.“Why do you have so many cheerleaders in your phone?” I can’t help but blurt.His head jolts back, as if he’s remembering who he’s speaking to, and his eyes widen.“Answer the question.” I playfully aim my pen at him like a sword.

“Ah, I have everyone’s number because I’m on the team.” His expression stays flat, and he tacks on, “And it’s an old phone.”

I blink, not buying this excuse at all, and drop a curt, single-word reply, “Sure.” I add, The entire cheerleading squad , to my list and give him a side-eye.Under my breath, I add, “Boy, you really are the team flirt.”

“It’s not like that at all.” His cheeks flame red, and he puts his phone down.

I place my pen on the pad, and I risk a personal question. “So, you have a lot of friends, huh?”

“I guess. I mean, I live in town. It makes sense I know people.”

“Right.” I inhale the quietest breath as it burns deeply to hear how his life experience is so vastly different than mine. I get it. There are popular people, but it’s never been my experience.I’m quiet as we work through the rest of my list, adding names and numbers that Noah has from practically every hockey fan in town. After about thirty minutes, I place my pen next to the last name on my list. “We should have what we need for game photos. I need socials though. Do you have any gala photos?”

“Ah, sure.”

“I only need a few group ones.” It’s time for my now ritualistic side-eye. “Don’t give me the whole cheerleading squad.”

“I got a bunch.” His fingers dance over his phone keyboard, and he pulls up a series of photos. Even though he’s a good three feet from me, I can see they are all group photos when he flashes the screen at me. “What phone number can I forward these to?”

I take his phone and insert my number, knowing I’ll be just another person in his personal Rolodex of every single female in town.“I guess we got everything, then.” I let out a sigh of relief as I admire my list, and then check the time on my phone. It’s time to go, so I walk over to the computer and tap on the mousepad, moving my cursor to the bottom of the screen to shut it down as I’m taking my computer back to the Airbnb to work on my page spreads. Pivoting on my heel, I head to the coat hook on the back of the door. “I, ah, can’t thank you enough, but I’m glad we are done because I’m starving.”

“You’re welcome.” He stuffs his hands back in his pocket and a gleam sparkles out of thecorner of his eye, forewarning me. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

My heart slams against my chest as I blurt, “What?”

“You said you were hungry. Let’s go grab something to eat.”

A trickle of goosebumps run along my spine. I have zero desire to hang out with any of these Granite Ice guys. However, if I go with Noah and put up with his ridiculous flirting, I might be able to find out some more dirt on the team . . . and that’s an opportunity I can’t pass up, especially since I’m way behind. “I like food.” My heart motors hard against my rib cage, and I enforce a face of steel trying not to add a devious smile.

I know what I’m up to, but his gaze lingers on me long enough for me to start to wonder what he’s really up to.