CC: Fine, I’m exposing my double standards. Send a picture as proof.
GQ: So untrusting. Here’s your proof, Mrs. Doubtfire.
He sends me a selfie. Wearing a tank top and baggy gym shorts over tight compression shorts, he’s standing in front of a mirror wall with a barre bar attached to it. Jake is with him, and they’re booth making goofy faces, their tongues sticking out like Gene Simmons from KISS. Between them stands a thin and elegant, older woman in a leotard. She grins with pride, her arms around the two men as if they’re her boys.
I laugh, and tap out a quick message.
CC: My mind is officially blown.
GQ: Is that all it takes? Should have done a pirouette for the shoot.
CC: Fairly certain would have resulted in panties going up in flames when that got out.
GQ: You say the nicest things, Chester.
Since I know he’s doing it to irk me, I let “Chester” slide.
CC: I’ll bite. Why are you taking ballet classes?
GQ: Jake found out about it when he pulled a hamstring and had to limber up. It’s great for flexibility, balance… stamina.”
GQ: It’s GREAT for stamina
CC: You keep repeating that word like I’m supposed to be impressed.
GQ: Oh, you will be.
Cheeky, little… I start to type out an answer but he sends another text.
GQ: Plus, all the women in class are very eager to help me maintain my form. ;-)
The happy fizz in my belly instantly goes flat, and I’m left with a sour stomach instead. If that isn’t a sign to put the brakes on this, I don’t know what is. I have plenty of male friends. None of them inspire jealousy.
CC: Don’t strain something while you’re at it.
GQ: If I do, will you give me a rubdown?
Right there. That’s flirting. I put down the phone and pace away. Who am I kidding? We’ve been flirting from the start.
James walks in the door and drops his key in the dish. He immediately spots me wearing a groove in the floorboards. “Well, someone has lost her happy face.”
“What did we agree on about reminding me to smile?” I warn, not stopping my pacing.
“To not to,” James says happily. “But then we both know I ignore most of your directives, oh mighty queen.”
The phone dings again. I eye it like a snake.
James unwinds the orange scarf wrapped around his neck. It clashes horribly with his hair and beard, but I suspect he likes that. “All right,” he says. “Who is harassing you? Is it that diva Maria? Tell her the camera can perform certain illusions, but it can’t wash the bitch out of her hair.”
I choke back a laugh. Maria is a model we’ve worked with a while back. She had insisted that I’d shot her in unflattering angles. Not true. She is gorgeous. But insecure. And a complete pain in my ass.
“Thankfully, I haven’t heard from her since I told her there was a tornado warning in effect and to look out for flying farmhouses.”
James snickers as he makes a cappuccino. “So then who is texting your knickers in a knot?”
“Finn.”
He almost stumbles, foam sloshing over the rim of the cup. “Finn? As in Finn, he’s an asshat and I totally hate him, Mannus?”
“I don’t hate him. We just got off on the wrong foot. Finn is fine.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Not what I meant.”
A slow, evil smile spreads over his face. “And now it’s Finn, eh?”
“That is his name,” I deadpan.
“Mmm…” He hands me the cup and turns to make another cappuccino for himself. “Why are you in a snit over Finn? Is he harassing you?”
“No.” I grab the phone but don’t at the screen, lest I be tempted to answer. “He’s flirting. I’m flirting. And I like it.” I flop my arm in exasperation.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone be put out by good flirting.” James sips his coffee and studies me with a frown. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
The phone dings again.
GQ: Was that too much? Or has the possibility of massaging my fine ass made you faint?
A snort escapes me.
CC: Yes. You got me. The terror was too much.
GQ: It’s okay, Chester. A lot of women can’t handle this much hotness at once.
James’s voice turns droll. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that expression on your face.”
“What expression?” I wait for Finn’s reply.
“Besotted.”
“Besotted? Have you been reading historicals again?”
“Yes. And stop trying to burn a hole in my head with your eyes. There’s nothing wrong with liking this guy. You’ve had shit luck with men. Finding one you’re actually excited about is a good thing. Why are you fighting this?”
Heat churns in my chest. “Because he isn’t interested in dating,” I grit out.
“Then take a ride on that hot body of his and enjoy yourself.”
The heat moves from my chest to the back of my neck. “He doesn’t that want that from me either.”
James gapes at me in confusion. Which doesn’t help my bruised and confused ego. “Not possible. I saw the way he looked at you.”
“Oh?” Ignore the flutter. The flutter is a cheap, attention whore. “And how’s that?”
“Like you were the Vince Lombardi Trophy covered in honey.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Super Bowl, Chessie. Best you bone up on your football knowledge now.”
Cute. “However he may or may not have looked at me, Finn made it clear he didn’t want to hook up. He said he just wants to, and I quote, ‘know me.’”
“Huh.” James taps his fingers on the counter for an annoying few beats. “Well, maybe it’s best not to overthink things. You like him, that’s clear. Just go with it.”
“Go with it.” How helpful.
“You never know what can happen.”
I’m rolling my eyes when the front door buzzer sounds.
James snaps to attention. “Ah, speaking of that…” He fiddles with his polka dot bowtie. “I’ve er…met someone.”
“I presume this someone is at the door?” I ask, bemused. James has never really introduced me to anyone. Not in a formal way. I’ve gone out on double dates with him, but those were casual, and I rarely ever saw his date again.
“Yes.” James flushes. “I was going to tell you, but got caught up in your dare I do the quarterback drama.”
I shoot him a quelling look. “Are you going to get that? Or do you want me to?”
“No, no. I’ll get it.” He hustles over to the door as if he’s about to jump out of his skin.
Which means it’s serious. Suddenly, I feel as unsettled as James looks.
I quickly tap out a text to Finn because I don’t want to be rude to James’s guest.
CC: James is here. I have to go. Talk later?
Why did I feel the need to ask?
He answers quickly.
GQ: Nxt Tuesday is my day off. You available for lunch? Lemme know when U get a chance.
I don’t answer. James leading his new love into the loft, while giving me a soppy smile. And he called me besotted? The man is practically floating along.
I had expected him to introduce me to a model, either male or female. Tall and stunning is James’s preference. But that’s not the case here.
“This is Jamie,” James says, holding his arm around a short, slender man with a halo of blonde curls and wearing heavy, black framed glasses. “Jamie, met Chess.”
“Chess.” Jamie leans in to offer me a hand, and from beneath a cute blue argyle sweater vest, I see the soft swell of breasts. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Since James has been closed-mouth as shit, I can’t say the same. So I simply shake her hand, but I lose hold on my smile. “James and Jamie, eh?”
James actually flushes. “I know. It’s awful, isn’t it? We’ll be one of
those couples who dresses alike and finishes each other’s sentences.” He looks completely happy about that prospect.
“You’re halfway there already,” I point out, eyeing James’s brown argyle sweater vest.
Jamie laughs. “And we didn’t even plan it.”
“I’m feeling very Bert and Ernie right now,” James says, running a hand down his chest.
Jamie laughs again. “If we want to be really obnoxious, we could get a dog and name it Jimmy.” Her nose wrinkles. “Never mind. I forgot. I once dated a girl who had a dog named Jim.”
“I always wanted to meet a boy named Sue,” James musses.
Jamie smiles up at him. “We could name the dog Sue.”
“Okay,” I cut in, “you guys are annoying.”
They both grin wide, unrepentant. “I brought beignets.” Jamie holds up a big bag from Cafe du Monde, the bottom of it spotted with grease stains. And I swear my mouth waters. “James says they’re your favorite.”
Definitely serious if kissing up to the best friend is involved.
God. I’m jealous. I’m actually jealous.
Snap out of it, you shrew!
The woman is wearing a sweater vest and a blue bow tie. How can I not find this endearing?
“I love them. Thanks.” I take the bag from her and get us some plates. “Let’s eat on the balcony.”
And so, on the balcony, I listen to James and Jamie finish each other’s sentences as they tell me how they met at a jazz club. I laugh along when they tease each other about how they fought over whether Duke Ellington or Ella Fitzgerald was better—neither, by the way; they’re two sides of the same coin— and I stuff two beignets down my throat to keep from butting in with my own James stories. Because Jamie doesn’t need to hear that right now.
They’re so cute together it makes my jaw ache and my heart contract.
James is in love. I never thought I’d see the day.
He brushes a nonexistent crumb off Jamie’s chin as she states that she should get going. “I know you have a shoot to do.”
“You can stay and watch,” James offers, his voice so gentle, I almost don’t recognize it.
“Oh, no,” Jamie says with a laugh. “I don’t think I can watch you oil up a bunch of big bruisers and not get jealous. Besides, there’s an art gallery around the corner from my place that I’ve been wanting to visit.”
“Do you live in the Quarter?” I ask her.
“I live in New York,” Jamie says, sharing a quick look with James. “I’m just here for a week.”
A week? They fell for each other in less than a week?
James picks at a seam in his trousers. “She’s going back next Monday.”
“I keep telling him he should come with me to get a taste of New York life,” Jamie teases faintly.
“And I keep telling you I have to work,” James shoots back with false playfulness. There’s pain in his voice, and he can’t hide it.
An awkward silence descends. My mouth is filled with puffed dough, a coating of powdered sugar turning to paste against my tongue. James is my best friend. But I am also his boss. At times, the gulf between friend and boss feels as vast as the distance from here to New York.
I swallow down my bite with difficulty. “We only have one more shoot for the calendar after today. Maeve can help me with smaller jobs after that. You should go visit. Take some time for yourself.”
James’s pale blue eyes meet mine. And it feels like a hug. I smile back weakly. Was he worried I’d say no? I’d never deny him his happiness.
But while James sees Jamie off, I stare out over the balcony rail, watching cars pass by, and in the distance, the Mississippi rolls along like a wide, brown snake against the land, and I feel empty.
Pulling my phone from my jeans pocket, I text Finn.
I’m good for Tuesday.
He answers a few seconds later, as if he’s been waiting.
GQ: It’s a non-date. ;-)
I still don’t know what I want from him, but I can’t deny that the sight of that silly winky emoticon makes me feel a little warmer inside.
Chapter Five
Chess
* * *
I quickly find out that Finn loves seafood. As in, he’ll happily drive out of town to a roadside restaurant in the burbs to get his fix. He takes me out to Middendorf’s, overlooking the lake, for what he promises to be a feast.
We sit on the patio, and soft breezes coming off the water stir my hair. It’s one of those perfect Louisiana fall days when the temperature is in the low 70s and the sun is shining brightly. I relax with a sigh of contentment.
Finn, on the other hand, is practically twitching with the anticipatory promise of food. “Their thin fried catfish is why we’re here.” He eyeballs me. “You do like catfish?”
“Can’t comment one way or the other on it,” I tell him. “I don’t remember the last time I had any.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat.” He rubs his hands together like a little boy. “Do you want a white wine?”
“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who thinks everyone who has a vagina must drink white wine.” It’s fun to tease him. He never gives in.
“It’s a pussy, Chess. Save vagina for your OB.” He flashes a quick smile. “And, no. Just so happens that every pussy I’ve taken out orders white wine. Or a club soda with lime.” He frowns, perplexed. “What’s with the club soda thing, anyway?”
“I have no idea.” I look over the menu. “I’m getting a beer.”
“Excellent.” His glee over our impending meal is contagious.
The waitress shows at that moment and practically trips over herself when she sees him. I don’t blame her; a happy Finn is almost too pretty to take in at once. You have to brace yourself and look at him in stages.
Oblivious of our covetous stares, Finn orders the beers and catfish. “Oh, and some oysters and crawfish. Could you bring it all at once, please?”
“I hate oysters and crawfish,” I tell him, as our waitress leaves.
He gasps and sags in his seat as if weakened. “Sacrilege, Chester.”
“Fried oysters are fine,” I say with a light shrug. “But raw? Nope. Salty snot pellets.”
Finn glances up at the sky. “Lord, she knows not of what she speaks.”
“And crawfish tastes muddy to me.”
“A good muddy,” he counters.
“There is no such thing as good mud.”
“Girl on girl mud wrestling.” His expression dares me to argue.
“Guy on guy mud wrestling,” I amend.
He salutes me. “Fair enough.”
The waitress soon returns and sets down two icy bottles of beer and our food. The rich scent of fried seafood rises up, and my mouth actually waters. I take a bite of paper-thin, golden catfish and moan.
“Right?” Finn says with an approving nod.
Crispy and light, it is fried-food mana. “I’m in love,” I tell him.
The corners of his eyes crinkle, and we sit there eyeing each other like happy thieves. “You know what’s weird,” I say in a low voice, as if, by whispering, I’ll make the moment last longer.
Maybe he feels the same because he answers just as softly. “What?”
“I’m having more fun on this non-date date than I’ve had on all dates this past year.” Maybe longer.
Finn’s eyes soften. “Me too.”
Somewhere around the region of my heart, everything gets all tender. I feel like I’m falling, lightheaded and confused. My fingers curl around the edges of the table just to hold on.
Finn clears his throat and takes a large bite of his fish. “So,” he says around a mouthful. “Dating sucks for you?”
“You saw the horror of the last one.”
“Yeah, that was painful.” Snickering, he bites into a fry. “How is Edward, by the way?”
“His name isn’t Edward. It’s…” Fucking hell.
He grins.
“Evan,” I announc
e with a near shout as I remember. “His name is Evan. And I haven’t talked to him since. Thank God. He told me he lived for skin.”
“That’s kind of creepy, Chess.”
“I thought so too.” I take a bite of fish, then swallow it down with cold beer. Heaven. “Sad thing is that wasn’t even my worst date.”
Finn grabs the tabasco and dashes some on an oyster. “All right then. Give me your worst.”
“Only if you tell me yours.”
“I don’t have dates. Only hookups.”
“The lazy man’s date.” I munch on another bite.
“True,” he says with a laugh. “But if you want to hear about them, I’ll tell you.”
“We’re really going to do this?” I ask. “Go full girlfriend mode?”
Finn shrugs lightly. “Hey, if Kevin Costner can paint a woman’s toes in Bull Durham, then you and I can exchange horror stories.”
“Worst date I’ve been on…” I close my eyes and lift my face to the warm sunlight before looking back at Finn. “It started out fine. Guy was attractive, witty—”
Finn makes a dubious noise. I ignore it.
“The conversation was flowing, but he kept looking over at the bar. Finally, I glance that way and notice a woman watching us.”
“He was checking out another woman while on a date with you?” Finn snorts and shakes his head. “Fucking douche move.”
“Yeah, if only.” I can laugh about it. Now. “I assumed the same. But dude is horrified at the assumption. No, no, he tells me. It’s totally okay. The woman is his wife.”
“What, like his ex?”
“No, his wife. They liked to watch each other be with other people. And was I into the idea of coming back to their house? Because I looked like the type who would be.”
I smile at Finn’s shocked expression.
“Well that’s…” He huffs out a laugh. “Fucked.”
I shrug and sip my beer. “It’s not my kink, but whatever floats their boat. I’d have appreciated a little upfront honesty, though.”
“You’re not really selling this whole dating thing, Chess.”
“I haven’t even mentioned the guy who came back to my place, locked himself in my bathroom for an hour and tried to have a conversation with me through the bathroom door while he was…indisposed.”
The Hot Shot Page 7