Chess tweaks my nipple and grins when I yelp. She rubs my abused flesh. “Ocean’s Eleven is a chick flick, you know.”
“It is not. It’s a total guy movie.”
“Is not.”
“Is too. They are a band of brothers who devise a clever plan to steal the impossible, while forming an emotional, but manly bond in the process.”
Chess lifts her head to meet my gaze. Her lips quirk on a repressed smile. “Manly bond, eh?” Her smile unfurls. “You do realize that the whole plan was for Danny Ocean to win back the love of his wife, don’t you?”
“Pfft. Subplot. It was all about the guys.”
“Denial is strong with this one.” Her expression borders on pitying. “And have you actually looked at the cast? It’s like a man candy buffet of sexy goodness.”
I glance at the screen where Brad Pitt is now talking to a dapper George Clooney. I’m comfortable enough in my manhood to admit that Clooney can work the hell out of a suit. I frown. “I think we should pick another movie. Let’s put on The Magnificent Seven.”
“More man candy.”
“You are killing movies for me, Chester.”
She grins wide and then reaches to kiss me. “You’re cute when grumpy.”
I grunt, but it’s all show. I am fucking putty in her hands.
Chess runs a hand over my chest. We keep touching each other. I do it because I can’t seem to stop. Idly, I wonder if it’s the same for her.
“Why do you keep calling me Chester,” she asks, watching her hand glide over my skin.
“Why do you keep letting me?” I counter.
“I honestly don’t know. I hate my name.”
She has good reason; I can’t think any woman would want to be named Chester. But it bothers me that she hates a part of herself.
Chess’s gaze narrow. “Answer the question.”
“All right, bossy boots.” I turn toward her, resting my head in my hand. “I call you Chester because the second I learned that was actually your name I started falling for you.”
A soft light fills her green eyes. But her expression remains dubious. My girl needs brutal honesty to believe anything is true. So I give it to her.
“There you were, this gorgeous, fierce Amazonian warrior, glaring hate-fire at me. And you had the most ridiculous, unappealing name—”
Her mouth falls open. “Asshat!”
Laughing, I evade her pinching fingers. “Unappealing, yet endearing name.”
Chess launches herself at me, poking my ribs because she knows I’m ticklish. Curses and dire threats leave her mouth. I catch her hands in mine and easily tumble her back onto the bed.
She huffs and glares, as I straddle her hips and cage her in.
“Dickhead,” she mutters, but there’s no anger to it. Her lips quirk and then she lets out a laugh, as if she can’t help it. And I love that about her, this gruff girl with the fierce armor, who can’t help but laugh at my teasing.
She smiles up at me, and my chest suddenly hurts. Ink black hair spread out like a fan on the sheets, bottle green eyes glinting with happiness, pretty pink mouth smiling wide, she’s the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, fuck, Chester Copper, I’m so gone on you. There’s no coming back from it.”
I kiss those candy lips. “Haven’t you figured it out?” I say against them. “Every time I call you Chester, I’m saying I adore you. I fucking adore every part of you.”
She makes a soft noise in her throat, her gaze running over me like warm honey. “Finn… You don’t fight fair.”
“I never will when it comes to you, Chess. You’re my girl and I’m your guy. Fate knows it. I know it. Now get with the program.”
I move to kiss her again when the doorbell rings. I’m tempted to ignore it. But Chess knows me too well.
“Go get our pizza,” she says. “I’m starving.”
My stomach growls, agreeing with her. I give her a quick kiss, and the jump off the bed to find something to put on. I grab a pair of pajama pants and hop into them. The doorbell rings again.
“Fuck, I’m coming already,” I say, not bothering with a shirt since the pizza guy is clearly impatient as all hell.
It rings a third time as I’m opening the door. “Man, it’s a good thing I’m hungry or—”
I freeze, my mouth hanging open. Britt stands in the hall, swathed in some fuzzy cape thing and a cloud of expensive perfume. “Britt?”
She moves right past me, her long legs striding with purpose. “Did you forget about our meeting up?”
In a fog, I close the door and follow her into the hall. “Meeting?”
Britt turns and steps into my personal space. “Finn, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
I hold my hands up. “What are you talking about?”
Britt halts but then stands tall. “About us. I think we should try to be together.”
“Britt, we were never—”
“But we could be,” she says, her gaze searching my face. “Fate brought us together.”
“And it broke us apart,” I snap without thinking, then grimace when I see her flinch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You did. And I understand.” Her hand lifts as if beseeching me. “That’s why I think we could be good for each other.”
“I’m not getting what you mean.” Sweat breaks out on my skin. I glance toward the bedroom where Chess is waiting for me. I should call her out, warn her that Britt is here. But I don’t want to make this any worse.
Britt stands in front of me. Too close. “Maybe we could heal, if we…” She lifts her hand again in a helpless gesture. “Had another one…”
Like that, my heart breaks for her. “Oh, honey, no.” I clasp her shoulders and find them trembling. “No, Britt.”
But she doesn’t seem to hear me. Before I can say a word, she presses against me, her mouth seeking mine.
* * *
Chess
* * *
Finn is taking too long with the pizza, and frankly I’m too starving to wait for him to bring it in here. Sex with Finn makes me hungry. Grinning at the idea of placing a bed next to the kitchen, I pull on one of his oversized jerseys to hunt him down. The silky material skims over the sensitive tips of my nipples as it settles over me and falls to my upper thighs. The fact that I even notice my nipples makes me laugh a little.
God, he’s turned me into a hedonist.
That stupid smile is still on my face when I waltz out of his bedroom and run straight into a model-sized nightmare.
I halt, my heart clenching, my muscles seizing.
Britt Larson is in my man’s arms, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. That. Is. My. Crook.
I don’t know if I make a sound or Finn is just that attuned to me, because he instantly turns his head and catches my eye. A look of horror pulls at his face. And for an agonizing second, I’m paralyzed with fear.
Then I start thinking again and realize he’s also looking at me as if I’m his lifeline. “Chess.” He holds up his hands behind Britt’s back in a plea.
Britt stiffens. Ice blue eyes glare at me though a veil of pale hair. Immediately, she lurches up. “You said you weren’t with her,” she accuses Finn.
Excuse me? I feel my brows lift.
Finn on the other hand detaches himself from Britt’s grip. “I wasn’t at the time. But I wanted to be.” His tone is firm. “And now I am.”
While I’d like to feel all warm and mushy about that, I’m standing in nothing but a thin jersey, my hair tangled. All fine and good when rolling around in Finn’s bed, but not when facing a model swathed in couture and wearing knee-high Jimmy Choo boots. I turn to go change when Britt burst out crying. A full out ugly cry of someone who has completely lost it.
For the love of…
Finn makes a helpless gesture to me, his gaze pinning me to the spot. His desperation is palpable. But it’s Britt who has my sympathy. I should be annoyed that she’s thrown herself
on my man. But she’s so distraught, I just can’t be.
Giving Finn a look that says, comfort her and I’ll be right back, I hustle into my bedroom to grab some leggings. It doesn’t take but a few seconds, yet I still find them standing in the hall, Finn awkwardly petting Britt’s head while she sobs.
“Here.” Gently, I take hold of Britt’s trembling arm. “Let’s sit down.”
I lead her to the couch and, when she plops onto it in a miserable sprawl, I sit next to her and stoke her back. “Could you get us some water and tissues?” I ask Finn.
“Sure.” Finn all but leaps into action, clearly happy to be doing something other than dealing with a crying woman. Can’t blame him; he’s had to deal with me crying earlier. Two women in a row is probably a nightmare for a guy.
“I’m so sorry,” Britt says through her tears. “I did’nt mean to cry like this. I don’t usually… God, this is embarrassing.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “Everyone loses it at some point, and it’s usually in the worst place possible. Murphy’s Law and all that.”
She pushes her hair back from her face and gives me a considering look. “You’re being very kind. I don’t know if I would as understanding in the same position.”
“And what position is that?”
Britt grimaces. “Another woman throwing herself on your boyfriend.”
Finn takes that moment to come back into the room. His steps stutter as if he’s aware he’s walked into a potential bomb, but can’t quite make himself turn tail and run. Silently, he hands Britt a box of tissues and a glass of ice water.
Finn and I exchange a glance. He comes to stand by me, putting his hand on my shoulder as if I’m the one who needs soothing. Or maybe he’s worried I’ll be pissed. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze and then focus on Britt.
Delicately, she blows her nose and then takes a drink. “I really am sorry, Finn. I didn’t think. I…” She starts weeping again.
“Talk to me,” he says in a quiet voice.
“I don’t know what to say,” she wails, wringing her tissue in her hands. “I can’t think straight. I can’t sleep. I cry all the time. I thought coming to see you would bring me comfort.” She snorts out a sad laugh. “Obviously a grave mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake,” he says. “I want to help you.”
Britt rolls her eyes as she blows her nose, louder this time. “Don’t patronize me.”
He winces and glances my way again. And I blink back at him, a little shocked. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was crap with women. Because he is terrible at this. At least with Britt. And yet he’s always been wonderful with me, effortlessly perfect.
Perfectly imperfect.
Britt speaks again. “I miss her, Finn.” She starts to sob, quietly now, her shoulders shaking. “I didn’t even want her in the beginning. Can you believe that?”
Finn rubs his hand over his face, and he suddenly looks exhausted. “Yes.”
Britt looks up at him with eyes that sparkle with pain and something deeper. “She would have been so beautiful, don’t you think?”
He swallows hard. “Of course she would have.”
This is too personal. I’m an intruder here. I move to go when Finn grabs my hand and holds it tight. His fleeting look is clear: he expects me to stay. I settle back with some reluctance, and he threads his fingers through mine as he sits on the arm of the couch. His warmth presses into my shoulder, as if he needs me to brace him. “We will never forget her. But, Britt, we have to find a way to move on.”
She looks appalled and disgusted in him, and Finn blanches as if struck. My heart hurts for him, because he’s right. It isn't callous to want that.
“I can’t,” she grits out.
My thumb strokes the back of Finn’s hand. “Look,” I say to Britt. “We don’t know each other, and I understand that this isn’t the greatest way to meet. But have you thought about going to talk to someone?”
Britt jerks her chin, her gaze darting away. “I don’t need that. I’m not completely broken.”
“It’s not a sign of weakness to seek help,” I say. “I did once.”
Finn twitches with surprise, but he doesn’t say a word. His hand, however, holds my mine a little tighter.
“I had to deal with some things a few years ago,” I tell her, ignoring the jitters that start up in my belly. They always do when I talk about that time, so it isn’t a surprise. “And I had a hard time coping for a while. I know it isn’t the same as your loss—yes, Finn told me. But I know how depression can consume you.”
Britt stares at me, her eyes wide and a bit glazed. I know that look too. I used to see it in the mirror. There are days I still do. She licks her reddened lips, as if nervous. “And it worked?”
“It helped a lot. I went to a counselor. It was a safe space where I could talk, get things off my chest.”
She bites her bottom lip, her fingers clenching, and I put my free hand on hers.
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to continue.”
With a sigh, she stands. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to,” Finn assures. And I’ll give him credit, even though he’d been a mess when she arrived, he sounds sincere now.
But Britt shakes her head, her gaze darting to Finn. “I was obviously interrupting something.”
It’s only then I truly notice that Finn’s wearing a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms and nothing else. Which must be a testament to my distraction because he looks delicious.
Finn looks down at himself, and skin colors a little, going a rosy-deep gold hue. “Right.”
He puts his hands low on his hips, then seems to realize that only highlights his muscles, because his hands drop to his sides. He shifts his weight as if not knowing what the hell to do.
I stand as well. “If you’d like, I can get you the contact info for the person I saw.”
“Thanks. But I’ll find someone.” Britt gives me a tight smile, but it’s clear she wants to bolt. I don’t blame her, and I’m not going to stand in her way. Sometimes, you have to lick your wounds in private.
I back away, letting her pass.
“Give me a second,” Finn says to me, and leads Britt to the door.
They stop in the hallway, heads bent toward each other, talking in low voices. From an artistic standpoint, they look beautiful together, her light to his dark. I swear, their combined fame has a glow to it. Something about them makes you keep looking, even if you don’t want to.
I never expected to be with someone like Finn. He will never fully be mine. I will always have to share him with the public. I’m okay with that. I’m proud of Finn. But seeing him standing with Britt pulls my thoughts down darker, less secure roads that I’m definitely not proud of.
It’s bothered me before, but now those old insecurities are suddenly on display in all their ugly glory. I don’t want to see them anymore than I want to view Britt and Finn as a pretty pair. But I can’t look away.
I want to be back in bed, wrapped up in sex and Finn, where the real world is a distant murmur and the present is nothing but pleasure and warmth. I want it so badly that if feels like desperation. And that scares me.
Chapter Nineteen
Finn
* * *
“When are you going to move your stuff into our room?” I ask Chess as she stands in the guest bathroom doing her makeup.
Chess pauses, eyeliner in hand, and looks at me through the reflection of the mirror. “What does it matter where my stuff is? We sleep in the same bed.”
Technically, I suppose she’s right. But it’s been a week since we’ve returned from California. And call me an impatient man, but every time she veers off into this room to get dressed, I find myself worrying. The whole scene with Britt arriving on my doorstep hasn’t helped matters. I’d been afraid Chess would freak. But she’d treated Britt with compassion and a kindness that humbled me.
Even so, Chess has been withdrawn at times. I d
on’t know if it’s because of James leaving or it’s something more. And not knowing worries me too.
“It feels significant,” I tell her.
“Significant?” She runs the liner over her lid, a sweep of deep green done with a precision that fascinates me.
I love watching her do personal things no one else gets to see. And I know it’s the same for her. Every time I shave, Chess appears in the bathroom and sits on the counter as if settling in for a show.
“Yeah, significant,” I repeat. “As in you’re keeping this room as some sort of safe zone.”
Chess blinks at me as if I’ve spoken in a foreign language. But I know her too well now, which means I know when she’s stalling. I cross my arms over my chest and wait her out.
Slowly she sets her eyeliner down. “Sometimes I hate how perceptive you are.”
“It’s my job to read people.”
Chess turns around and leans against the counter. “You’re the first man I’ve ever lived with.”
“You’re my first too.” I give her a brief smile. “I like that about us, truth be told.”
“Caveman,” she says with a laughing huff.
“So we’ve established.”
Chess bites her lip with a bemused expression. “Don’t you ever experience any moments of doubt?”
Maybe I should be insulted by that, but I’m not. We’re more alike than she realizes.
“Of course. It scared the hell out of me when I realized that what I was feeling for you went beyond simple attraction or friendship. But Dex once reminded me that we have zero hesitation on the football field, and to hesitate in life is stupid.”
“Stupid?” She raises one delicate black brow.
“Well,…” I grin. “More like a waste of energy better spent on other things.”
Chess pushes off the counter and walks toward me. Heat coils low in my gut, my abs pulling tight in response. She wraps her arms around my neck and lifts up on her toes. Her kiss is sweet affection and lingering appreciation.
My hands slide to her peachy butt and give it a squeeze. Chess makes a small noise in her throat and leans into me, her tongue licking my lower lip like it’s candy.
The Hot Shot Page 25