The Hot Shot

by Kristen Callihan

  “She is.” Dex’s expression can only be described as moony. I wonder if I’ll soon be wearing that same face. Maybe I’ve worn it already. Shit.

  Dex stretches his massive hands wide, then curls his fingers into a fist. “First saw her in college. At Ivy’s house. Knew she was it for me right then.”

  “But you’re just hooking up now?”

  Dex slides me a glance. I get it. We don’t usually talk relationships. Hell, Dex doesn’t usually talk. But he doesn’t ask me why I’m so interested, for which I am grateful. Instead, he shrugs one massive shoulder. “Timing wasn’t right. I told myself it was for the best, that I wasn’t ready, all that shit.”

  Quietly, I nod.

  “Now that I’ve…That we’ve…” Dex actually flushes and clears his throat. “There’s zero hesitation on the field. Seems fucking stupid to hesitate in life.”

  He’s right. I’ve never hesitated in football.

  Staring at the seatback in front of me, I feel as if I’ve been suddenly caught doing something wrong. I shift in the narrow confines of my seat, trying to find room that isn’t there. “What if…” I lick my dry lips, too aware that Dex is quietly watching me. I huff out an uncomfortable laugh. “What if you don’t know what you want? Only that you want something more than what you have?”

  “You talking about Chess?” When I shoot Dex a look, he quirks a brow. “I guess you’re not aware of how much you mention her.”

  The heat on my cheeks is because it’s hot as fuck in the plane and I’m wearing my stupid suit jacket. Nothing else.

  Dex has the stare of an agent on Draft Day.

  “Okay, yeah,” I blurt, then sigh. “I think about her. A lot.” Always. “We’re friends but—”

  “You want more,” Dex cuts in with a solemn nod that I’m pretty sure is his version of “duh.”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” I rub my tight neck. “Chess is looking for a relationship with someone. God knows she deserves it. Yes, I want her.” Understatement. “And I know a one-off isn’t going to cut it.”

  I’m not stupid, nor am I ignorant of my dick’s needs; you don’t lust over someone to this level and think it’s going to die out with one fuck.

  “But…” Dex prompts.

  “When I try to imagine past that, my mind goes blank. And I can’t breathe.” I’m not proud of this. But it’s the truth.

  I force myself to look at Dex, and find him watching me with a small frown. He doesn’t say anything, and I swear the bastard does it to make me sweat. I’m about to tell him to forget the whole conversation, when he finally speaks.

  “She mean something to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without the sex?”

  “Jesus. Yes, all right? I’m not a total pig.”

  He nods again. “Then leave it alone until you’re certain. Otherwise you’re just fucking with her head and that ain’t right.”

  The muscles in my chest draw tight, and the stuffy air of the plane closes in on me. “You’re right.”

  It hurts to say it. There’s a voice in my head that is protesting the fuck out of agreeing with Dex. It’s probably my dick, since he’s a selfish bastard. But it’s the region around my heart that aches.

  The plane dips and turns on the final landing leg. Below, New Orleans is a faint glitter to one side, the enormous spread of Lake Pontchartrain an inky blot on the other side.

  Home.

  Chess is down there. My hand twitches with the desire to pull my phone out and text her. But the flight attendant has already chastised Gruben for texting. And I really should heed Dex’s advice, pull back from Chess for a while. Not seeing her every chance I get will probably help clear my head.

  Then again, Dex had been warning me off sex, not friendship. I can still be Chess’s friend.

  As soon as we land, every guy pulls out his phone and is on it. Including me.

  BigManny: Just landed. What you up to, Chester?

  She doesn’t answer.

  I tuck my phone away and try not to be impatient. It’s evening. She might be eating. Or out. On a date. Yeah, not liking that idea.

  I pull out my phone again. Nothing.

  BigManny: You out?

  Nothing.

  I want to leave it alone; she’s under no obligation to respond. But it feels wrong. Like something’s off. Frowning, I stalk down the gate, my teammates chatting around me.

  Rolondo is glued to his phone when he halts. “Shit,” he says, turning to look at me.

  That quickly, my skin prickles. “What?”

  “Isn’t this your photographer’s place?” He hands me his phone, which is running news footage.

  The bottom drops out of me. Because Chess’s building is an inferno. I can’t breathe. For a second, I can’t even see.

  I start running, my heart in my throat. If she’s gone…

  No. Nope. No. No.

  She has to be okay. She has to be.

  * * *

  Chess

  * * *

  So this is what shock feels like. I’ve always considered myself a fighter. Life slaps at me, I slap back. And yet here I sit, smelling of smoke, unable to do more than stare a rusty blot on the floor. Is it blood? Iodine?

  Pain radiates along my wrist at a steady rate. My right butt cheek is so sore, I lean to the left to alleviate the pressure. I’m guessing there’s a massive bruise forming but no one looked, and I don’t really want to either. Everything else is numb. The bustle of the Emergency Room hums in my ears. The sounds are strangely detached from where I sit behind the thin curtains that surround me. A woman starts retching. My stomach roils.

  I’ve been here for hours. Everything moving at a snail’s pace. But I’m finally patched up and free to go. But here I sit.

  I can’t stay here forever. But I don’t move. I can’t. I have nowhere to go.

  Panic skitters at the edges of my mind, trying to claw at my skin. I push it down deep where it can’t get me.

  I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I won’t.

  I am afraid. I have no home. No one to comfort me. Loneliness feels like a gapping maw threatening to swallow me whole. A slow shake starts low in my belly, spreading upward and outward.

  In the halls, someone is running, soles scuffing on the linoleum. My curtain pulls back.

  Finn strides in, wearing a frown and a perfectly cut navy blue suit.

  The urge to cry surges like a wave. I swallow it down, blinking rapidly.

  “I broke my laptop,” I blurt out lamely.

  He doesn’t stop until I’m wrapped up in a giant hug. “Honey,” he says in my damp air.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  I lean my head against his crisp suit jacket and draw in the scent of wool and soap. He’s so warm and solid, the ice around my heart instantly starts to thaw. He strokes my hair and then eases back to look me in the eyes. The compassion I see in his twists my battered heart. “You all right?” he asks.

  No. Not even a little.

  “Fractured wrist. I’ll live.”

  I just don’t know where.

  Finn touches the temporary cast they put on me, then his fingers drift down to skim across my knuckles. “It hurts, I know.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  Why is he in a suit? God, he looks good in a suit.

  “Someone started watching the evening news when we landed.” Finn’s expression turned haunted. “They were covering your building.”

  “Ah.” I don’t want to relive that picture.

  His fingers tighten on my shoulders. “Scared the shit out of me, Chess. I didn’t know if you were in there…” He trails off and gives me another hug. Fiercer this time. “Your neighbor, some guy named Fred, was still outside. He told me where to find you.”

  I guess I have something to thank Fred for.

  Finn peers down at me when I give a small huff of laughter. And his mouth tightens. “You should have called me.”

  “I forgot to grab it when the
fire started.” I laugh again, but it doesn’t feel good. “I don’t know a single fucking number. Isn’t that pathetic? Couldn’t even remember James’s number, and I’ve known him for ten years. Not that it would matter since he’s in New York right now.” I bite my lip to keep from babbling any further.

  A sympathetic smile tilts Finn’s mouth. “I’d be fucked without my phone.”

  I snort, fighting the burn behind my lids. “Well, I’m certainly fucked.”

  He grimaces, ducking his head. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m crap at this.”

  Personally, I think he’s pretty perfect right now. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. I’m just wallowing.”

  “No, honey,” he says with force. “You say whatever the hell you want.” He looks like he wants to say more, but simply rests his massive hand on my shoulder, engulfing it with warmth. “You all clear to go?”

  I nod toward the clipboard on the rolling table. “I have to fill out some forms first.”

  He glances at my hand, half encased in the cast, then picks up the clipboard. He rests his butt against the bed, pen at the ready. “Give me the answers.”

  A lump rises in my throat, and I swallow with difficulty, tasting ash. Slowly, I answer the questions and he diligently writes them down.

  The next thirty minutes swirl like a fog around me: Finn going off to talk to the nurse, give her my forms; Finn collecting my broken laptop, his hand at my lower back, guiding me out; the slap of fresh air when we leave the ER; Finn opening the door of his SUV and helping me climb in.

  It isn’t until we’re driving, my bruised body softly embraced by luxury leather seats, that I find it in me to talk. “Where are we going?”

  “Home.” His grip tightens on the wheel. “My home.”

  I nod, not knowing what to say. I’d planned to go to a hotel. A small voice inside me cries that it wants to go home. I’ve never been homeless before. It feels like I’ve lost a huge piece of my identity. I take a deep breath and focus on the road before me. If I don’t, I’ll think about all my things now burnt or water logged, and I will lose it.

  Once we’re in the French Quarter, Finn pulls up before a converted factory building that overlooks the Mississippi. A doorman hurries over, and Finn hands him the car keys.

  By the time we get to his condo, my wrist feel like it’s being crushed in a vise. I hold it against my chest and follow him in. Finn’s apartment reminds me of mine, exposed brick, wide and worn floorboards, and high ceilings. But where mine is—fuck, was—a loft, his has been divided up into rooms.

  With a hand on my lower back, he guides me down a wide foyer into a living area. It’s a man cave, but refined: reclaimed wood coffee table, big leather club chairs, a gray couch you could swim in, and a massive TV with what looks like three separate gaming systems. Arched windows frame the river, glinting with moonlight.

  “Are you hungry,” he asks, pausing.

  “No, just tired.”

  He nods as if he suspected as much, and leads me down another hall. The first door opens into a bedroom. At first glance, I think it’s his because it’s so large and it’s fully decorated. But there’s a slightly feminine touch in the lacy white duvet and multiple throw pillows on the pretty carved mahogany canopy bed that I just can’t see Finn choosing for his bedroom. Nor can I imagine him sitting on one of the delicate little linen covered armchairs set up before the fireplace.

  He sets my busted laptop down on a sideboard. “My mom uses this room when she visits. There’s a bathroom here.” He opens a door, and I get a peak at a clawfoot tub and more exposed brick walls. I’m suddenly aching for a hot bath.

  Finn clearly notices the direction of my gaze because he gives me a small smile. “Want me to start a bath? It’ll take a bit to fill.”

  “Okay.”

  While he fiddles with the taps, I stand in the middle of the room. I want to sit, but everything is so pretty and clean, and I stink of soot and smoke.

  Finn bustles back in, full of nervous energy that makes me want to hug him. “Right, so there’s a coffee maker.” He opens the doors of the sideboard and pulls out an automated espresso maker on a tray. “And a fridge as well.”

  The small fridge is stocked with cream and juice and bottled waters. Just like a luxury hotel. I blink several times and nod, as he looks over his shoulder at me to see if I’m getting everything.

  “It’s perfect,” I assure him, my voice thick.

  He stands and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. He seems larger in this room, his masculinity somehow highlighted against all the frilly touches. An elegantly dressed bruiser with a sensitive heart. “Towels and a robe are in the bathroom… And, right…” He moves to the tall dresser by the closet. “Clothes.”

  “Clothes?” I croak. On stiff legs, I go to him, as he pulls open a drawer.

  Shirts of various colors, jeans—blue and black—sweaters… They’re all neatly folded, tags still on them. I blink again, more rapidly, my throat swelling.

  “You got me clothes?”

  His eyes meet mine. “You needed them.”

  I can’t speak.

  “It’s just to get you started,” he goes on as if I’m not about to lose it right here in his cozy guest room. I find bras, panties, socks and nighties, in a rainbow of color, resting nicely in another drawer.

  “Bra size was a little harder to guess. I mean, I was pretty sure about cup size but 34? 36? I have no idea what that’s all about…” He meets my gaze, and the tips of his ears pink. “Ah…yeah…so anyway…”

  A smile pulls at my lips. “I could always go without.”

  “Please don’t,” he teases. “I’m trying hard enough as it is to not ogle your tits.”

  My chest is so tight it hurts to laugh. I suck in a shaky breath at the end of it. “When did you do this?”

  He couldn’t possibly have had the time.

  “As much as I’d like to take credit,” he says, sliding a drawer closed. “My assistant, Charlie, did it. You’ll meet him soon enough.” Finn goes to turn off the water. “He works for a bunch of us guys, and when I heard about the fire, I called him in to help.”

  “Finn…” I don’t know what to even say. Slowly, I walk toward him. “All of this…” Shit, I’m going to sob.

  He shrugs again as if it’s no big deal. “I wanted to give you what I could.”

  The bathroom is warm and humid, the air fragrant with the vanilla-lemon bubble bath he added to the water when I wasn’t looking.

  Finn gazes down at me, his expression so tender, I might break. I can’t. If I cry now, I don’t know if I can stop.

  “Look, you don’t have to stay more than the night,” he says in the quiet. “But I wish you would. I’ve got some away games coming up and will be traveling for a couple of weeks, so you’ll have the place to yourself.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  The stiff way he holds his shoulders eases, and he lets out a breath. “Good. Go on and have your bath. I’ll get the meds the doc prescribed.”

  “You’ll get my meds?” God, all I’m doing is parroting him now, but my mind has scrambled.

  Finn rests his hand on my shoulder. “Chess, honey, I’ll get you anything you need.”

  He becomes a blur as my eyes fill. I blink back tears that cannot fall. But my resistance crumbles. With a shuddering breath, I step into his space and wrap my good arm around his waist. “Finn,” I croak.

  Immediately, he gathers me up, holding me close, his lip pressed to the top of my head. I lean on him and wallow in the feel of his body, strong and firm and warm. It’s so comforting, part of me wants to pull away, afraid that I’ll come to need this too much. But I can’t move.

  “I think I love you right now,” I tell him, my voice muffled on his crisp shirt.

  Those massive arms of his tighten a fraction, even as his chest shakes on a laugh. “Only right now, eh?”

  “I’m sure you’ll eventually say something to remind me why that’s a bad idea.” I do
n’t bother lifting my nose from his chest. The silk of his tie presses against my cheek, the scent of fine wool and clean man surrounding me. Finn in a suit is devastating. But I miss his t-shirt and jeans.

  “Probably,” he agrees then sighs. “I’m glad you’re okay, honey.”

  A fine tremor goes through his body. And I realize, he isn’t nervous, he’s upset. I snuggle closer. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

  “Always, Chess.”

  He says it with such fierce sincerity that my knees go weak. I think about the loss of my house, my work. Jesus, my Nikon D5 DSLR. I took out a loan to get that baby. Not to mention my lenses. My beautiful lenses. Gone. Melted.

  Panic claws up my throat. If I let it in, I’ll ask him to take me to bed, make me forget for a few hours why I’m so scared. I can almost hear myself begging, almost feel my hands moving down to cup the fat bulge in his pants.

  He’d be willing. I know this well. Finn has never hidden his attraction to me. And it would be so good. I know this without a doubt. But morning would come and I’d still be a woman without a home, facing the only friend I have close right now with all the awkwardness and regret that comes with a one night stand.

  I force myself to loosen my hold on him, to step back and find some distance. Finn’s arms fall to his sides as he watches me back up. The loss of him makes me cold and off balance. I clutch my arm to my chest.

  “I should take my bath now.”

  “Sure.” He leaves me to bathe, closing the bathroom door behind him.

  At some point, while I soak, I hear him return and leave my pain meds in the bedroom. By the time I crawl into his soft guest bed, the sheets smelling faintly of laundry detergent but stiff with disuse, I’m shaking.

  I cry with my face buried deep into a pillow so he won’t hear.

  Chapter Nine

  Finn

  * * *

  I’m one twisted bastard. My girl has had one of the worst nights of her life, and here I am, fucking content because she’s in my home.