Page 44 of Just for the Cameras
“Sneering is more my forte.”
“I’ve noticed. But for social media and the image you’re trying to portray for your team, maybe you can muster up, oh, I don’t know, a smirk?”
I grumble under my breath and then say, “Fine.” I take her phone and pull up the camera. I snap a picture of us, then toss the phone back to her. Simple.
She fumbles to catch it as she says, “Wait, hold on. I wasn’t even smiling.” She pulls up the picture, and I lean over to find that it’s blurry, her mouth is open, and I’m not even looking in the right direction.
Oops.
She stares up at me, irritation laced in her expression. “Do it again, and this time, count to three before taking it so all parties are ready.”
I take the phone back from her and hold it out, attempting to get her in the frame. “You’re going to have to get closer.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Do you want this to be a weird picture or something you can use?” I ask.
“Fine, but don’t think this is me lowering my defenses. I don’t like you, and I need you to know that.”
“Feeling is mutual, Baker.”
“I don’t see why.” She moves in closer to me. “I haven’t been rude to you.”
“You made me wash dishes.”
She turns to me, disgust in her expression. “Oh my God, the famous, rich football player had to wash some flamingo dishes. Yes, all the more reason to hate a nice lady who was attempting to welcome you into the flamingo family.” She leans in and sniffs me, causing me to take a step back. What the hell is she doing? “Yup, just as I suspected, you smell like an entitled ass.”
My eyes narrow. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough,” she huffs and then steps in closer. “Now take the picture. If I stand too close to you for too long, my skin might melt off my face.”
The image that conjures up in my head makes me smirk, and it stays there long enough for me to take a picture of us both and then hand back her phone.
Skin melting off her face…if only.
“Now, was that so hard?” she asks as she pulls a tripod out of her bag and then sets it up.
“What are you doing now?”
“Gathering content. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“You’re going to record us?”
“That’s the whole point, Graydon.” She sets up her phone and then angles it toward the field. “We’re here because we need content. We need to put on a show, demonstrating to the people that flamingos and football can mix in the best way possible. I’m not just here to torture myself by being in your presence.”
The insults are flying this morning. That’s fine, I’ve heard worse. Hell, I’ve said worse.
She hits record, then moves next to me, her lavender scent floatingin my direction. I hate that I like the way she smells. It’s annoying,because it makes me want to lean in closer just to get another whiff.
“What are we doing?” she asks, looking far too ready.
I snap out of my thoughts and look her up and down, gauging her athletic ability. This could go two ways, and we’re about to find out which way it’s going to go.
“Warming up,” I say. “Down and back, let’s go.”
“Down and back where?” she asks as I take off.
“The field,” I call out and leave her in my dust.
