The Hot Shot

by Kristen Callihan

My head throbs by the time I get there, and my insides are writhing. I rest my hand against my lower stomach and grab a basket before calling James to complain.

  “I swear,” I tell him as I grab a bottle of painkillers. “It’s like this entire day has been cursed.”

  He snickers. “Curse. Get it? Curse?”

  I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “Laugh it up. Meanwhile, it feels as if someone is playing Battleship in my uterus.”

  “Poor Chessie bear. At least we know why you were in such a foul mood.”

  A flush washes over my cheeks. “Yeah.” Lie. Lie. Lie. A tub of salted caramel gelato makes its way into the basket.

  “Tell me you’re getting some gelato,” James says.

  I smile. “Just grabbed it.”

  “Salted caramel?”

  “You know it.”

  I’m find the feminine products aisle and search for my brand. “I’m going to go home, take a long bath with my gelato, and forget this fucking day.” Forget Finn. “And then I’m going to go on Amazon and buying a freaking year’s supply of tampons so I don’t have to make these kinds of emergency runs anymore.”

  A low, deep chuckle rumbles from behind me, and all the tiny hairs lift on my arms.

  “But you’ll still need your gelato,” a familiar—fuck me, seriously?—voice points out.

  My insides swoop even as my cheeks burn.

  “Who is that?” James asks in my ear.

  I slowly turn on one heel. “The plague,” I say, glaring up at Finn Mannus’s smiling face.

  “From asshat to plague.” Finn scrunches up his brow. “I’m not sure if that’s a step down or a tie.”

  “Who is that?” James nearly yells now.

  I don’t take my eyes off Finn. “I’ll call you back.”

  James’s squawks of protest cuts off as I hit the end button.

  “Are you stalking me, Mannus?”

  Finn a rests his hands low on his lean hips. “Having a healthy amount of conceit myself, I have to admire yours, but no, buttercup. My buddy Woodson lives a few blocks away. It’s poker night. I’m stocking up on beer.”

  It’s only then I notice a twelve pack tucked under his other arm.

  “And tampons?” I ask, with a pointed look around the aisle we’re standing in.

  “Not tonight,” he says easily. “Though we used to keep a pack of them back in college. Light flows were perfect for stopping up bloody noses.”

  A snort escapes me. “Now there’s a visual.” Somehow, I’ve taken a step closer to him. He’s freshly showered, the golden brown strands of his hair still damp at his temples. And I wonder if he’s just come from the gym or practice. “So back in college you went and bought these tampons?”

  “Nah,” he says with a cheeky smile. “I’d ask one of the girls hanging around to get me some.”

  “Of course you did.” My nose wrinkles with annoyance.

  “Give me a little credit, Chess. I’d buy them now if I had to.”

  “Hmm…” I eye him, trying not to return his smile. If only because it’s more fun when he teases. “So why are you in this aisle now, if not for potential nosebleed needs?”

  “That’s easy.” He steps closer, a warm wall of muscle and clean scent. “I heard your voice.”

  For a second I just blink. “You recognized my voice?”

  His gaze darts over my face as if he’s trying to get a read on why I’m gaping at him. “Not to be…ah…rude, but you’re loud when you talk on the phone.”

  “Yeah, but… You recognized it.” We’d only just met. It occurs to me that I’d recognized his both times he’d snuck up on me. Then again, his voice is distinctive, flowing like hot honey when he’s relaxed or hammering down like iron to rock when he’s taking command of a situation.

  A soft flush of pink tints the tips of his ears. If I wasn’t staring at him, I might have missed it. He shifts his weight. “Was I not supposed to?”

  “No. Yes.” I shake my head and laugh. “I don’t know.”

  He grins then. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

  “I’m not flustered.” I am.

  As if we’ve come to some silent agreement, we head down the aisle to the register, drawing a double take from some skinny guy buying a bag of M&Ms. The cashier gapes at Finn, but doesn’t say a word as she rings me up. She also misses the bag by a foot when she attempts to put my gelato in it. I help her out by bagging my own stuff so she can continue to stare at Finn.

  Out on the street, Finn nudges me with his arm. He does it gently, barely a tap, and yet I feel the strength in him. “This makes two times now we’ve run into each other,” he says.

  “I’m still not convinced about the whole stalking thing.”

  He leans down a touch, so we’re nearly face-to-face. “I think it’s fate saying we should hang out.”

  “Hang out, huh?” The truth is, I don’t want to go home now. I want to linger on this humid sidewalk and hear what ridiculous thing will come out of him next. But I have gelato melting. “I don’t know why. We’ve been at each other’s throats since we met.”

  “Ah, Chessie, that’s just the way we play.” He nudges my shoulder again. “Tell me you haven’t had any fun with me. Come on.”

  I can’t. And he knows it.

  His smile turns soft. “I like you.”

  He likes me. I want to grin like a twelve year old. I imagine this is how it feels to be passed a note by the hottest guy in school.

  “Is that so hard to believe?” he asks.

  Not hard exactly. More like unexpected and strange. Yesterday, he was just some dickhead jock giving me shit. Now he’s tell me we should hang out. And what does that even mean?

  I’ve been silent for too long because he speaks again, soft, cajoling. “I think you like me too.”

  Hell. I do. That’s the most unexpected thing of all. He’s unlike anyone I know. A challenge and yet easy to talk to. He’s also a famous, extremely hot football player who has beautiful women throwing themselves at him. In a world full of bad bet men, he’s at the top.

  “I’m just not sure what you expect to get out of this,” I explain. “A date?”

  Finn rubs the back of his neck, looking as perplexed as I feel. “I’m fairly crap at dating, Chess.”

  Disappointment hits me like brick to the chest. But I nod in understanding. “I’m fairly crap at hookups,” I tell him. “I’ve run through that playbook and don’t particularly like it.”

  His brows lift with a pleased expression. “Look at you using football terms.”

  “I thought I’d speak to your level.” I bite back a laugh.

  He snickers but quickly sobers. “Last night, I did see you from the street. I went into the bar to talk to you. Even before that—at dinner—I was thinking about you.”

  I think I make a sound of shock.

  He doesn’t seem to notice. “I dreaded that photoshoot. You turned it around and made it bearable. All the bullshit just went away.”

  “That’s part of my job,” I say, lamely. It isn’t a lie. But with him, I’d stopped thinking about getting a good shot. And though we’ve just met, he appears to know that too.

  “And last night at the bar?” he counters. “Right now? You aren’t working.”

  “I…” Shit.

  “Everyone in my life is connected to football. I don’t get true interactions very much. And, if I do, they’re fleeting. But I have them with you.” A line creases between his brows. “Does that make sense?”

  I might not be famous, but I feel the same sense of isolation, as if I’m going through life underwater and everything is muffled and distorted. When I get within a few feet of Finn Mannus, there is clarity. It scares the hell out of me; I need stability too. But I can’t lie.

  I clear my throat. “It makes sense.”

  He smiles then, pleased and happy. And it takes my breath. His expression turns earnest, his eyes scanning mine. “I want to know you, Chess Copper. I don’t know
why. I just do. I could make a play to get in your pants. But I don’t want to. A one night stand with you doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “Oh, well thanks.” It’s one thing to agree that sex is a bad idea. It’s another be told you’re unappealing.

  Finn shakes his head as if I’m slow. “Pay attention, Chester. I said I want to know you. I don’t get to know my hookups.”

  “So were going to…What? Be friends.”

  He looks almost boyish then. “Yeah. We are.” His eyes spark. “Fair warning. I’ll still be picturing you naked half of the time. So get used to a bit of leering.”

  I snort. “You just had to go and ruin the moment, didn’t you?”

  “Probably should get used to that too.”

  Chapter Four

  Finn

  * * *

  “So?” Jake gives me an expectant look.

  I have to hand it to him, he waited a whole two minutes before pouncing, the nosy bastard.

  “So what?” I maneuver my pickup around a plodding bus.

  Jake snorts, because he knows as well as I do that I’m stalling. “You tap that, Manny?”

  “She’s not a keg, Ryder.”

  “Okay, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Did you hook up with Ms. Chess?”

  “Nope.”

  “Bummer.”

  “I told you I wasn’t trying to get in her pants.” I feel his stare boring into me and glance over. “What?”

  “You’re attracted to her. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

  I give him a lazy shrug as we stop at a red light. “Not denying it.”

  “So you want me to believe that you’re fine with striking out?” He says it with incredulity, as if the possibility of not having sex with a woman is sacrilege.

  “I didn’t strike out. I didn’t even try. She made it clear she wasn’t interested.”

  “I’m pretty sure you could have persuaded her to change her mind.”

  We pull up in front of a squat cinderblock building on St. Charles. “I don’t want to persuade a woman into bed. Jesus.”

  Jake nods. “You’re right. It’s not like either of us has to go searching for it.” He looks me over in clear confusion. “So you just walked her home and that’s it?”

  “You’re awfully curious about my business.”

  “I know, right?” He grins happily. “I’m like a kitten over here.”

  “I think I’m going to need an antacid. Where’s my bag?” I reach behind me to grab it, and earn a flick on the ear. My head rears back. “You did not just…”

  Jake flips me the bird. “Bring it, Manny pants.”

  Things devolve from there as we give each other smacks on the head.

  “Okay, fuck, I give!” Jake yells when I get him in a headlock. An older woman walking by peers into the cab of my SUV with suspicion. I give her an innocent smile and let Jake go. He pushes off me, adjusting his shirt with a mutter. “Touchy priss.”

  Grabbing my bag, I get out of the car and he follows, grabbing his own gear.

  “When’s the last time you hung out with a woman,” I ask. “One that wasn’t trying to take a selfie with you or rifle through your stuff when your back was turned?”

  Jake’s expression scrunches up as we head for the building’s entrance. “Uh, freshman year.” He laughs. “Of high school.”

  “Exactly.” I pull open the door, and we enter the freezing haven of air-conditioning. “Chess is just Chess. I don’t need to fuck her. I just want to be and not have to explain it.”

  “Frankly,” he says, as we jog up the stairs. “I’m more surprised she even talks to you. I could have sworn she hated you.”

  “I grow on people.”

  “Like fungus.”

  My reply is lost to the ringtone blaring from my phone. Since I’ve assigned all the people closest to me a tone, I know who it is right away, and my insides clench as Bohemian Rhapsody plays.

  It’s an easy thing to hit “ignore.” But it doesn’t halt the guilt.

  Jake frowns. “You ignoring your mother now?”

  Yes, I am now the son who sends his mother straight to voicemail. “This from someone who ignores his mom all the time?”

  “My mom usually calls to complain about my sisters, and I end up getting stuck in the middle of one of their heinous fights. Have you ever had to deal with five pissed off women? It’s not a pretty sight. Your mom, on the other hand, feeds me and tells me how cute I am. She’s like Martha Stewart and Betty White rolled into one adorable package.”

  I try to visualize that, but decide it’s best not to for the sake of my sanity. “All this because she sends you care packages after you made up some sob story about being a starving bachelor.”

  “It’s the truth. I am a starving bachelor.” He pulls open the door of the studio we’re going to spend the next hour in. “Her snickerdoodles are prize worthy. Besides, can I help it that she loves me? At this point, I’m fairly certain she wants to adopt me.”

  His words send a bolt of pain straight into me. It squeezes my chest with hard hands, and I suck in a breath. Immediately Jake pales. “Oh, shit, man. I didn’t—”

  “It’s okay,” I cut in, lifting a hand. I don’t want to talk about that.

  Lips pinched, he nods shortly.

  “She wants me to come home for Thanksmas.” There are seasons when I’m stuck playing a game on Thanksgiving or Christmas. My mother came up with the idea of celebrating both during one of my bye-weeks and calling it Thanksmas. It’s a ridiculous name, but one that usually makes me smile.

  Now, I dread it. My mother always means well with her meddling ways, but she has all the subtly of a bulldozer. “She married Glenn off, so now I’m her pet project. And I do not have the energy to deal with it.”

  “You want me to come with you?” Jake offers. “I’m an excellent distraction. I can moan about not getting enough to eat and how I’m wasting away.” He runs a hand over his chest where he’s put on about ten pounds of lean muscle during the off-season. Not that my mother will care; she’ll feed him regardless.

  “Thanks,” I say, toeing off my shoes. “But that will only give her two of us to fixate on.”

  Jake stows his gear in a cubby and stretches his arms overhead as three women walk in. Barely dressed, their bodies lithe and graceful, they eye us with familiar, playful interest. Jakes tracks their movement through the room. “Best fucking day of the week,” he says with a feral grin.

  “I actually enjoy coming here, Ryder. So don’t fuck it up by dipping your wick in this particular wax.”

  Jake snorts. “Too late.”

  “Jesus. Who?”

  “Rachel.”

  Which would explain why the little blond keeps sending covert glances our way.

  “And Sheila,” he add, as Sheila of the bouncy curls and death glare strolls by. Thankfully, a guy can’t actually lose his balls with one look, or we’d both be hurting right about now.

  “Oh, for fucks sake. You’re a fucking menace.”

  He laughs, totally unrepentant. I wonder if this is how I come off to Chess. It isn’t exactly flattering. If that’s the case, I can’t blame her for wanting to stay away.

  Shaking my head at Jake, I pull out my phone. Because thoughts of Chess make me want to talk to her. We’ve agreed to be friends, and then I’d left her to her night. Not an easy task, considering she’d said she was going home to soak in a tub.

  Would it be within the bounds of friendship to ask how that bath of hers went?

  “Who are you texting?” Jake tries to peer over my arm.

  I elbow him away. “Isn’t there another female you could be posturing for?”

  Jake squints as if contemplating. “Probably not a good idea. I think I’m pushing it as it is.”

  “Oh, now, you come to that realization?” Snorting, I tap out a message to Chess.

  And she answers immediately. And we fire a few texts back and forth. No matter what I throw her way, she volleys right back with sass.
>
  “You should see your face right now, Manny. You are in total smit.”

  “Smit?”

  “Yeah, smitten. Totally fucking smitten.” He looks almost sorry for me.

  Chess pings me back, and I grin and answer, only half aware of Jake.

  “This does not bode well for you, my friend,” he says. “Clueless shits like us should stick to hookups.”

  “Not everything is about sex,” I tell him, only half believing it. I type another message to Chess.

  “You’re right,” he says with a grin, as Eleanor spots us and heads our way with a look in her eye that promises she’ll be making us sweat and burn. “There’s football. Sex and football. What more could a guy want?”

  Six months ago, I’d tell him nothing and give him a high five. Now? I don’t know the answer.

  * * *

  Chess

  * * *

  I’m putting on my makeup when Finn texts me.

  GQ: Hey. Who are you shooting today?

  I can’t decide if it’s the fact that he texted me or that I’d named him GQ in my contacts that makes my day suddenly a little sunnier. But there’s a smile tickling my lips as I pick up my phone and respond.

  CC: Porter. Worchowsky. Redmond. Phillips, Mr. Nosy.

  We’re actually doing two calendars. One featuring the offensive team and the other with the defensive team. Today, I’m working with guys on the defense.

  GQ: I don’t know this Nosy. Careful. He might be a spy.

  CC: Very cute.

  GQ: I try. ;)

  CC: Aw, and you do emojis too. Such a cute QB.

  GQ: Am tempted to send the finger emoji…

  My laughter rings out in the relative silence of my loft. I find myself unable to sit still anymore and head for my balcony.

  CC: :-* Where are you?

  GQ: On my way to ballet class.

  Okay, what? Not what I was expecting.

  CC: Ballet?

  GQ: Yes. Ballet.

  CC: Ballet?

  GQ: Are we talking in circles here?

  Biting my lip against a grin, I rest my forearms on my balcony rail and answer.

  CC: No. I’m trying to convey my skepticism.

  GQ: You know, for an independent career woman, you’re awfully old fashioned in your outlook, Ms. Copper.