“Are you sure he wasn’t one of my teammates?” he asks, snickering.
“You’re not really selling hooking up with football players.”
“Not if they play defense,” he says blandly, but then winks. “Those guys are freaky.”
“I’ll make sure to tell them you said that.” I munch on a fry. “Okay, your turn.”
Finn sits back and the sunlight caresses his skin, making the angle of his jaw both sharper and warmer. And I find myself wanting to paint him, capture the way he dominates the space around him without even trying. His presence is immense and effortless. Compelling.
I haven’t painted since college, but my fingers remember the feel of the brush. A picture is taken in one click and then it’s over. To paint someone is to linger over them, live in their skin for a while. I miss that intimacy.
My distraction ends when he finally speaks. “Let’s see. Two stick out in my mind. There was the time I got up to use the bathroom—“
“Oh my God, please tell me you didn’t get all Chatty Kathy with your date while in there.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, that exactly what I was going to say. How did you guess?”
“Right. Sorry. Go on.”
“I thought my…er…date was out for the count, so I didn’t bother fully closing the door.”
I eye him warily, having no idea where this is going.
“So there I am, taking a piss, when this hand, holding a phone pushes past the crack of the door—”
“No!” I lean in with a gasp.
Finn nods. “Yeah, she was trying to take a picture of me.”
“Peeing?” I plunk back in my seat. “What the hell?”
Finn smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what I said. She claimed she was just curious, and that she wasn’t going to show anyone.”
“What a freak.”
“Total freak. But that’s not the worst one.”
“I’m almost afraid.”
Finn takes a long drink of his beer as if to brace himself. “There was the chick who started crying during sex.”
“Because you were so bad?” I tease, with mock horror.
“I left myself wide open for that, didn’t I? But, no, chuckles. I’d barely gotten started when she starts sobbing, like full out snot-fest, chest heaves.” His lips twist. “I was fucking horrified. Was I hurting her? Was she traumatized?” Slowly, he shakes his head. “Between sobs, she says she just couldn’t believe Finn Mannus was fucking her. That she had ‘Finn Mannus’s dick in her.’ And, maybe, could we film it?”
I’m gaping. I don’t know what to say. He’s fidgeting with the edge of his napkin and giving me a pained smile as if he wants to make a joke out of this, laugh it off, but can’t summon the energy. And why should he? I get that hookups aren’t going to be the most meaningful encounters. But those women were using him. Blatantly.
“Hey,” he says in a low voice. “I didn’t tell you those stories to get you to feel sorry for me. They’re supposed to be funny.”
I swallow hard. “Do you find them funny?”
He winces, lifting one, big shoulder. “When I told the guys, yeah. We laughed our asses off. But when you look at me with those big, pained eyes? It feels…shitty.”
With a breath, I shake myself out of it and rest my arms on the table. “You’re not allowed to feel shitty.”
“I’m not, huh?” The easy expression is back, his stiffness fading.
“I forbid it. They are the ones who should feel shitty. I want to hunt them down and slap some sense into them.”
“You’re kind of scary when you’re pissed.” His gaze slides over me in a slow stroke. “Scary hot.”
“I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”
“Oh, yeah there is.” His expression is sin and anticipation. “Wonder Woman is scary hot. She can kick your ass, tie you up, and make you spill the truth. You know, beg for it.”
He says it with such zeal, my breasts grow heavy, the image of him tied to a chair, those firm muscles of his straining against the ropes. I suck in a breath, let it out nice and slow. “You’re into begging?”
“I’m into hot women who know their minds.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “And Wonder Woman. I’m definitely into her.”
“I used to have this fantasy that Spider Man wrapped me in his web and had his way with me,” I confess in a stage whisper.
Finn looks delighted, which makes me feel better. I didn’t like seeing the happy light in his eyes dim or that I’d made him feel shitty. We’re probably flirting too much for supposed friends. But if feels light, fun. I am the first to admit I can be too serious.
“Saucy, Chess.” He leans close so we’re facing each other over the table. “So is it just the dates that suck? Or the sex too?”
The fact that he has to ask puts us on totally separate planes. I don’t have sex with crappy dates. He clearly does. I give a little laugh and shake my head. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good sex, I swear I heard the mournful sound of Taps coming from the vicinity of my vagina last night.”
He chokes on his beer, spewing a fine mist over the table. Coughing on the remnants, he wipes his mouth and then the mess, before glaring. “I can’t believe you said that to me.”
I sip my own beer, hiding a smile. “Did my use of vagina offend you?”
“Yes,” he deadpans, then rolls his eyes. “I’m a guy. Now, I want to fix the problem.”
The heat in his eyes has me squirming in my seat. Not that I show it. “We’re friends. You can’t fix it.”
Finn’s expression could only be described as a leer. “Oh, I could fix it, all right.”
I grin wide, pretend that my heart isn’t beating harder, that my nipples aren’t perking up with interest. “But you won’t because that would ruin this fragile and new friendship.”
He snorts, then takes a long drink of his beer. “So don’t tempt me.”
Is that what I’m doing? Maybe I am. Maybe I need my head examined. Any time I get within sight of him everything grows warm and slow, swollen and tender. Except my heart, my breath, those quicken with impatience and greed. How would it be to fuck him? Would it be as combustible as my body believes? Would he wreck me for all others?
For one heady moment, I entertain the thought of giving in, of telling him, “Fix me. Until it hurts to walk.” But what if sleeping with him falls flat in the face of expectation?
And there is the unavoidable fact that he has flatly stated he doesn’t want a hookup with me. Despite his easy flirting, I know he was being honest. And, really, I don’t want a hookup either. So I’ll treat him just as I treat James.
Under the table, I nudge his knee with mine. “Come on. You don’t talk about sex with your friends?”
He gives me the stink eye, but he’s clearly fighting a smile too. “In general, guys never admit to their dicks singing sad songs. Kind of messes with the rep.”
“Heaven forbid.”
“Seriously, though,” he says. “I’m having a hard time believing you don’t have guys lined up waiting for a chance with you.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. “Well, aren’t you the sweet talker.”
“I’m stating a simple fact.” His brows draw together. “You didn’t have a bad experience did you?”
“Why do men always assume the worst?”
“You’re getting it wrong. Men assume to every problem there is a solution. So state your problem, and I’ll find a solution.”
The tilt of his chin is so imperious, I want to laugh. But the earnest concern in his eyes is kind of cute. With a sigh, I tell him the truth. “Sex for me is complicated.”
“You confused about what goes where, darlin’?”
“That was payback, wasn’t it?”
“A little bit.” He grows serious. “Why is sex complicated?”
I draw a fry through a puddle of ketchup. “I have a problem with latex.”
“A problem?”
“It give
s me a rash.” I glance down at my lap with meaning.
A look of sympathetic horror washes over his face. “Oh, shit.” He shifts around in his seat. “Yeah, say no more. Please.”
My lips quirk. “It started up a year out of college. Suddenly, it was like my body was turning against me having casual sex.” It turned against me in more ways than that, but he doesn’t need to hear everything.
“Killed the free love, eh?” Finn steals one of my fries and eats it. “There are non-latex condoms, you know. Some of those ultra thin, barely there brands? They feel great…” He trails off with a slight flush. “The point is, options are available.”
I snort on a laugh. “Yeah, I know. But it became a kind of mental thing. I’d see dude rolling on a condom, and my lady bits would seize up in remembered horror.”
He winces, and I nod.
“I knew those condoms wouldn’t irritate me, but my lady bird was all, nope. That’s a no fly zone.”
Finn snickers, but his gaze travels over me with thoughtful appraisal. “So that’s it for sex? God, please don’t tell me that.”
“No, but it’s become…”
“Complicated,” he finishes for me.
“I can protect myself from getting pregnant. And I do. But now I have to trust the guy when he says he’s clean. He has to trust me when I say I am too. It’s just not a good casual sex situation.”
Finn nods in sympathy.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say. “I still have sex. Just not casual hookups. Which is a good thing, since I actually want to get to know the guy before having sex with him. I want a relationship.”
“I hear you.” But he still stares.
“I’m not a pity case.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
“I’m going to ping you with a fry if you don’t get that look off your face.”
Finn’s lips curl, but his gaze turns calculating. “You know I’m clean—”
“No.”
“Consider it a friend helping out a friend service—”
“No,” I say with more emphasis.
He grins. “Worth a shot.”
“I think we should refrain from talking about sex from here on out.” In truth, I have no interest in hearing about his hookups.
Finn lets out an expansive sigh. “Thank God for small mercies. I’ll keep thinking about your mournful pussy and want to comfort it.”
He looks so disgruntled that I roll my eyes and chuck a piece of fish at him.
Finn catches it midair, pops it into his mouth, and munches away without remorse. “Hey, Chess?”
He steals another fry off my plate.
“Yes, thief?”
“We’re hanging out again.”
The urge to giggle like a smitten schoolgirl is so strong, I have to bite my lip. What the hell? I’m a badass woman. A rock in the face of hot quarterbacks with cheeky smiles.
And yet here I am, flushing with happy pleasure and grinning wide. “Yeah, we are.”
Lord help me, I’m in trouble.
* * *
“These shots are gorgeous, Chess.”
“Thanks. I’m happy with how they’re turning out.” I’m on the phone with Dani, the graphic artist who is laying out the charity calendar, and Meghan, who is in charge of publicity for Finn’s team.
Currently, we’re going through a set of photos that include Ethan Dexter, Rolondo Smith, Jake Ryder, and Finn. My first shoot, and the group of men who Meghan seems to be most interested in featuring.
“These guys are gorgeous,” she says now with little, breathless laugh. “We really should have a shot featuring Manny flanked by his offensive line.”
I stare at the image on the massive screen I use when editing photos. Finn stares back at me. It’s a fairly tight shot, from the waist up. He’s caught in a laugh, his smile self-deprecating and wry. There’s a light in his eyes, a charisma and confidence, that draws you in, makes you want to get closer just to bask in his perpetual energy.
It’s been days since I’ve seen him. Enough time that I’ve almost convinced myself our lunch by the lake had been a one off. A nice memory for me to pull out every once in a while and think about fondly. Except he keeps sending me texts at random times—quick inquiries about my day or cute anecdotes about his.
I’ve come to live for those texts, each one of them sending small zings of happiness through me. Looking at his smiling face now, I find myself missing him. Which is ridiculous. I barely know Finn Mannus.
I want to know you.
My fingers curl into a fist so I won’t touch the screen. What had Meghan been saying? Finn and his linemen. Right. “We can schedule a group photo session if you like. Might make for a nice cover.”
“I was thinking of having the option to choose your favorite player for the cover,” Dani says.
While Megan and Dani go over the costs involved for having various options, I tap my trackpad and move on to a shot of Ethan Dexter, so I don’t have to keep staring at Finn’s smiling face.
The image of Dex is a good one. Set against a red background, he’s crouched down, fingertips braced on the floor, as if he’s about to rise up and sprint. Every muscle on his big, impressive frame tensed and corded.
It’s enough to stop the conversation between Meghan and Dani.
“Look at those tats,” Dani says with appreciation. “They really pop here. I love that you went for color instead of black and white with these, Chess.”
I study Dex with detached focus, looking for flaws in the overall image. “Seemed the right choice. Black and white softens things too much. These guys should be shown in living color, bruises and all.”
“He’d make a good Mr. December with all that red,” Meghan puts in.
“I thought so too,” I say.
“We want to send a couple of shots to the press,” Meghan goes on. “Whet the public’s appetite and drum up some excitement.”
“The Dex shot would definitely work.”
“Agreed. Love the quiet intensity of him. What else to do you have?”
I click again, and a collective sigh runs over the phone line. As for me, it’s as if a wave of heat has slapped into me. Because it’s the shot: Finn, his hard, golden body stretched out in a plank position, his expression serene yet intense, almost as if he’s on the verge of coming.
I swallow with difficulty, trying to pulling in a breath.
“Wow,” Meghan says. “If this got out, I think we’d have a riot on our hands.”
“Yeah.” Dani sounds queer, as if she’s struggling to maintain a steady voice. “Given that he’s all…” She clears her throat.
When I’d taken the shot of Finn, I’d been transfixed by his face, the expression on it. But Dani’s comment has my attention sliding down. Violent heat suffuses my cheeks. The photo is unedited; I haven’t had time to crop out certain things. It doesn’t take a genius to know Dani is staring at Finn’s cock, hanging low, the wide tip just touching the floor.
“Ah…” Meghan, huffs out a sound. “Is he… Um?”
The heat in me churns, pushing at my skin and clogging my throat. Finn’s cock isn’t hanging limp but is at half-mast, thick and curving a bit as if it’s about to get a whole lot thicker. God, I hadn’t even noticed at the time. And now? I am painfully aware that two other women are looking at it; violating Finn’s privacy.
“He’s getting there,” Dani whispers.
The heat in me boils over into something vengeful and dark that feels like possession but is stronger. It crashes over me, followed by a wave of recrimination and shame. I put this picture up without checking. I let them see this. Instantly, I shift the image toward his torso, zooming in on it so that his lower half is out of view.
Somehow, I find my voice, but it sounds halting to my ears. “It happens sometimes when the guys don’t have clothes on.” I don’t know if I’m defending Finn or myself. Neither of us has any reason to be ashamed, but I don’t want these women assuming the worst. I
push on before they can answer, as if the subject of Finn and his dick is nothing more than a blip. “We’d do something more like this.”
“Too bad,” Dani murmurs, but then says in a stronger, more professional tone, “I think we should at least bring it down to his hips. Although I’m happy to Photoshop it, if you want to go lower, Meghan.”
No fucking way. You don’t get him.
“I edit my own work,” I say, tightly. “You can crop the picture however you think best after that.”
Fuck. I don’t even want her manipulating Finn’s image. I don’t want anyone looking at it again.
“Okay, sure,” she says, clearly trying to bring things back to the light and easy level we’d been on before.
I need to get a hold of myself.
On my second monitor, I pick out a shot of Rolondo laughing as he holds a football over his crotch. I move the image over so that it shows up on our chat room. “This is a good one for publicity,” I offer. “Rolondo’s smile is infectious, and he’s playing really well right now.”
Thank you, James for your constant football prattle.
“Love it,” Meghan says. “But back to Manny’s shot. Maybe we should lead with that one.”
I’m not bringing it back on screen. No one else is seeing the unedited version again. I shake off the possessive feeling that’s clinging to my neck. “It’s up to you, obviously, but I think it’d work much better as a surprise. Everyone is going to want to see Mannus. He’s your star quarterback and team leader. Keep him under wraps and you feed the need.”
Part of me is internally laughing at all the bullshit I’m spewing, and wondering if they’ll see right through me. The other part hates that I’m even in a conversation that revolves around how to best use Finn’s fame.
But Megan makes an agreeable noise over the phone. “I like it. Let’s go with Dex and Rolondo for now.”
“I can send them over in about an hour,” I promise. “I’m just going to touch up a few shadows.” Shadow’s being a set of balls, but she doesn’t need to hear that.
“Great. I’ll plan to get them out with a press release today.”
The Hot Shot Page 8
