The Hot Shot(26)

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.

My insides clench in protest, and I move my hand to my lower abdomen  before I can stop the action. My stomach is flat for the most part, but  I'm not a fan of sit-ups, and I have a soft little swell just below my  navel.

I have a love-hate relationship with my little pooch. When I'm standing  up, I find it kind of cute and sexy, a bit of feminine softness on my  body that sometimes makes me feel like a gangly giraffe. But when I sit  down in a bikini and everything kind of pillows, I hate it.

Right now, I cradle that vulnerable spot. "James? Do you ever feel … " A  shuddering breath leaves me. I should shut up. Right now. But I have to  ask someone. And James is my closest friend. He'll never judge me.  "Defective? Like damaged goods?"

Instantly, my face heats with shame and annoyance. I've shown my  underbelly, and I don't like the sensation. But James's soft voice comes  through the phone. "Chess, I'm bisexual. I get shit from all  directions. I'm either a liar or deliberately choosing to be as I am.  But clearly defective to both camps."

Even though he's a thousand miles away, I want to hug him. "They're the ones who are defective, not you."

He's silent for a moment. "There is nothing wrong with you either, babe. Not one fucking thing."