Page 12 of The Hot Shot

For a second, I think he might reach for me. But he simply draws in a breath, his nostrils flaring slightly. His eyes never leave mine. “I’m all yours, Ms. Copper. What do you want me to do?”

So many ways to answer. But I’m calmer now. He’s in my hands, and I will not fail him.

“Will you get on the floor?” I ask. His brow quirks.

“People will expect a nice chest shot,” I explain. “Maybe you holding a football over your—”

“Junk,” he puts in with a slanting smile.

I expressly donotlook at said “junk” but nod. “I get that this is supposed to be a nude calendar. But I don’t want to objectify you.”Let’s ignore the fact that you mentally ogled him like a perv.“Your body is your instrument. If you’re in an unexpected pose, it makes people look at you in a different way.”

“All right, then.” With the simple grace of a world-class athlete, he lowers himself to the floor.

I raise my camera and peer through the lens. “Can you roll onto your stomach and brace yourself on your elbows? I want a look at that tat.”

Finn’s lips twitch on a smile as he turns, planting his elbows and forearms on the floor. His biceps bunch as he easily lifts his torso up. Gorgeous. Utterly gorgeous. And his ass? It clenches as if he’s...

I push the thought away.

The tattoo running along his ribs is a black outline of the state of California with the Golden Gate Bridge etched inside of it.

“Hold on a sec.” Setting down my camera, I run over, adjust the lighting, and take a reading. Usually James would do this, but I don’t want to break the spell by calling him in. Finn doesn’t move but watches me out of the corner of his eye. Unable to help myself, I crouch down and gently tuck back a lock of his hair that’s creating a bad shadow.

The second I touch him, I know it’s a mistake. The air between us changes, drawing tight. A hum pulses in my bones, and his expression becomes intent, his focus never wavering from mine. In that instant, I know him. Iknowhim. I feel like I’ve known him my whole existence, like I’ve been waiting for him to return from wherever he’s been.

My muscles flex with the urge to lean in, feel his skin, rest my cheek next to his, to do...something.I see that knowledge reflected in his blue gaze, as if he wants the same. Blood rushes in my ears, my heart thudding like a warning drum.

But then he blinks and sucks in a light breath, and a wall comes down between us. I need that wall.

My head clears. Finally, I can breathe too, as if I’ve been let out of a trap. With a smile that is forced, I quickly stand and pretend that nothing has happened. “Perfect.”

I hate the gravel in my voice, but neither of us acknowledges it. He merely gives me a tight nod. The weight of his attention presses on my back as I retrieve my camera.

Behind the lens, Finn is both smaller yet more detailed. I take my time focusing, setting up the shot, and giving us both a chance to settle. I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I don’t like it.

“Tell me about the tat,” I say, snapping a picture.

His gaze goes to my arm. “Tell me about yours.”

“I thought it would look pretty.”

“That the truth?”

“Yes. Boring, but true.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I like true.”

“It was the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done,” I feelcompelled to admit in the name of truth. Most people assume boldly colored hair and tattoos mean you’re a wild child or frivolous, when sometimes it’s just a simple act of self-expression. The tattoo had happened on a day I’d been too shocked to plan out exactly what I wanted in advance.

Finn’s expression turns thoughtful, as if he’s reading my face like a book. Silence rises between us and, for a moment, I wonder if he’ll refuse to tell me about his tattoo. But then he speaks. “Went to Stanford for college. Before my first game, I drove into San Francisco and took a walk over the Golden Gate Bridge. Thought about all I wanted to accomplish, all I wanted to be. Got the tattoo that weekend.”

I snap another shot. “And have you accomplished everything?”

A secretive light comes into his eyes. “Almost.”

“Hmmm. What about the roses?” He has two vibrant red roses inked on the top and bottom of the state.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “When I won my first and second Rose Bowl.” Such pride in his look. I capture it.