Page 7 of The Hot Shot

“If I’m haunted by it, I’m sharing.” I roll my shoulders. “Jesus, why the music, anyway?”

“You get a choice. Whatever makes you comfortable.” He shrugs again. “It was surprisingly easy.”

“I feel like I’m about to be offered up like a side of beef.”

“Grade A, prime, quarterback ass.” This from Rolondo, who exits the bathroom, where we’ve been offered the use of the showers to clean off the oil they’re rubbing all over our bodies.Jesus.

He huffs out a laugh. “You look like you’re about to toss your Wheaties. What’s the problem, Manny? Shit, you’ve given interviews in your birthday suit plenty of times.”

Yeah, I have. Nudity is not the problem.

“Is it your junk?” Rolondo flashes a grin. “You worried it won’t stack up—”

“You do realize I’ve seen your junk, Ro. Worrying about stacking up is not a problem for me.”

His grin only gets bigger. “So, youhavebeen looking.”

Dex shakes his head at me. “You walked right into that one, friend.”

On any other occasion, I might have smiled. Now I only wave them off. “Play your reindeer games with someone else, boys.”

“Shit,” Rolondo says with a drawl. “You must be suffering if I can’t get your ass riled up.”

From the far end of the loft, I hear Ms. Copper tell Jake he did a great job. Which means James will be coming to get me any second. My heart starts to pound, and I run a cold handover my hot face. “I’m uncomfortable with this, all right?” I tell my friends. “And I don’t really give a shit what that says about me.”

Silence greets me. Dex and Rolondo are both wearing somber expressions.

“Dude,” Dex finally says. “If you don’t want to do this, don’t. We aren’t machines. Say no.”

I glance at the partition, and shift my weight, the urge to turn tail and run creeping up the backs of my thighs. “The team agreed, so I agreed.”

“Woodson isn’t participating,” Rolondo points out. “Wife put her foot down.”

“Woodson is a kicker. I’m the quarterback. I say no, fans get disappointed. Besides, I already committed. Backing out wouldn’t be right.”

It’s too late, anyway. James strolls out from behind the partition. “Mr. Mannus,” he says, all business now. “Let’s get you ready.”

“Great,” I mutter.

I follow him to the changing area, and he gestures to a table covered with lumps of fabric, ranging from pale beige to dark brown. “If it makes you more comfortable, you can wear one of these.”

I frown down at the lumps. “These?”

James picks up a light brown cloth and shows me.

To my utter, fucking horror, it’s a thong. A man thong. “Oh, hell no.”

“Why do you all say that exact thing?”

“Two guesses.” I can’t even imagine the shit the guys would dole out to any poor fuck caught wearing that nightmare.

“We’d edit it out,” he assures, his lips twitching.

“And you think that’s why I’m objecting?” I glare at the thong in his hand.

He tosses the thong back with the others. “To be honest,I’m with you. I’ve tried one on. I don’t know how women stand it. Thing feels like the world’s worst wedgie.” He glances at the thongs, and then me. “Then again, it does great things for a tight ass.”

I don’t know if he’s hitting on me or not. Something in his eyes tells me he wouldn’t object if I offered to model one for him. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a guy try to flirt with me. Probably not the last, either. Athletes and sex go hand in hand.