Page 94 of The Hot Shot

For a second, she just stares at me as if she’s never seen me before. I don’t move, don’t look away. Chess licks her lips and, slowly, she puts her hand in mine.

The world shifts there and then, and it’s as though I’m taking my first breath. I hold her hand and lead her to the dance floor. She moves into my embrace, and then there is nothing else. Just Chess. The scent of sea and sun in her hair, the smooth satin of her skin. I am a fucking goner. A man capable of cheesy poetry and big gestures.

I don’t even care. Bring it. I want it all.

We flow together, barely dancing, just swaying and listening to the music. Her cheek rests against my chest, her arms wrapped around my waist as if she doesn’t want to let go. I hold her closer, smoothing my hands up her arm, down the narrow slope of her back.

Part of me wants to get to my knees before her. I press my cheek to the crown of her head and breathe in, let myself fall. A white light flashes, and for a second, it doesn’t register.

There is another. I turn my head, and spot the guy holding a camera phone aimed at me. Rage punches into my gut so hard, I make a sound. Chess stops, moving back a step, her gaze zeroing in on the guy, too. Her body stiffens, and it kills me.

I’m used to getting my picture taken without my permission. But that fucker didn’t just violate my privacy, he violated Chess’s.

I take a step, and her hand presses against the small of my back.

“Don’t,” she says in a low voice. She looks at me with pleading eyes. “It’s not worth trouble.”

My thumb strokes her chin. “He does not get that piece of us.”

Another flash, and now my eye is twitching.No fucking way.

“Trust me, it will be all right.” Giving Chess a tight smile, I take her hand and head toward the asshole snapping pictures of us.

Dude stiffens as soon as he realizes I’m coming for him. I almost feel guilty about the way his gaze darts around and his mouth trembles, as if he can’t decide to smile or bolt. Physically intimidating guys weaker than me is not my style. I make it easy for him.

“Hey, man.” I hold out my hand. “Finn Mannus.”

He glances at my hand for a second, as if trying to decide whether I’m going to rip his off. But then he relents and gives me a weak, quick shake. “Hey.”

When I don’t do anything aggressive, his grip gets a little stronger. “Manny, I knew it was you. I fucking love you, man.”

Yeah, no shit. I nod, giving him an easy smile, as Chess hovers at my side, gripping the back of my shirt. I drop dude’s sweaty hand, but my smile remains. “Saw you taking pictures of me and my girl.”

Just like that, dude gets stiff again, thrusting up his chin. “You’re in public.”

And you’re kind of a dick.

“Sure. I was wondering if I could get a copy.” I nod toward Chess, as I wrap my arm around her. “It’s our first date. Be nice to have a memento of it.”

I can feel Chess’s stare. She’s wondering what the hell I’m doing. It makes my smile a little more genuine because I love the sound of her chiding voice in my head.

Dude’s date, who hasn’t said a word until now, perks up. “Oh, that’s so sweet. Dougie, isn’t that sweet?”

He gives his girl an annoyed look, as if to say he’s in charge, but then puffs up his chest a bit. “Yeah, sure, Manny.”

“Cool. Can we have a look?” Another fake smile. “My girl really wants to see them.”

Dougie is not entirely stupid and hesitates.

I hold out my hand and stare him down, but keep my pleasant expression. If he says no now, he comes off as a complete dick in front of his girl and his supposed idol.

Finally, he hands over his phone. Jesus, he took a lot. My anger rises. At my side, Chess’s fingers dig into my arm, but she doesn’t let her emotions show. “Your eyes are closed in that one,” she points out lightly.

“I like slow dancing with my eyes closed,” I tell her with the same levity, as I highlight the photo and a half a dozen more. They’re grainy or overdeveloped with the flash, but every image shows what I’m feeling for Chess with perfect clarity. While I’m not the least bit ashamed of that, the idea of them being all over the internet—and I have no fucking doubt that’s where these are headed—makes me want to crush the phone in my hand.

A sense of violation coats my insides like hot tar.

Dougie, the little fucker, also recorded the last bit. I don’t play it because I’m not sure I can keep my temper if I do. I send the entire lot to an email address set up for Charlie to check, with the code I use to let Charlie know it’s from me as the subject line. He’ll keep them safe for me and then block Dougie’s email address later.