Page 81 of The Hot Shot

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, 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 offeeling 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 ahold 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.

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 pulling 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 my meal 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.