“I did. First and last professional game, both on the same day.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I stayed on the roster for my three-year contract. Had a few surgeries…never really could make it back to the level I needed to be at. Retired at twenty-four.”
“Wow. That sucks.”
He smiled.
“But what do you do now?”
“I still get royalties, so I don’t have to work a nine to five or anything. But I spend my days making junk art.”
“Junk art?”
“Some people call it recycled art.”
“I went to an exhibit like that at the Guggenheim. I loved it. I’d love to see your work sometime.”
He nodded. Very noncommittal.
“Can I be nosey?”
“You mean more nosey?”
“You’re the one who told me to get to know you. Before you made me crash into poor Esmerelda Snowflake, that is.”
“You didn’t even crash into that thing. And his name is not Esmerelda Snowflake.”
My marshmallow was on fire. I blew on it, then slipped it off the stick and took a bite. It was almost liquefied. “Mmmmm.”
I noticed Chance was watching me intently. “You want a bite?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Why not? You’re the sugar addict.”
“I get more enjoyment out of watching you eat it than I would eating it myself.” He swallowed. The sight of his throat working made me warm, and it had nothing to do with the fire.
“Anyway. How can you be living off royalties if your contract was only three years?”
He looked away. “Posters and stuff.”
“Posters? You mean of you?”
“Haven’t we talked about me enough? Harry’s been quiet today, hasn’t he?”
“Not a chance, Cocky. You blew me off once, and I let you off the hook.”
Turned out, I wasn’t the only one that thought Chance Bateman was ridiculously hot. Even years after retiring from professional sports, legions of women in Australia were still keeping his poster and jersey sales alive enough for him to live off of. There was something very endearing about him being a little embarrassed of the whole thing.
After a few more hours of sitting around the campfire, we decided to call it a night. Chance set up my sleeping bag for me and then zipped the divider of our two-room tent down. He left me with the lantern, so I could change first.
My clothes smelled like campfire, so I stripped everything off. There was something exciting about standing naked with only a flimsy piece of nylon between us. I might have lingered an extra minute before I put my bra and panties back on. When I was all done, I unzipped the corner of the tent and handed the lantern to Chance.
He gave me a sly grin and zipped the divider back into place. My side of the tent went dark, but as I climbed into my sleeping bag, I realized I could now see everything on his side. It was a shadow, but a very detailed shadow.
He was facing me, standing very still. I wasn’t certain, but it felt like he was looking right at me. It was impossible to actually see me through the vinyl divider, but I sensed his eyes on me nonetheless. He reached down to the hem of his shirt and slowly lifted it over his head. The shadow of his body was broad at the shoulders but tapered to a narrow waist. Even though I couldn’t see the detail, I imagined what I knew was there. The ridges of his muscular abs, the hard plains of that carved V. My mouth was suddenly dry.
He stood there again for a long moment and then began to strip out of his pants. The sound from the slow unzip of his jeans made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His thighs were thick and muscular; his boxer briefs hugged his legs like a second skin. I held my breath when his thumbs hooked into the top of his boxers, and he began to peel them off of his body. He bent to slip them off and then stood.
Holy mother of all cocky bastards. He was hung. The thing was dangling more than halfway to his knees. I took a sharp breath in, realized it was audible, and quickly slapped my hand over my mouth. I kept it there until he was completely dressed, afraid a moan might slip out.
When he was finally done, I watched him climb into his sleeping bag. He rolled onto his side and faced my direction. It made me wonder if he was looking at me. Then he flicked off the light.
“Night, Aubrey.”
AH-BREE
Perhaps I could have been imagining it, but his voice sounded as thick and needy as I felt.
“Night, Chance.”
I took a deep breath and shut my eyes, attempting to regain my wits. Then it dawned on me for the first time…had he just watched me give him the same show and returned the favor?
Where am I? That was the first thought that came to mind as I woke up. After a few seconds, everything registered. Sunlight attempted to permeate the tent. I lightly patted my bedside before my hand tapping on the ground turned frantic.