“He is,” Castro said quickly, pointing at Leo.
“Aw, hell,” Leo grumbled.
“Okay.” The photographer rubbed her hands together. “I want to put you on the rink in nothing but your skates.”
“Brrr,” Castro said, cackling. “Things are gonna be shrinking, then.”
Georgia bit her lip, and Leo scowled.
“You’ll be holding your helmet in a very strategic place,” the photographer continued. “The shot will be sensual, but not pornographic.”
“Good to know,” Leo said under his breath.
“Stop your whining,” the photographer said with a grin. “I’m going to make you look like a super stud. Now drop trou and my helpers will get you oiled up.”
Leo spoke up. “Um, why the oil?”
“You have to glow. Look at this.” The photographer took a binder out of the side of her giant camera bag and handed it to Leo, who flipped it open to a spread in the middle.
Everyone went silent, because they’d all misjudged the photographer. She was a freaking artist. These shots showed a series of football players posing in various sporty locations—a locker room, lounging on bleachers, or standing on turf at night, the stadium lights illuminating their sculpted bodies. They had a surprisingly ethereal quality, each image a moody masterpiece. The light played over each man’s musculature, making the athletes look like a race of superhumans.
“Whoa,” Georgia breathed.
Castro snickered. “Somebody’s a fan.”
Georgia stepped back quickly, hoping she wasn’t drooling on herself. “Stop. You can get any girl in America with one of these shots. Don’t pretend that doesn’t interest you.”
“Fine. They can oil my brown ass up. At least it makes a good story for the bar later. C’mon Trevi. Strip. We don’t have all day.” He grinned at Leo.
Still frowning, Leo began to loosen his tie. “Can you take this?” he asked, handing his jacket to Georgia. “I don’t need to get oil on my suit.”
“Of course.” She took the suit jacket and waited for his tie. And all the while she worked on her game face. It was not going to be easy to look casual while Leo stripped.
“Crazy job you’ve got here, George,” Leo said in a low voice as he unbuttoned his shirt.
“Just another day at the office,” she said, pulling her phone out of her bag and attempting to look bored. As if watching a hot athlete pose for a sensual photograph in the middle of a hockey rink was really not all that interesting.
“Do I really have to do this?” he asked under his breath.
“Nope. You don’t,” she said immediately. She wouldn’t force him to. “Baring your ass for charity is a pretty personal decision.”
“What’s the charity again? It better be something important.” He handed over his shirt, and she absolutely did not stare at his abs.
Okay, she only took one tiny peek. Just a glance, really. “It’s, uh . . .” What was the question? “The charity is called Everyone Play. They help spread awareness to keep sports free of homophobia.”
He sighed, kicking off his dress shoes. “Sounds pretty worthy. So will you be the one oiling me up?”
A shiver ran right through her, and she hoped Leo didn’t notice. But of course he raised a cocky eyebrow. Busted. “Nope.” She shook her head. “Sorry.”
He made a pouty face. The same one he used to give her when she had to leave him to make it home in time for curfew. “I think I deserve some kind of reward, though. A kiss good night, later.” He picked that moment to drop his trousers and his boxers on the floor.
Georgia gulped and focused her gaze on his ear. Must. Keep. Eyes. On. Ear. She could feel her heartbeat accelerating. As soon as he handed her those trousers, she would get out of there.
“Um, George?” He asked, frowning. “Is there something wrong with my ear?”
“Not a thing,” she said shrilly. “I’ll just go hang this stuff up for you.” She grabbed at the trousers, turned her back, and fled into the empty dressing room, locating the locker reading TREVI and taking a few moments to hang everything up.
When she returned, Castro was signing a photo release form, but Leo was buck naked except for his socks, facing the wall of the tunnel while a female assistant rubbed oil down his thighs with two hands.
“Stay away from my ankles,” he coached. “We need to keep the oil off my skates.”
“Sure thing,” the assistant chirped. She stopped to douse her hand in more oil from a bottle sitting nearby. Whistling to herself, she ran her hands all over Leo’s calves, knees, hamstrings, and up his gorgeous muscular . . .
Gah. Georgia took a deep breath and looked out onto the ice, where the photographer had positioned a tripod.
“Uh, that’s getting kind of fresh,” Leo complained. “Kind of . . . ticklish there,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Just doing my job, sir,” the assistant said.
Do. Not. Look, she ordered herself. “Are you ready for your skates?” she asked him without turning her head.
“Yeah, but they’re right here.” In her peripheral vision, he turned, sitting down on a folding chair to lace them up. “Shit that’s cold!” He laughed. “And I almost slid off this thing.” He bent over and laced up one skate and then the other.
Georgia allowed herself one glance at his gorgeous upper body, his muscles shining like an oil painting come to life. “I’m going to check the security,” she said suddenly. “We don’t need some staff member snapping naked pics of you two and passing them around on Twitter.”
Hearing this, the photographer stood up from peering into her camera. “Let me see if I can spot anyone.” She turned in a slow circle, studying the stands. “I think we’re good. I’ve got a guy in the lighting booth, but he’s supposed to be the only one up there.”
Georgia stood up on the visiting team’s bench and scanned the mezzanine level. “I don’t see anyone, either.”
“We should get hazard pay for this shit,” Castro said. “And now you’ve oiled up that chair. So thanks for that.”
“Whew,” Leo said, straightening up, and giving an exaggerated shiver. “It’s a bit nippy in here. Hope that camera doesn’t capture goose bumps.” Then he stood, stark naked, and Georgia scrambled to find somewhere to put her eyes.
“Where’d my helmet go?” he asked, looking around.
Right. Stay focused. Find Leo’s helmet. Georgia dropped her eyes to the floor and searched.