strangers // m. zuccarello

February 25th

Here I am. On a plane. Flying first class to Spain.

International friendlies were the best and the worst.

And of course, my manager was already there when I landed. "Photoshoot with Cris after practice."

"Using the rumors to boost my image?"

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a body to kill for? Honey your image doesn't need boosting. Besides, everyone loves the idea of you two."

"His ex is a Moroccan beauty queen. I need all the help I can get."

Luckily, I was seeing Cris before jet lag kicked in. Man, that is never pretty.

Because it was a Nike campaign, they were definitely feeding off the rumors to sell mercy, we didn't quite take it as seriously as we could.

"Freya, you'll never beat me." He joked.

"You are a large man. I'm a smaller woman. You're a forward. I'm defense. I never expected to beat you in anything. That's just biology. Except looks. I'll always beat you in looks."

Between shots, it was us squirting each other with gatorade and trying to out do each other in every way possible.

And with the way things were going, I really needed something like this.

"Lunch tomorrow after training?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, I'll pick you up."