The thing most people didn’t seem to realize, Jack often thought, was that modeling was a physical job.
It wasn’t physical in the same way hockey was, obviously. But modeling required a total control over his body that most people didn’t possess. And Jack had grown up under intense scrutiny, knew how to hold himself to look the thinnest, knew how to school his features so no one knew he was angry or upset. He wasn’t the most outgoing or self-assured guy at his agency, but Jack knew he was a good model. And while it certainly wasn’t the profession he’d dreamt of as a child, he’d really grown to love it. Like with hockey, when Jack went into his focused mode at work, it was like all the noise and fear in his head went silent. Perhaps he’d never achieve anything as earth-shattering as winning the cup, but Jack was content in his life.
Except for now. Jack hated doing public events, even ones for charities like tonight. Though he was almost 30, Jack had the urge to find his mother and hide behind her skirts at the mere thought of making small talk with strangers. But his agent had insisted, networking and public image and blah blah blah, so Jack was here, gripping a tonic water tightly, politely nodding at something some old man was saying. Jack had stopped paying attention a while ago.