The Hot Shot

by Kristen Callihan

  It rattled me to the core when I thought of her hurt, or worse. The time it took me to get to her had felt endless. And when I’d finally found her, all bruised and dazed, her green eyes so wounded and scared, it had leveled me. I’m still shaking deep inside my guts.

  With a grunt, I push my body up, my weight resting on my fingertips. Sweat trickles down my temples and into my eyes. Slowly, I lower myself until my nose almost touches the floor. Up, down, the burn in my arms and chest is a welcome distraction. But not enough.

  Chess had been crying last night. And it fucking killed me. I’d wanted to go to her so badly, I’d leaned against her door, my heart in my throat, my hand pressed to the wood. The only thing that stopped me was that she had obviously waited until I’d gone to cry. She hadn’t wanted me to witness her pain.

  That hurt too. I want her trust. I want to take care of her. Badly.

  An oddity I don’t fully understand. Because I have never taken care of anyone but myself. Never wanted to until now.

  Yet it felt good last night, knowing that I was providing her with safe harbor, seeing to her comfort. Which brings me back to feeling like a bit of a bastard; she’s hurting and I don’t know how to make it better.

  I’d have made her breakfast, but it’s going on eleven and she’s still not up.

  I grunt again, picking up the pace. A strangled squeak has me pausing.

  Chess stands in the living room, gaping at me. “Holy hell.” Her gaze slides over my bare torso like greedy hands. “Is this one of the perks offered at the House of Mannus?”

  With a little more flare than necessary, I leap up from my plank position and land lightly on my feet. “Daily viewing times are at ten to eleven, barring travel blackout dates.”

  “Excellent. I’ll set an alarm from now on.” She grins, and I feel a little dizzy. When Chess smiles, she lights up. Even as she is now, hair tangled around her shoulders, eyes bruised by lack of sleep and crying. To make her smile feels like a reward.

  I set my hands on my hips, not bothering to towel off. “You’ve seen me naked and didn’t bat an eye, but watching me do pushups is a treat?”

  “I was working. It would have been unprofessional to ogle the client.” Her gaze touches on my chest, and I swear I feel it. “Now, I might just make some popcorn and settle in. You have popcorn, right?”

  “Sorry, I hate popcorn. But feel free to watch me any time.”

  “How can you not like popcorn?” Chess shakes her head as she folds her long limbs onto the couch. She’s in black leggings and a t-shirt with my name and jersey number on it. Not her usual attire, and I know Charlie bought the shirt, but damn if it doesn’t give me a possessive thrill to see her wearing my name.

  “Gets in between my teeth. Drives me nuts.” I grab a bottle of iced water from the kitchen counter and take a drink. “But I’ll stock some for you.”

  Chess looks around, taking in the living room, small den area, and finally the kitchen with its black cabinets, brass fixtures, and concrete countertop. “You had someone decorate this place, didn’t you?”

  “Realtor recommended a decorator friend of hers.” Ah, Jessica and Janet. Nice women.

  Chess narrows her eyes and I suddenly feel caught out.

  “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

  How the hell?

  Show no weakness. I give her an easy smile. “The realtor or the designer?”

  “Oh, God, both of them?”

  Jesus, is she a mind reader? “Not at the same time.”

  She scoffs like I’ve chumped her Cheerios. “For fuck’s sake.”

  “I mean, I might have been down with that if they’d asked,” I tease, because it’s fun to get her riled.

  But she looks more horrified than amused. “They were friends. You don’t think screwing each of them would cause problems?”

  I’m beginning to feel like a worm just waiting to be hooked and cast in a lake. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Because you never saw them again?” It isn’t really a question, though. Condemnation is written all over her face.

  I head into the kitchen and take out a packet of chicken breasts I’m going to cook. “You aren’t going to get all righteous on me about sex, are you, Chester?”

  She rolls her eyes and follows. “Don’t worry, I’m not clutching my pearls. I’m just reminding myself why I’m glad we didn’t hookup.”

  The chicken package lands on the counter with a slap, as her words punch through me. It’s surprisingly painful knowing that she thinks I’m a bad bet. And yet… “So you have to remind yourself, eh?”

  A pretty pink flush colors her cheeks. “I’m here at your house. You’re you. Can you blame me for being guarded?”

  Now I’m pissed. I feel it rising, and I grind my teeth against the urge to snap at her. My hand spreads wide on the cool counter, as I take a deep breath. But then I catch a good look at Chess. She seems smaller somehow, tightly coiled within herself, her expression wane and her eyes a little wild.

  “Are you trying to pick a fight?” I ask. Despite her prickliness, I know she’s fragile right now.

  For a second, it looks as if she might snap at me, but her shoulders sag on a breath and she puts her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I’m all persnickety, and… I don’t know what I’m saying. Ignore me.”

  I want to give her a hug, but she holds herself tight, eyeing me as if she might cut and run. “You need to get back to normal, is all.”

  She nods, but there’s no energy left in her.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” I say. “Let’s have lunch—”

  “Lunch?” She makes an amused sound. “It’s only eleven.”

  “Elevenses, then,” I amend. “I basically eat like a hobbit.”

  Her lips twitch as she cranes her neck and peers over the center island that stands between us.

  “What are you doing?” I ask with a laugh.

  “Checking out your feet.”

  I wiggle my toes, still encased in sneakers. “They aren’t hairy, but they’re very large.” I lift a brow. “I’m well-proportioned.”

  Chess scoffs, but she’s no longer slumped in defeat. “Yes, I know, big guy. I’ve seen you naked, remember?”

  “How can I forget when you keep bringing it up?” I can get naked now, if you join me. “If I didn’t know better, Ms. Copper, I’d think you were fixating.”

  “Good thing you know better.” Chess rounds the kitchen island and comes up beside me. She’s so slight, compared to me, her wrists delicate and fine. The black cast covering her right one is bulky, running up over her hand, leaving only her fingers free. I don’t miss the bruising on her forearm, and the way she’s been limping makes me believe she has bruises elsewhere.

  I want to demand that she show me her hurts, let me gather her up and tuck her back in bed, where I’ll feed her lunch, rub her sore muscles, do anything she wants. But I know she’ll refuse. And I don’t think it would ease her worries, which is what she truly needs right now. Never mind the fact that, if I get into a bed with her, my control will crack; no way can I hold her now and not keep my hands at neutral.

  I push the thought of exploring Chess out of my mind. “So after elevenses, we’ll go and buy you a new camera and some equipment. Get you set back up for work.”

  She rests her slender fingers on the edge of the counter. “Thanks, but I don’t get a check from the insurance for a few weeks.”

  “Which is why I’m buying.”

  A frown works over her face, and I lift a hand. “You can pay me back when you get your check.”

  “Or I can wait,” she argues. “I’m already staying here. You bought me clothes. I can’t take more—”

  “Chester, I make an obscene amount of money and spend it on very little. You and I both know that. So let’s not pretend you’re putting me out monetarily.”

  “We’re talking about nearly thirty-thousand dollars of equipment, Finn.”

  “I am aware
. Makes no difference to me.” When she rolls her eyes, I lean in. “Helping you get back on even ground makes me happy. All right?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be on even ground. Maybe I want to mope.”

  I don’t buy it for a second. I see the anticipation in her eyes. The girl is dying to get a camera back in her hands. “Too bad. The House of Mannus also has an anti-moping law in effect. Violators are subject to noogies and loss of TV time for one day.”

  Chess looks at me as if I’m full of it. Which I am. But she clearly likes that. “Any more rules I should know?”

  “They’re all in the playbook located on your bedside table.” I open the fridge and pull out some roasted beets, goat cheese, and bulgur salad.

  Chess watches me with bemused interest. “This looks…elaborate. You cooked all this?”

  “I can cook the basics, but the team’s nutritionist has a chef on staff who sets us up with a few of our weekly meals. You know, elevenses, lunch, second lunch, and so on.”

  The doorbell rings, cutting off whatever Chess wants to say. I hustle to get it and find Charlie, box in one hand, a massive bouquet of flowers in the other. The spray of orange roses is so big, I can barely see his head. “Charles,” I say, as I let him in. “You shouldn’t have. I’m more of a plant man.”

  Before Charlie can give me shit back, Chess walks in and makes a sound of wonder. “Wow.”

  Charlie steps past me like I’m not even there. “These are for you.” He sets the ridiculous bouquet on the hall table because it’s too damn big for her to hold. “They’re from the offensive team.”

  My guys went in on flowers and didn’t tell me? Those little ass-kissing shits. I could have told them that Chess isn’t the type to get impressed by flowers—

  “Oh!” Her face glows with pleasure. “How lovely.”

  Wait. What?

  “Well,” I say, trying not to grind my teeth. “That’s how we do.”

  Chess sniffs a rose, as she reads the card that’s covered in signatures. “Stop trying to get a gold star, Finnegan. I don’t see your name on here.”

  Biting back a grin and pointedly not looking my way, Charlie holds out the box in his hand. White and sleek, it doesn’t hide what’s inside. A freaking MacBook Pro? “And this is from the defensive team.”

  She looks stunned.

  Chess will never take it. No way.

  But then she smiles, all wobbly and misty-eyed. Just like she did last night. “That’s so…sweet.” She clutches the box to her chest like it’s precious.

  I’m torn between gratitude to my teammates for putting that look on her face, and feeling the urge to punch them all in theirs because I didn’t get her a computer first.

  I close the door with a little more force than necessary. “Chess. Meet Charlie Beauchamp.” Resident turncoat. “When not helping me, and some of the guys out, he’s a junior, studying at Tulane.”

  “You play football, Charlie?” Chess asks.

  It’s a valid question. At six five and two hundred and eight pounds of bulky muscles, he could easily be a defensive end.

  Charlie, used to the question, gives a wry smile. “No, ma’am. Much to my chagrin, I have two left feet and they’re made of lead. Or so says every coach I’ve tried out for.” His Haitian accent thickens a bit. “I’m majoring in Sports Management.”

  “I wanted to thank you,” Chess says. “For buying me those clothes and things. I’m so grateful.”

  Charlie’s cheeks turn the color of rosewood. If I wasn’t standing here, I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of blushing. He’s an unflappable island of calm around me. “It was the least I could do, ma’am. Though I apologize if anything doesn’t…” He clears his throat. “If certain items aren’t your usual style.”

  A low, laugh escapes Chess’s lips, and even though there’s nothing suggestive in her expression, the sound is pure sex to my ears. “You did just fine.”

  I find myself picturing her wearing one of those uninspired panties Charlie picked out and nothing else. Pure white cotton, stretched over that toned, pert ass, hugging every curve and dip.

  Jesus. Charlie might be onto something. I shift my weight and try to think of something unsavory, such as the way Dawes never washes his socks during playoffs.

  Yep, that’ll do it.

  “It was a novel experience,” Charlie is saying. “Buying women’s underwear.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get to do it again under better circumstance someday,” Chess assures, barking up the wrong tree.

  Charlie gives her a small smile. “I don’t think any of the guys I date would be into that, ma’am.”

  “Probably wise of them,” Chess says without missing a beat. “Bras aren’t the most comfortable attire.”

  I really don’t want to start thinking about Chess wearing a bra. Or going without. “We’re about to eat,” I say to Charlie. “Want to join us?”

  Before he can speak, Chess hooks her arm around his. “You must.”

  “Let the guy answer for himself, Chess.”

  She shoots me a reproving look. “I’m trying to make him feel welcome, Finn.”

  “He knows he’s welcome. I just asked him to join us.”

  Charlie chuckles, interrupting us. “You two sound like my grandparents.”

  “Surely not as old as that,” I exclaim in mock horror.

  Chess tisks at me.

  Charlie flashes a grin. “I mean the way you two go on like you’ve known each other forever.”

  The words invade the room like the drunken uncle no one wants to acknowledge, but can’t ignore. Chess and I eye each other for a long moment, neither of us knowing what to say. But then she purses her lips as if mildly entertained.

  “Sure feel like it sometimes,” she mutters before turning heel and striding toward the kitchen, her long dark hair swinging like a pendulum over her pert butt.

  I watch that jiggle and sway, and my dick twitches in response.

  Next to me, Charlie makes a choked sound of amusement. “Man…”

  I glance his way. “Yeah, I know.”

  * * *

  Chess

  * * *

  “I cannot believe you didn’t call me,” James scolds over the phone.

  I open another one of Finn’s cabinets in search of a platter. The man has ten different sets of beer glasses, yet barely a serving tray or bread bowl to be found. “Did you miss the part where I said I lost my phone?”

  “You could have borrowed one!”

  “Am I the only one who doesn’t have people’s numbers memorized?” I mutter, moving on to the next cabinet.

  “Good point.” Horns blare in the background, and I wonder if he’s outside.

  “Where are you?”

  “Headed towards the MoMA.” He’s slightly out of breath when he speaks again. “Don’t worry, as soon we’re through, I’m booking tickets home.”

  Finally, I find a cheese tray and a few shallow bowls that might be used for crackers or bread. The price stickers are still on them. I have a vision of Finn’s mom buying him these, stocking his kitchen for parties he’ll never have.

  “Don’t do that,” I tell James, as I pick off the sticker on the tray. “There’s no need.”

  “What do you mean there’s no need?” he exclaims. “Your freaking home just got crisped. Of course I’m coming back.”

  “No, really, James, I’m all right. Stay with Jamie. Have fun.”

  He lets out an audible huff. “I’m coming back. What kind of shit friend do you think I am?”

  Setting the tray down, I get to work on unwrapping my cheeses. “I’m fine. Seriously. I have a temporary place to stay, and the insurance company is actually being very helpful.”

  “What about work? Or the calendar?”

  “The computer guys were able to get the files off my busted laptop and transfer it into my new one. So I can easily finish up the calendar work. I’ve had to drop a few jobs…” Which is going to sting financially. “But
I bought enough basic equipment that I can work the Ducain wedding, which I really can do on my own. And we don’t have anything major for another month.”

  James makes a noise of assent. “What about the loft? How long until you can go back?”

  “I don’t know. Frankly, I want to pull a Scarlett and not think about that today.”

  “I always thought you’d make a great Scarlett. Snapping green eyes, inky dark hair, creamy skin—”

  “Perfect resting bitch face?” I offer with a snort.

  “Exactly.”

  “So listen to Katie Scarlett and stay, wallow in love and all that sappy shit.”

  “Sappy, hmm?” James makes a suspicious sound in his throat. “Tell me, Chess, does the fact that you’re shacking up with an insanely hot quarterback—and I’m still jealous of that, by the way—have anything to do with your insistence that I stay longer in New York?”

  “Your suspicions hurt, Rhett.” I grab a bread knife and start hacking at the fresh baguette I’d picked up at a bakery. “Here I am, generously supporting your newly found love—”

  “Pfft.”

  “And you accuse me of having ulterior and nefarious motives.”

  “You sound like a thirties movie villain,” James drawls. “And I’m accusing you of ulterior and hedonistic motives, to be clear.”

  “Bah.” I arrange the bread slices in a shallow bowl, then flick away a few crumbs.

  “So,” James asks in a sing-song voice. “What’s manly Manny’s place like? Does he have a Red Room of Pain?”

  Smiling, I roll my eyes. “At first I thought he did, but it turned out to be a home gym.”

  “Bummer.”

  Glancing at the clock, I carry the bread and cheese out to the coffee table. “Yeah, but I can attest to its pain inducing powers.”

  James laughs. “Joke all you want, Chessie bear, but you can’t hide from me. You like being sexy Manny’s roommate.”

  A denial dances at the edge of my tongue. But I can’t force it out.

  I could fall for Finn. Irrevocably. I know it. I already feel myself teetering, and we haven’t known each other for that long.