Page 45 of The Hot Shot

“I’m sorry about my friends,” Chess says. “They can be uncomfortably brazen.”

“So can mine.” I shrug. “Your friends are... fun.”

Her lips pull tight. “They can be. But they were definitely giving me—and by extension you—shit tonight.” She bites her bottom lip. “I don’t think they know what to make of you.”

“So I wasn’t imagining things.”

“’Fraid not.”

The novel sensation of being a fish tossed into the wrong pond grows. I’ve taken away Chess’s fun by coming here, and I’m sorry for it.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come here,” Chess says in a low voice.

She’s only echoing my thoughts, but the stone sitting on my chest pushes harder against my ribs.

Chess makes a small sound, as if she’s trying to laugh but can’t. “Parties suck when you arrive halfway through and don’t know anyone.”

“I know you,” I point out quietly.

She turns and the porch light illuminates her face. Green eyes meet mine and hold, as a slow, true smile curls over her cherry lips. Something inside of me shifts and slides. I want to kiss Chester Copper. Haul her onto my lap and make out with her like we’re teenagers hiding at our parents’ party. But that’s not what she invited me here for.

“I wanted to see you,” she confesses in that husky morning voice that goes straight to my cock. She turns away and staresout into the darkness. “It’s weird, you know? But hanging out with you was so unexpected it kind of felt like I imagined the whole thing.”

I know exactly what she means. My hand settles next to hers, close enough that our pinkies touch. That small point of contact sparks along my skin, makes me want to move closer. I hold steady because I don’t trust myself not to act.

“I wanted to see you, too,” I tell her. “It’s been a long, fucking day.” I hadn’t planned to admit that, but it feels good to confide in her.

Chess eases back against the seat and then curls her fingers over mine with a light squeeze. The unexpected touch holds all my attention. It’s nothing more than a simple offer of comfort, and here I am twitching in my seat as if she’d cupped my dick instead. I’m in so much trouble here because this woman is getting to me in ways I don’t know how to navigate. But I don’t pull away. Not one fucking chance of that.

Chess speaks, pulling my attention back to our conversation. “So tell me about it.”

I can’t remember the last time anyone asked me to tell them about my day. Likely, no one ever has.

So I do. And with every word that leaves my mouth, a little bit more of my stress eases. No, I don’t yet truly know Chess. Yes, our lives are different, but there’s no way I’m ending this. Because when it’s just her and me, everything else falls away. I’m not going to let myself forget that again.

Seven

Chess

When people say they’re busy, they usually mean they have a lot of work that piles up while they spend a few hours watching TV and lamenting how busy they are.

Hell, I’ve been there, done that, have the couch divot.

When Finn says he’s busy, he means it. Workouts, team meetings, practices, games, press conferences, television tapings, sponsor obligations, charity meetings and visits... I can’t keep up.

I hear from him in random spurts. Texts between his travels from one obligation to the next. Phone calls when he finally gets home, his voice soft with exhaustion.

Sometimes, I have to order him to get off the phone and go to bed because I can practically feel him fading.

I’d rather fall asleep talking to you, he always responds.

I won’t pretend that it doesn’t make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Days pass into weeks. Before I know it, Finn has become a fixture in my life.

One rare free Saturday afternoon, he takes me to the aquarium. “I’ve never been here before,” I tell him as he collects our tickets.

“Let me guess,” he says. “You haven’t been to the zoo, either.”

“I haven’t been to a zoo since grade school.”