Fact is, I’m the stupid one. I want Chess. I’ve wanted her since the beginning. But I got caught up in old habits and let her think I was a bad bet, good for only one night. And she’s made it clear she has no interest in taking a chance on me. Hell, I orchestrated it so that she wouldn’t.
Why did I do that?
I don’t have an answer, but now I have to face her, and tell her what? Hey, Chess, I know I’ve never dated a woman, but the thought of you leaving fills me with fucking dread. Because I don’t want to be your friend anymore. I just want to be yours.
Yeah, that would go over well. She’ll probably cut and run.
It occurs to me that this is why I don’t do relationships; I know fuckall about how to navigate one.
Maybe start by apologizing for flipping out on her last night.
Since Chess usually sleeps until ten, I decide to get her some breakfast as a peace offering. Apparently, she’s a sucker for beignets. I’ll jog over to Cafe du Monde and pick her up a bag.
As I turn the corner into the main living space, I halt in my tracks. Chess looks up from her spot at the stove. “Hey!” she says with forced brightness. “I’m making French toast. With sausages. Do you like French toast?”
Hey, Chess, I don’t just want you. I need you. I need you so much it hurts. I’m pretty sure if you leave it will end me.
I clear my throat. “I love it.”
“Good.” She waves her spatula in the direction of the coffee machine. “Coffee just finished, if you want some.”
I’m staring at her even as I’m pulling down two mugs and pouring the coffee. It feels like I’m walking through deep water. Meanwhile, Chess bustles around, flipping the French toast and dipping new slices into the egg batter she has set up in a shallow bowl.
I add cream for Chess’s coffee and two sugars for mine, then hand her her coffee. “This is new,” I say, with a nod toward her breakfast.
Chess glances at me from beneath her long lashes. Those clear green eyes hold a hint of regret, and my heart starts thudding. Is she moving out? Is that what this is? My fingers wrap around my mug, pressing into the heated ceramic.
“You’ve done so much for me,” she says, sliding the spatula under a golden brown toast and putting it onto the finished stack. “I just wanted to do something for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looks up at me, so fucking beautiful, I almost lean in and take a taste of her. That husky, sex voice of hers sounds small and sorry. “I want to.”
Her lips are delicately drawn, a soft pink shade that reminds me of candy. I want to press my mouth to hers. Again and again. And again.
Jesus, I’m waxing poetic like some lovelorn sap while she’s looking at me as if I’m touched in the head. And I realize I’ve been silent for too long.
“Are you staying?” I croak out.
Chess drops her gaze to the stove, and her fingers tighten around the handle of the spatula. “I like it here.”
I lean against the counter so I don’t make a fool of myself and fall to my knees. I love you here. I clear my throat. “You keep making me breakfast, and you can stay here forever.”
She snickers. “I’d hold back on that declaration until you’ve tasted your breakfast. I’m not known for my cooking.”
Then I’ll make you breakfast forever.
I dip my head over her shoulder and peer into the egg mix. “Is that a shell?” I tease, pretending I’m immune to the clean scent of her hair or the warmth of her slim body.
“Shut up.” Chess elbows me in the gut, and it’s all I can do not to pull her against me.
My control is so shot, I can’t stop myself from grasping her upper arm and holding on. She stills, not moving, not saying a word. My grasp is gentle, my palm pressed against the smooth warmth of her skin. I’m close enough that, whenever she breaths in, her shoulder blades almost brush my chest. A phantom touch. And yet I feel that contact as if it were real. It shivers over my skin, and I want more.
And, Jesus, who is this guy I’ve become? I don’t recognize him; he is feral, hyper-aware, and yet so tenderhearted it disorients me.
Chess’s head is bent, her eyes on the pan. Butter sizzles, a soggy piece of yellow, battered bread slowly browning. Neither of us move, my hand cradling her arm, our breaths in sync. Out. In. Out. In.
It feels as though I’m fucking her.
The strange thought tilts through me, makes me a dizzy. I sway into her, and my cock, heavy and hot with need, kisses the curve of her ass.
Everything goes a little hazy.
I need. I need.
My fingers twitch on her arm, sinking into soft flesh.
She makes a sound, not pained but undone.
I draw in a hard breath, my lungs burning. “Chess—”
The blaring tones of Bohemian Rhapsody cuts through the room.
Mom.
It’s more effective than a blast of cold water. Instantly, I step away, my head clearing, my dick wilting. With a curse, I grab the phone and shut it off. Chess’s stare is a brand on my back, and my neck tightens.
“Who are you ignoring?” she asks in the thick silence.
With a sigh, I scrub my hand over my face. “My mother.”
With that one confession, I know I’ll have to tell Chess everything. I could keep hiding it, but I want Chess in my life, which means I have to let her all the way in, as painful as that might be.
* * *
Chess
* * *
Saved by Finn’s mother. I never thought be grateful for that. And yet it feels true. Because a second ago? Jesus, I’d been blindsided by unexpected and unwelcome sheer lust.
Aside from his grip on my arm, Finn hadn’t even touched me. Didn’t matter. I’d felt every inch of him behind me, a wall of vibrating heat and intent.
I’d never experienced awareness like that. As if every nerve ending of mine were attached to his. He breathed, and I breathed with him. It had been all I could do not to beg him to touch me, slide his hand down into my pants so he could seek out the sensitive, swelling flesh that was slick and throbbing.
It still is. And I’m thankful for this new distraction. “You’re ignoring your mother?”
Finn does not seem like the type to avoid family. But his expression turns mulish and guilty.
“I’ve heard that ringtone at least a half-a-dozen times since I’ve moved in,” I add. “And you never pick up.”
“You’re right,” he bites out finally. “I’m a total dick.”
He looks so forlorn, yet tightly angry, I can’t find it in myself to even tease.
“When we first met, I might have agreed,” I say carefully. “But I know better. You’re one of the good guys, Finn.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” he mutters, glaring off and rubbing the back of his neck.
“But it is. What’s going on with you?”
For a second, it seems as if he might not answer, but then he lets out an expansive sigh of defeat. “Fuck it. I want to talk to you about this.” Blue eyes full of pain meet mine. “I do. I just don’t think I can have this discussion here or I’ll lose it. I need some air.”
Ten minutes ago, I’d wanted to lick him like warm honey. Now, it’s all I can do not to hold him like a wounded animal. But if he’s anything like me, he’ll balk at that. I keep my voice neutral. “Well, then, let’s take a walk.”
We go to the riverwalk where the sun shines bright and cheerful and the breezes off the Mississippi are stiff enough to carry painful words away in a flash. We’re silent for a while and pass a man playing The Sunny Side of the Street on the trumpet. Farther down, a group of completely ragged musicians who are probably my age sit on the ground, practicing blue grass.
Finn’s fingers touch my hand, and I edge away out of knee jerk habit. He makes a noise of irritation. “Take my damn hand, Chess. I’m not going to fucking cry or anything.” His long fingers seek mine out again and secure them in a snug grip.
/> “I didn’t say you were, Mr. Grumpy.” I thread my fingers with his. “There? We’re holding hands.”
“Finally,” he mutters.
I let that go and just walk alongside him, waiting for Finn to speak. When he does, his voice is tired and strained. “About eleven months ago, I went to a party and hooked up with Britt.”
Okay, not what I was expecting. And not something I want to hear about. But I don’t say a word.
“It wasn’t even one night,” he goes on. “We fucked in a bathroom and then went back out to enjoy the rest of the party.”
Well, that’s classy.
“Yeah, I know,” he says as if I’ve spoken out loud. “I was high on an important game win and here was this supermodel begging to suck my—” He clears his throat. “Four months after that, Britt shows up at my door.”
“Please tell me you recognized her,” I blurt out, unkindly. Damn it.
Finn shoots me a repressive look that I absolutely earned. “Yes. But I’ll be honest; I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see her. Sex with Britt had been kind of…bland.”
Only Finn would tell me sex in a bathroom with a supermodel had been bland.
He swallows hard and stares out over the river. “She was pregnant, Chess.”
I stumble on a crack, and he tightens his grip on my hand to steady me.
“What?” I croak.
Finn’s jaw bunches. “From high school out, they warn us about knocking women up. Never believe them when they say they’re on the pill. Always wear a condom. Today’s screw can be tomorrow’s screw up.”
“Lovely.”
“But true,” he says with a shrug. “I wore the condom. And I wasn’t so naive that I didn’t ask for a paternity test. Britt agreed. She didn’t want money. She has more than enough of her own. She just wanted me to know because it was the right thing to do.”
I suddenly feel small and petty for being jealous of the woman.
Finn let’s go of me and shoves his fists into his pockets as we slowly walk along. “Tests came back. I was the father.”
“How… I never heard a word of this in the press. And James watches Sports Center religiously.”
“We kept it quiet and were fortunate that there were no leaks. Jake is the only friend on my side who knows. Well, him and my family. They know too.”
He draws in a deep breath. “Anyway, I manned up, offered to marry her—”
My stomach turns with a violent lurch. If he’s married…
“But Britt said no.”
I should feel relieved, but I don’t. He could have been married. I’d have never known him this way.
“We hammered out how to handle custody, things like that…” He trails off and stares down at his shoes as we walk.
“So, you have a child.” I can do the math. The idea that a little Finn offspring is somewhere out there stuns me. God. A father.
“Five months in,” he croaks. “Britt miscarried.”
“Oh, Finn.”
He stands hunched against the wind, his expression blank. I touch his arm and find it vibrating with tension.
“I’m so sorry, Finn.”
His nod is vague, the barest lift of his chin. “We’d just found out she was a girl, you know?”
My fingers curl around his arm. “Finn…”
He takes a deep breath as if he’s sucking all his pain back into himself, and his shoulders straighten. When he looks up, his jaw is hard and set. “The whole time Britt was pregnant, I told myself that this is what real men do. They take care of their mistakes.” He snorts, a broken sound. “That’s what I thought of my baby as, Chess. A mistake. My baby girl.”
His eyes well, and I can’t stand still anymore. I step into his space and hug him tight. And he instantly hugs me back, squeezing with enough force to bruise, his face burrowed in my hair. For long moments, he shudders, fighting for control, while I press my palm to his back and coo nonsensical noises under my breath.
His rough voice is close to my ear. “I didn’t even know how much I wanted her until I saw her in that sonogram.” Another tremor slams through him. “But there she was, ten fingers and ten toes, flailing around like she was running in place, and I wanted her. I wanted her. And then she was gone.”
“Oh, Finn.” My heart breaks for him. For Britt. I’ve never been in their situation, but I know how it is to have something you never thought you wanted ripped away from you. And how that loss changes your life and haunts your future.
I think about that irony and a deep sorrow washes through me.
I don’t know what to do for Finn except keep holding him. But he doesn’t allow it for long. Soon enough, he pulls away and stands tall. The rims of his eyes are red, but he’s tucked away his anguish. I’ve done the same thing so many times, part of me admires how well he hides himself. The other part of me knows you can’t heal that way and wants to comfort him longer.
“Britt went home to Sweden. She didn’t want to see me. And, frankly, she reminded me of…everything, and I was glad she went.”
“Was yesterday the first time you’d seen her since?”
He nods. “Shocked the shit out of me.”
I feel myself growing distant, as if I’m breathing through layers of cotton wool. It feels as though I’m losing something I didn’t know I had. All this time, I’d thought of Finn as a shallow bowl, not stupid by any means, but not someone who had much of a life beyond football and partying. And I feel so fucking small for assuming that.
“What did she want?” I can guess. The way she’d looked at Finn, as if he were her salvation. I swallow back the lump in my throat. They have a history I will never understand.
Finn sighs, and we start walking again. “My mom invited her to spend the holidays with us.”
No need to for him to say how he feels about that. If looks could kill, his mom would be in grave danger right about now.
“What did you tell Britt?” The idea of them spending the holidays with each other doesn’t exactly make me happy. But I have no claim on Finn. To demand one now would be hypocritical and petty.
“That I didn’t want her there.” He winces. “I know it sounds bad, but we were never friends. Just…I don’t know, teammates with a common purpose. But my mother…I went home after it happened. She was with me at my lowest.”
“And now you’re avoiding her?”
“Because she won’t let go of the notion that she needs to fix me.” He moves to run a hand through his hair but feels his hat and flings his arm down. “No matter how many times I tell her that I’m okay, she keeps trying to set me up with some daughter or friend of so-and-so, as if finding the right woman will make it all better.”
I bite my lip to hold back a smile. “Mothers can be well-meaning like that.”
He snorts. “Last time I went home, Admiral Foster’s daughters came to dinner practically every night. The both of them smiling pleasantly as if it was up to me to pick my favorite and take her. It was awkward as fuck. But this…” He lifts a hand in exasperation. “This is too much. Not only did Mom piss me off, she embarrassed Britt.”
“So tell her that.”
“I’m ridiculously bad at telling off my mom,” he grumps.
“Well, avoiding her isn’t going to work.”
“I know that. Shit.” He scowls so darkly, the woman walking by us does a double-take and quickens her step. Finn doesn’t seem to notice. “I have to go home for Thanksmas.”
“Thanksmas?”
“It’s kind of a winter holiday catch all,” he explains with a roll of his shoulders. “When my schedule has games on or too close to Thanksgiving and Christmas, my mom has Thanksmas on one of my bye-weeks.”
“That’s adorable.”
“That’s my mom.” It’s easy to tell that, despite his disgruntlement, he misses his mom and loves her deeply. He glances down at me. “Chess…”
“What?” I say, edging away. “I don’t like that look.”
Finn blinks, all innocen
ce. “What look?”
“The same look you used the other week when you’d put my bras in the washing machine and it twisted them all to hell.”
“I was trying to be helpful.”
“As I said then, keep your helpfulness away from my bras and panties.”
A brilliant grin lights his face. I’m happy to see it. This is the Finn I know, the one who doesn’t leave me confused and bleeding for him. “It was totally worth getting yelled at,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Were you going to ask me something?”
He sobers a bit but there’s a hopeful light in his eyes. “Come to California with me.”
“What? For your family holiday?” I squeak like a startled mouse.
“Yes.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “Come on, it’ll be fun. My family will love you. And my mother is a great cook.”
I eye him with suspicion. “What aren’t you saying?”
The lobes of his ears pink. “Okay. While we’re there, I was thinking we could tell her that we’re together.”
I halt so fast, Finn walks a step for before noticing to stop.
“Oh, fuck no,” I say, shaking my head.
His brows raise as if he has no fucking idea why I’d object. The liar. “Come on, it isn’t that bad.”
“It’s worse. You want to lie.” My fingers curl into a fist. “To your family.”
“Yes, I do. Because she won’t stop, Chess. Not as long as she thinks I’m this poor, broken-hearted sap who needs a woman to mend him. It doesn’t matter what I say, she has a fucking bee in her crazy bonnet.”
“Well…”
He takes a step closer. “The press is already circulating pictures of us together. Of you living with me.”
“What?” My skin prickles with horror.
“Surprise,” he says with weak humor. “Britt told me. And I’m sorry for that, Chess. I didn’t think about them invading your privacy.”
“It isn’t your fault.” I swipe my hand in the air as if I can push away the whole shitcake of photographs of me with Finn being spread around like bad tabloid copy.
“Regardless, my mom follows my press religiously. She’s kind of proud that way.”
The Hot Shot Page 16