The Hot Shot(20)

But I am so fucking grateful she did, I'll eat every damn bite, no matter what it is.

"Of course I did," she says, as I lift up the napkin. "I dragged you out  here. I'm not going to let you starve." She leans in. "It's a  sandwich."

My lips quirk. "I see that." Actually, it's several sections of what  looks to be muffuletta. I eat one section in two bites. Yep, definitely a  muffuletta.

A small groan of appreciation escapes me.

Chess smiles. "Oh, wait." She stands, and plunges her hands into the  folds of her wide skirt, which obviously has hidden pockets because she  pulls out a can of soda and something wrapped in another napkin. "A  coke, and a brownie for dessert," she says proudly.

I nearly propose right there.

She sits quietly as I eat, and shakes her head when I offer her a  sandwich section. Because I'm hungry, and because I don't like the idea  of her having to wait for me to eat, I wolf down my food. The brownie  follows with a few, quick bites.

Wiping my hands on a napkin, I set the plate and empty can on a side  table, and then let out a contented sigh. "Thanks. I needed that."

Her smile is small and quick. "I should have fed you as soon as you got here."

"I'm good now."

Chess braces her hands on the seat and leans forward to watch her feet  as we slowly rock the swing. Silence descends, thick and awkward, and  for the first time in her presence, I'm at a loss for words.

I don't know this girl. Not really, and yet I've inserted myself into  her life with a determination I usually reserve for winning games.  Except I have no endgame here. I told her I want to be friends. But how  does that work for us?

Our friends and lives couldn't be any more different. Parties for me are  self-congratulatory events, filled with people whose one focus seems to  be bolstering my ego, followed by me searching for a quick hookup. And  my friends are all part of football in some way. We talk football or  sports. It's a narrow focus life, but it's my comfort zone. That chafes  too, knowing I live a life that seems wild and free to outsiders but is  actually small and structured on the inside.

The silence has stretched too long. I should go. But I don't move. If I  go, I know it will be the end of whatever this is. Embarrassment will  have me avoiding seeking her out again. Likely, she'll do the same. And  that will be that.

The knowledge sits like a stone on my chest.

"I'm sorry about my friends," Chess says. "They can be uncomfortably brazen."

"So can mine." I shrug. "Your friends are … fun."

Her lips pull tight. "They can be. But they were definitely giving  me-and by extension-you shit tonight." She bites her bottom lip. "I  don't think they know what to make of you."

"So I wasn't imagining things."

"'Fraid not."

The novel sensation of being a fish tossed into the wrong pond grows.  I've taken away Chess's fun by coming here, and I'm sorry for it.                       
       
           


///
       

"I shouldn't have asked you to come here," Chess says in a low voice.

She's only echoing my thoughts but the stone sitting on my chest pushes harder against my ribs.

Chess makes a small sound, as if she's trying to laugh but can't.  "Parties suck when you arrive halfway through and don't know anyone."

"I know you," I point out, quietly.

She turns and the porch light illuminates her face. Green eyes met mine  and hold, as a slow, true smile curls over her cherry lips. Something  inside of me shifts and slides. I want to kiss Chester Copper. Haul her  onto my lap and make out with her like we're teenagers hiding out at our  parents' party. But that's not what she invited me here for.

"I wanted to see you," she confesses in that husky morning voice that  goes straight to my cock. She turns away and stares out into the  darkness. "It's weird, you know? But hanging out with you was so  unexpected it kind of felt like I imagined the whole thing."

I know exactly what she means. My hand settles next to hers, close  enough that our pinkies touch. That small point of contact sparks along  my skin, makes me want to move closer. I hold steady because I don't  trust myself not to act. "I wanted to see you too," I tell her. "It's  been a long, fucking day."

I hadn't planned to admit that, but it feels good to tell her.

Chess eases back against the seat and then curls her fingers over mine  with a light squeeze. The unexpected touch holds all my attention. It's  nothing more than a simple offer of comfort, and here I am twitching in  my seat as if she'd cupped my dick instead. I'm in so much trouble here  because this woman is getting to me in ways I don't know how to  navigate. But I don't pull away. Not one fucking chance of that.

Chess speaks, pulling me attention back to our conversation. "So tell me about it."

I can't remember the last time anyone asked me to tell them about my day. Likely, no one ever has.

So I do. And with every word that leaves my mouth, a little bit more of  my stress eases. No, I don't yet truly know Chess. And yes, our lives  are different. But there's no way I'm ending this. Because when it's  just her and me, everything else falls away. I'm not going to let myself  forget that again.





Chapter Seven





Chess



* * *



True to Finn's prediction, we do hang out. As much as possible, to be  precise. Which isn't a lot. When people say they're busy, they usually  mean they have a lot of work that piles up while they spend a few hours  watching TV and lamenting how busy they are.

Hell, I've been there, done that, have the couch divot.

When Finn says he's busy, he means it. Workouts, team meetings,  practices, games, press conferences, television tapings, sponsor  obligations, charity meetings and visits …  I can't keep up.

I hear from him in random spurts. Texts between his travels from one  obligation to the next. Phone calls when he finally gets home, his voice  soft with exhaustion.

Sometimes, I have to order him to get off the phone and go to bed. Because I can practically feel him fading.

"I'd rather fall asleep talking to you," he always responds.

And I won't pretend that it doesn't make me all warm and fuzzy inside.  Days pass into weeks. Before I know it, Finn has become a fixture in my  life.

One rare free Saturday afternoon, he takes me to the aquarium.

"I've never been here before," I tell him as he collects our tickets.

"Let me guess," he says. "You haven't been to the zoo either."

"I haven't been to a zoo since grade school."

"Where you from, Chess? You've never said."

"Neither have you."

"La Jolla, California," Finn says with pride.

"Wow. Surfer boy, eh?"

"How do you think I developed my awe inspiring balance and sense of timing?"

"That ego of yours inspires something. But I believe it's heartburn."

He slings an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. "We'll get you an antacid inside. Now tell me where you grew up."

"Brooklyn, New York."

"No shit?"

"Yep. But my dad is from here. He bought my loft as an investment  property, but gave it to me after I graduated." It is the one big  surprise from them that I actually found myself extremely grateful for.  Usually their gifts were well-meaning, but involved some sort of drama  that I'd need to clean up. "I took out some equity on the loft to pay  for my camera and equipment, which really helped as well."                       
       
           


///
       

"Your parents still in New York?" Finn asks.

"No. I think they're in Oregon right now. Or Idaho. I can't remember.  They sold their townhouse and bought one of those tiny houses that you  can tow all over the place."

A startled laugh escapes him. "Really? You ever watch that show with the tiny house buyers?"

Cringing, I can't meet his eyes. "Mom and Dad are on an episode."

"Holy shit. Which one?"

"Nope. Not telling."

"I'll just do a search on their last name," he warns.

"Damn it."

Snickering, he gives my shoulder another squeeze before he looks me  over. "So, Brooklyn, I'm guessing you know how to handle yourself in a  rowdy crowd."

There's something in his tone that has my steps slowing as we reach the main aquarium lobby. "What are you up to, Mannus?"

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing much. Just that you'll have a couple of chaperones on this outing."

And by a couple, he means thirty. Ranging from the ages of six to  thirteen, the crowd of school children give a big cheer and cry,  "Manny!" when we round the corner.

For his part, Finn gives them all high fives, learning each one of their  names. Then he turns, surrounded by kids, the tallest one barely  reaching the center of his chest, and beams at me. "Guys, meet my friend  Chess. She's never been to the aquarium, so we'll have to make sure she  doesn't get lost. Let's give her a big welcome."