Page 59 of The Hot Shot

“Exactly.”

“Then listen to Scarlett and stay, wallow in love and all that sappy shit.”

“Sappy, hmm?” James makes a suspicious sound in his throat. “Tell me, Chess, does the fact that you’re shacking up with an insanely hot quarterback—and I’m still jealous of that, by the way—have anything to do with your insistence that I stay longer in New York?”

“Your suspicions hurt, Rhett.” I grab a bread knife and start hacking at the fresh baguette I’d picked up at a bakery. “Here I am, generously supporting your newly found love—”

“Pfft.”

“—and you accuse me of having ulterior and nefarious motives.”

“You sound like a ’30s movie villain,” James drawls. “And I’m accusing you of ulterior and hedonistic motives, to be clear.”

“Bah.” I arrange the bread slices in a shallow bowl, then flick away a few crumbs.

“So,” James asks in a singsong voice. “What’s manly Manny’s place like? Does he have a Red Room of Pain?”

Smiling, I roll my eyes. “At first I thought he did, but it turned out to be a home gym.”

“Bummer.”

Glancing at the clock, I carry the bread and cheese out to the coffee table. “Yeah, but I can attest to its pain inducing powers.”

James laughs. “Joke all you want, Chessie Bear, but you can’t hide from me. You like being sexy Manny’s roommate.”

A denial dances at the edge of my tongue, but I can’t force it out.

I could fall for Finn. Irrevocably. I know it. I already feel myself teetering, and we haven’t known each other for that long.

My insides clench in protest, and I move my hand to my lower abdomen before I can stop the action. My stomach is flat for the most part, but I’m not a fan of sit-ups, and I have a soft little swell just below my navel.

I have a love-hate relationship with my little pooch. When I’m standing up, I find it kind of cute and sexy, a bit of softness on my body that, in all other areas, runs to thin and gangly. But when I sit down in a bikini and everything kind of pillows, I hate it.

Right now, I cradle that vulnerable spot. “James? Do you ever feel...” A shuddering breath leaves me. I should shut up. Right now. But I have to ask someone, and James is my closest friend. He’ll never judge me. “Defective? Like damaged goods?”

Instantly, my face heats with shame and annoyance. I’ve shown my underbelly, and I don’t like the sensation. But James’s soft voice comes through the phone. “Chess, I’m bisexual. I get shit from all directions. I’m either a liar or deliberately choosing to be as I am. Defective in the eyes of both camps.”

Even though he’s a thousand miles away, I want to hug him. “They’re the ones who are defective, not you.”

He’s silent for a moment. “There is nothing wrong with you either, babe. Not one fucking thing.”

“That’s the messed up part. I know I am not defined by what I lack, but by who I am as a whole. And I’d probably kick someone’s ass if they tried to tell me differently.”

“But?” James prompts because he knows me well. “Something’s not clicking in that head of yours. What is it?”

“Sometimes...” I lick my dry lips. “Sometimes I wonder if my heart hasn’t gotten that message. That maybe I sabotage myself with men. You know, what if, when they learn everything there is to know about me, they decide I’m not worth it.”

I don’t even know what I’m trying to explain. Only that, despite my best efforts, there are days when I feel flawed. Whenit feels like my fault that I’m single and have never had a boyfriend.

“I used to think that, too,” James says quietly. Which is a shock because his sense of self-confidence has always been enormous. “And at the same time, I had thought that there was no one perfect enough for me.”

I give a little half-hearted laugh at that because, despite my insecurities, I fully admit to being picky as fuck over men. “Yeah.”

I hear the smile in his voice. “Now I know that there is someone perfectly imperfect for all of us.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And if that person for you happens to be a six-four, hot as fuck-sweat quarterback, then I’ll love you forever.”