Pathetic.
“What did you say?” Chess peers up at me with suspicious green eyes.
“Nothing.” I open a pair of French doors and lead her out to the patio.
Seated at a grouping of rattan chairs is my brother and his wife Emily. They both stand and I notice the small swell of Emily’s belly. I take a hard step, the ground meeting my foot too soon, and my stride falters.
Because she’s right beside me, Chess bumps into my shoulder. But then I feel her hand slip into mine, her grasp secure and firm, and I know she’s seen Emily too, that she understands exactly. A lump rises in my throat and I swallow it down hard.
I squeeze her hand in return and then ease my hold as if I’m merely a guy leading his girl out to meet his family.
Glenn meets me halfway. My brother is five years older than me. Though he is two inches shorter, with blond hair instead of brown, and thicker about the waist—because he doesn’t have a job that requires him to work out until he drops—we still look a lot alike.
Glenn was a running back in college, but didn’t make it to pros. Doesn’t mean he isn’t still strong as an ox. He nearly knocks the air out of me as we hug, thumping my back hard enough that I cough.
“Good to see you, man,” he says, stepping back, his gaze darting to Chess.
I make the introductions, give Emily the standard hello kiss and ask how she’s doing with her pregnancy. Yes, I knew. I just hadn’t seen the visual proof until now. Soon enough Chess and I are tucked together on a love-seat, as my family not subtly grills us for information.
“So,” my mom says, margarita in hand. “How did you two meet?”
“I took nude photos of Finn,” Chess says before biting into a tortilla chip, loaded with guacamole.
Mom chokes on her drink, as Glenn laughs, and my dad bites back a smile.
Chess pauses, mouth filled with chip, and her creamy skin goes brilliantly pink. “Shit,” she mumbles around her food, as I start to laugh. “I didn’t mean…”
“It was for a charity calendar photoshoot,” I tell them, taking pity on Chess. “Chess is a professional photographer.”
Weakly she nods as she takes a bracing sip of her drink.
“Finn must have made a good impression,” Emily teases with a wink.
“Jesus, Em,” Glenn blurts out, still laughing.
“What? All I’m saying is that a girl can get a little sidetracked seeing a naked guy.”
“Oh, he wasn’t the only one nude,” Chess assures, then catches herself again, grimacing. “I mean, I saw a lot of other dicks—Shit.”
My father loses it, and starts chuckling in that low, wheezing way of his.
“Fucking hell,” Chess mutters, now tomato red. The cuss words seem to make her even more mortified, and she buries her face into the crook of my shoulder. “Let me die now.”
My heart gives a weird sort of lurch at her unexpected turn to me for comfort and protection, and I wrap my arm around her slim torso, snuggling her close. “Maybe have a few drinks before you speak again,” I tease, pressing my lips to her hair. “You know, to loosen your tongue up.”
Her small fist punches my abs. “Shut up,” she says into my shoulder, her breath heating my shirt.
Because she’s my girl here in this moment, I grab her fist, press it to my heart, and then kiss the top of her head. I don’t even notice my family is gaping at me until I lift my head.
The look on my mom’s face is so relieved she’s almost weepy with it, and it sends an uncomfortable prickle of guilt down my neck. That look tells me she’ll no longer worry that I’m lonely, but it’s too hopeful. She glances at Emily, and her happy smile grows.
She’s finally getting her grandbaby.
At my side, Chess is still bemoaning her big mouth.
“Don’t worry, Chess,” my dad says, leaning forward to give her a gentle pat on the knee. “You’ll fit in just fine here.”
Chess lifts her head, brushing the inky strands of her hair away from her face. I miss the contact immediately.
“Somehow, I doubt you continuously stick your foot in it,” she says to my dad with a wry smile.
“No,” he agrees with a chuckle. “But Finn certainly does. And we’ve decided to keep him around.”
“That and, whenever he loses a game, I get sympathy drinks at the bar,” Glenn adds with a wink.
Absence has made me forget what a dickhead Glenn can be.
Chess takes a cool sip of her margarita before replying. “You must not get many free drinks, then.”
It’s right there, on my parents sunbaked patio, with the tart taste of margarita on my tongue and the sound of Chess’s husky voice in my ears, that my heart, brain, and body comes to one simple agreement: this woman is mine.
Dad starts telling Chess about places she should visit in San Diego, and I help my mother take in the empty chip bowl. She doesn’t need the help, but I have a few words for her.
As soon as we’re in her sunny kitchen, she rounds on me. “All right, let’s have it then.” She braces herself against the counter.
“Oh, you mean the part where you invited Britt to stay here without asking me?”
“I can hardly ask, Finnegan, when you don’t answer your phone.”
Zing.
With a sigh, I lean against the opposite counter. “I said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have avoided you. But you can be stubborn as shi… hell.”
My mom snorts and turns to put the dishes in the sink. “You can say ‘shit,’ Finn. I am a grownup.”
“Mothers aren’t grownups. They are part chaste saint and part eternal nag.”
“Ha.”
I steal a mango from the fruit bowl and go in search of a paring knife. “I’m fine now, okay? Happy even. So, please, let it go with Britt. Let the scab heal.”
“Consider me done with meddling,” my mom vows with a lift of her hand. “A wise woman knows when to say when.”
I let it go that she missed that mark by a few months. Wise men know when to back away slowly.
“So…” My mom says in a voice that is distinctly meddling. “Chess is nice.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “Nice isn’t how I’d describe her.”
“Oh? And how would you describe her? Here, use a plate.”
Perfect. Fuckable. Stunning. Funny. Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
“Great,” I say, putting the mango on the plate. “She’s great.”
Mom sighs in exasperation. “Men. None of you know how to properly describe your feelings.”
She makes me grateful for every sunrise. Because I wake up knowing she’s in the world.
I set the knife down and face my mother. “Just… be nice to her, okay?”
“Finnegan Dare Mannus, I am never rude to my guests, and you well know it.”
“That’s not what I meant. She’s had a rough time. Lost her house, her workplace. Her best friend is off in a new relationship. I don’t think her parents are in the picture.” I run a hand over my face. “She needs a little care, okay. It’s important to me.”
Mom meets my eyes. God, she’s welling up again. “Oh, Finn, you’ve gone and done it. You’ve fallen in—”
“Jesus. That’s it. No more heart-to-hearts with you for at least five years.”
“Just remember, Finnegan,” she says, ignoring my protest. “Love with your heart, not your head. Think about things too much and it all turns to shit.”
I grimace, hoping to hell Chess doesn’t hear her. Even so, I fight a smile. “Thanks Mom, and don’t say shit. It offends my delicate sensibilities.”
Before she can snap me with a towel, I grab my plate of mango and head out to find Dad. And some much needed testosterone injected conversation.
* * *
Chess
* * *
Finn’s old room is not a shrine to all things Finn as I’d expected it to be. There are a few tasteful black and white photos of him throughout his career, including a ridiculou
sly cute pee wee football shot, where Finn is basically an oversized helmet and pads walking around on tiny legs.
Aside from that, the room is done entirely in ethereal blue and creamy white. The ocean, I know, is just beyond the massive windows that are open just a crack to let in the breeze. But it’s dark as pitch now, given that Finn and I dithered and stalled, talking around the fire pit long after dinner had ended and his family had trickled off to their beds.
Sitting huddled together under a blanket in front of a crackling fire seemed like an equally bad idea so I had announced my intent to head to bed. Unfortunately, Finn decided to come with me. Not that I can fault him for it. We are sharing a room and it is late.
Now, I dither yet again in the little en suite bathroom, rubbing coconut oil over my elbows and brushing my teeth twice. I find Finn tucked up in bed reading on his iPad, and thankfully wearing a t-shirt and whatever he has on under the covers. The bed looks dainty beneath his big frame and broad shoulders. The space left for me to lie beside him is a tiny sliver of bed real estate that promises prolonged bodily contact.
Well, fuck.
Finn looks up and studies me with a passive expression on his face. I can tell he’s examining all angles of this, trying to figure out how to put me at ease, wondering if I’m about to bolt. The idea calms me, and I lean against the bathroom doorway.
“I expected your room to be covered in plaid and gleaming with school trophies,” I tell him.
“Plaid?” He snorts. “I’m of Irish stock. We call them tartans, and you won’t be finding them on me walls.”
“That is the worst Irish accent ever.”
Finn grins, his eyes impossibly blue against the sky colored sheets. “My parents remodeled the house three years ago. It’s double the size now and every room has been redone. Glenn and I took we wanted out of our rooms and packed up the rest to stuff in the garage.”
“Ah, the end of childhood,” I say with an expansive sigh. “It’s always so wonderfully brutal.”
“I’m guessing your parents did the same when they bought the tiny house?”
“Pretty much. Only they sent me a box of what they thought I’d want and gave the rest away.”
“Jesus. They didn’t warn you?” Finn scowls, which somehow causes his biceps to bunch. It’s a good look for him.
“We are talking about people who named their daughter Chester because they thought it was a good meet cute story.” I shrug, hugging my chest tight. “My parents are loving, generous, and flighty as fuck. I was the one who remembered to take out the trash, buy groceries, and do the laundry. They taught me to dance the waltz and fingerpaint on walls.”
Finn’s blue gaze rests on me, and I shift my weight onto my other foot. “They aren’t horrible,” I ramble on, aware that my voice is far too shaky. “But reliable, they ain’t.”
When he speaks, it’s in a gentle, even tone. “Are you going to get in this bed, Chess?”
I stand a bit straighter and huff out a breath. “That’s all you have to say?”
His lips part as if he’ll speak but then he closes his mouth before opening it again. “In the spirit of friendship, I feel I should point out that your nightshirt is transparent when backlight by the bathroom light.”
I jump out of the bathroom doorway, flicking off the light as I go. With a glare, I hustle my ass into the bed, sliding under the cool covers as Finn laughs low in his belly.
“Asshole.” I pull the comforter up to my chest. “You could have told me sooner.”
“The struggle was real,” he admits, turning to face me. His impish smile fades. “How else was I going to get you in bed?”
With a sigh, I snuggle in, trying to get comfortable amidst the pillows. Finn turns off the bedside lamp and then settles down as well. We’re so close, shoulder to shoulder, his knees bumping mine, my cold toes wiggling over his, there is no escape.
I should be panicked but it feels nice. Safe. At least in this moment.
Finn’s voice is a murmur in the near darkness. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Chess. It can’t have been easy. I’ve always wondered…”
“What?” I whisper thickly.
Finn rests his head on his hand. “You’re so strong.”
“Hardly.”
“You weren’t intimidated at all by us when we showed up at your place, hollering and acting like a bunch of rowdy boys.”
“You’re a bunch of overgrown puppies.”
His teeth flash in a quick smile. “True. But I think you’re used to dealing with shit. Having a name like Chester must have been a nightmare in grade school.”
I tuck a pillow under my cheek and stare up at him. “Kids learn fast. Word gets out that taunting me will earn a punch on the lip, and they’re not so quick to tease.”
“But they still did it.” He sounds so protective, it hurts my heart and makes my skin twitchy.
We’re both fully aware that Finn calls me Chester. But he when he says it, somehow my name becomes simply me, something that I don’t need to hide from or cringe over. After a lifetime of feeling as though an essential part of me is nothing more than a sad joke, it is a gift I never knew I needed.
My fingertips sink into the down pillow as I try to get a hold of my emotions. “We’ve all had shit to deal with in childhood. Frankly, I think most of us deserve a freaking medal for surviving it.” I lift my head slightly and narrow my gaze. “Or did you coast through wound free?”
Finn worries his bottom lip with the edge of his teeth. “My ears grew bigger before my head could catch up. And I had acne.”
“Get out of town. Pretty Boy Mannus?”
“Back then they called me Pimple Boy Mannus.” He husks out a laugh. “At least when I wasn’t throwing TDs.”
“I bet the girls liked you anyway.”
We’re speaking in hushed tones now, and the words have a weight between us.
“I was the quarterback. Of course they liked me.”
“That’s not the only reason why.”
“What’s the other reason?” Somehow, he’s gotten closer. I never saw him move, but we’re almost nose to nose now, his forearm pressed against mine where they rest on the mattress.
I smile, the barest curve of my lips. “Like I said before, you’re one of the good guys, Finn. People can’t help but like you.”
His eyes search mine. In the dim, they glint like dark skies. “I want to hold you.”
My breath hitches, catching in my throat.
Finn presses on, his voice a rumble against my skin. “Just that, Chess. Let me hold you while we sleep.”
I’m not aware of making a conscious decision, but in the next breath, my cheek is pressed against the firm swell of his chest, and my body is tucked securely along his lean length. His arm wraps around my waist and he clasps my nape.
He’s so blissfully warm that I close my eyes on a quiet sigh.
“Thank you,” he whispers into my hair.
It shouldn’t be so easy to melt into his hold and fall asleep.
But it is.
Chapter Thirteen
Chess
* * *
Finn’s gone when I wake. Not surprising since he’s an early riser. After a shower, I head out in search of coffee.
Sean, who I still want to call Captain Mannus or sir, is in the kitchen taking what looks like turnovers from the oven.
“Meat pies,” he tells me, as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Try one.”
He puts a golden pie on a plate and hands me silverware and a napkin before setting the turnover on the kitchen island. I settle on a metal stool and cut myself a bite.
“Delicious,” I say around the hot, buttery pastry filled with savory meat and vegetables.
“There will be more where that came from this afternoon.” With elegant efficiency, he moves around the kitchen, putting turnovers on cooling racks, setting another tray of them into the oven.
Having never spent time around military men, I wasn’t certain
what to expect from Finn’s dad. I thought perhaps he’d be hard, a stern man who kept to himself or grunted behind the newspaper he was reading.
It certainly wasn’t this man who exudes a quiet calm that makes you want to please him, who wears a “Good Lookin’ is Cookin’” apron while preparing a holiday meal for his family.
“Finn got you that apron, didn’t he?” I say.
The lines at the corners of Sean’s eyes deepen. “Yes, ma’am, he did.” He glances up from his work. “You know my son well.”
I shrug and finish another bite of turnover. “His humor anyway.”
Sean grabs a kitchen towel and wipes his hands. The more I watch him, the more I see a lifetime of military training in him. Not a single movement is wasted or hesitant. He manages to be utterly graceful, yet proudly commanding.
He reminds me of a less impulsive Finn.
“You haven’t asked where my son is,” Sean remarks.
“If I had to guess, I’d say he was out running.”
Sean’s lips curl in a smile that is very reminiscent of Finn’s when he has something on me.
“It’s eleven,” I feel obliged to point out. “He always exercises at ten. Before returning starving and in search of food—”
Finn breezes into the kitchen, sweaty and flush. Gym shorts ride low on his hips, the white tank he’s wearing sticking damply to his skin. “Do I smell meat pies? Man, I could eat a dozen.”
Sean catches my eye before grabbing another plate from the cabinet.
Finn pours himself a massive glass of orange juice before coming over to stand beside me. He smells of sun and sea and sweat. “Chester.” He kisses my cheek. A sweet gesture that makes my skin tingle. Memories of being wrapped up with his long, hard body flutter through my mind, and it’s all I can do not to lean into him now.
From the speculative look he’s giving me, I’m guessing he’s remembering things as well. “I see Dad’s taking care of you.”
“Very well,” I agree, focusing on my coffee. His gaze slides to the food on my plate and turns absolutely covetous. Rolling my eyes, I offer him and bite, which he takes without hesitation.
The Hot Shot Page 18
