The Hot Shot Page 2

  Even so, my blood quickens. Her intense stare holds power. And power is something I respect.

  I hear it in her husky voice when she finally speaks. “Nip what off, do tell?”

  That’s a sex voice, the kind that wraps around a guy’s dick and tugs. I absolutely do not need to respond to a sexy voice right now. Especially since she clearly considers us nothing more than a bunch of unruly boys.

  Take charge. Control the situation. It’s what I do. Always. I step forward, bring her attention back to me. “We’re here for the calendar shoot.”

  Her upper lip curls. “Well, I certainly didn’t think you were here for the little league group shot I have scheduled later.”

  Cute. Really cute. Wait. What?

  “You’re the photographer?” Dread punches my gut.

  She scoffs with obvious annoyance. “Let’s not be a cliché, eh, pretty boy?”

  Prickly heat fills my gut. I’ve been called that my whole grown life. I’m used to it and don’t really care when the guys tease me about my looks. But pisses me off, hearing it come from this woman, as if I’m nothing.

  Ryder snickers. “She’s got your number, sweet cheeks.”

  No, she doesn’t. Not even a little. But she thinks she does, which fucking irks “Hey now, we were told our photographer’s name was Chester Copper. Excuse me if I assumed it was a man.”

  She flinches as if smacked, and a little crinkle forms between her brows. “I go by Chess. I’ve no idea how your PR manager got my full name.” It sounds as if she aims to find out.

  I don’t envy the poor sap who let her full name slide. But I do like that I’m getting to her too. Turn about is fair play, honey. “Probably because they do background checks to weed out the freaks.”

  Chess gives a me bored roll of her eyes. Now that I’m close enough, I can see that they’re bottle green, the color deep, but crystal clear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that particular shade, and it makes me want to keep looking.

  I have no idea why I’m even noticing. Her appearance has no bearing on how she’ll do her job. And that’s the only reason I’m here.

  At my side, Jake stirs, his brows pulling together. “Chester Copper… That’s kind of like Chester Copperpot from The Goonies,” Jake adds, looking around at all of us. “Remember that movie?”

  Our photographer utters a ripe curse that makes me fight a grin.

  “Yeah, that’s a cool flick,” Rolondo says to Jake. “Little dude who played the lead grew up and played Samwise Gamgee. Man, talk about a sad sap. As if I’m gonna toss myself into the fires of Mount Doom cuz I gotta boner for a hobbit.”

  Dex, who has remained silent until now, shakes his head with clear disgust. “He was on a quest to save Middle-Earth from Sauron, chucklehead.”

  “Naw,” Rolondo insists. “He wanted Frodo bad.”

  My grin grows. Get these guys talking about movies and they’ll go off on a never-ending tangent. Something Jake knows as well. He makes a noise of annoyance. “Hello? Can we please get back to The Goonies and Chester Copperpot? You know, that old dude they find all shriveled and crushed by a boulder?”

  Chess goes full-on red. “Yes, I know,” she grinds out. “My parents met at a draft house viewing of the movie. They expected a boy, and since my grandmamma had already embroidered all my baby blankets…” She shrugs as if bored, but I don’t miss the tension in those slim shoulders. She’s pissed.

  “And they actually named you after a Goonies character?” Dex asks, horrified.

  “Yes.” Her voice is tight and pained.

  I’m torn between kind of loving her parents and thinking they’re nuts. On the one hand, big points for originality. On the other, who does that to a girl?

  Rolondo murmurs something about crazy white people under his breath, clearly not low enough because Ms. Chester abruptly turns and strides into the studio with those long legs of hers.

  After exchanging looks, we follow.

  The loft takes up half the floor of the building. It’s an enormous space of exposed old brick, well-worn plank floors, and industrial black grid windows. There’s a living space with massive brown leather couches and one of those coffee tables that are made out of a gnarly tree trunk. An old, farm dining table is set opposite a gourmet kitchen.

  It reminds me of my place, and I have an odd sense of homecoming. Some of the guys don’t care about their spots as long as there’s a massive TV and good couch to recline in. But I do. Our homes are our havens, and God knows we’re barely ever there, so we should have a place to enjoy.

  Chess stops by a big pedestal table near a wall of bookcases, stuffed with books, knickknacks, and old cameras. The table holds football equipment: pads, footballs, our team helmets, even some shin guards and tape.

  I guess we’re doing dress up, only I don’t see any uniforms. My insides lurch, as the back of my neck begins to tingle the way it doesn’t when I’m about to get sacked.

  A slim guy with a bushy read beard hustles out from the bathroom. He’s wearing a yellow fedora and a lime green skinny-pants suit with brown pinstripes. Nothing out of place for NOLA. In an odd way, it makes me relax a bit.

  “I’m James. Chess’s assistant. Sorry about the delay. We were on the balcony having a smoke.” He grins, and his gaze slides over Jake nice and slow. And Jake frowns in obvious confusion, as if he’s not sure if he’s being checked out. “Or I was. Chess was just keeping me company.”

  Chess picks up a large camera. “They don’t need a play-by-play excuse, James.” She doesn’t glance our way as she checks her equipment. “Changing room is to the left. Strip down, and James will get you oiled up.”

  All the air sucks out of the room, and I hear a distinctive pop in my ears. My guys stiffen as well, their eyes going wide with obvious shock.

  “Oiled up?” I can barely get the words out from between my clenched teeth. This is just fucking peachy. PR failed to mention anything about stripping. “You fucking with us?”

  Her expression is bland as ever. “When I fuck with someone, he knows it, Mr. Mannus.”

  Oh, I bet they do. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s left claw marks on some poor chump’s balls. My own balls tighten in sympathy.

  Jake, who has never been one for self-preservation, laughs. “I love this chick.”

  Green eyes flash beneath severe brows of justice. “I am not a chick, Mr. Ryder. I am a woman.”

  Rolondo makes a faint, mock crowd-roar, and Dex elbows his side to shut him up.

  “With a job to do,” she adds with such disdain that I can’t keep quiet.

  “Let me guess,” I drawl. “You’re obsessed with finally finding One-Eyed Willie.”

  Jake chokes on a smothered laugh, and Dex runs a hand over his beard, clearly hiding a smile.

  “Man,” Rolondo mutters. “You’ve gone and done it now.”

  I’m pretty sure I have. A hint of warning trickles down my spine, but I’m too irritated to heed it. We’ve been played and now we’re expected to strip like good little boys? I don’t think so.

  Chess slowly walks my way. I’ve had offensive coaches stare me down with less intensity. But they’ve never made my heart rate speed up. It’s unnerving, but damn if I’m going to let it show. I set my hands low on my hips and wait for the inevitable explosion.

  She stops in front of me, close enough that I catch a faint whiff of sunshine and earth, as if she’s been sitting in a garden, soaking up the light. Our gazes lock. I expect her to rip into me, and maybe she’s going to—her lips part as if she’s taking a breath. But she doesn’t speak. She just stands there, looking up at me as if frozen in place.

  A weird shift pushes through the room. I don’t know what the fuck is happening. My focus narrows down to just her, nothing else. The warmth of her body radiates outward and buffets mine. And it’s as if she’s easing a hot hand down my abs. The sensation is so intense, my balls lift and my dick grows weighty and full.

  What the actual fuck?

&nbs
p; I can’t move. All my brainpower has gone south to take orders from my rising dick. And said dick is insisting that we get closer. He wants a formal introduction.

  No, no, no. Not happening.

  I pull in a deep breath, and my brain gets further scrambled by her scent. I’m in serious trouble here.

  I’m almost grateful when she finally speaks, but her bedroom voice doesn’t help matters much. “Let’s be clear, Mr. Mannus. You’re in my house now. We have a job to do. I’ll do my part, and you do yours.” Her dark eyes search mine. “Make all the dick jokes you want. They won’t save you.”

  No, I suspect they won’t. Like an inevitable collision with a charging linebacker, I suspect Ms. Chess Copper is going to take me down and make me feel it. Bitch of it is, I’m not sure if I hate the idea or kind of like it.

  Chapter Two

  Chess

  * * *

  Work flows as it always does. I cajole the shy, quiet big guy, Dex into relaxing. I manage the flirty one, Jake until he settles down. And the showboat Rolondo, I simply shoot as much as I can while he poses as much as he can. It’s fun, all of it.

  Maeve, my part-time assistant, shows up and helps me with lighting while James gets each guy ready. And, yes, he is a stammering, blushing mess the whole time. The guys take it in stride. It’s clear they’re used to walking around naked, and they view their bodies as machines, for the most part. Disrobing doesn’t seem to bother them in the least.

  Dicks, however remain a sensitive issue. Surprisingly, the flirt, Jake Ryder is particularly worried.

  “Shit,” he mutters as he drops his robe and a fine blush tints his cheeks. “What if I get wood? I mean, I’m not turned on or anything. Not, that you aren’t really cute…Shit. I didn’t mean that.” He shuffles his feet, his hands moving to cover his penis before they jerk away as if he doesn’t want to hide either. “I’m just saying, I’m naked and you’re going to be looking. That usually tends to make him stand at attention.”

  The mere fact that he’s not hiding his fear is admirable to me. I keep my expression neutral and take a shot to check the light. “If he decides to give us a wave, we ignore him. Just like I do whenever that happens.”

  “Happens often?” he asks, brightening.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, Mr. Ryder, that penises can have minds of their own.”

  “Or lack of,” he agrees with a little laugh.

  He relaxes, and we get through just fine. But all the while, there’s a burr under my skin, an annoying thud of my heart against my ribs. Because, unlike Jake, I am not at ease. Not one bit. And I know who is to blame.

  The Asshat. Mannus.

  I could pretend I don’t know why he affects me when the others don’t. But it would be a lie. I’m attracted to him. And it is horrifying.

  Usually, I need to like a man in order to feel a spark. Asshats who clearly think they’re hot shit do not get a more than a passing glance from me. And why should they? I’m around good-looking men all the time. Physical beauty is nothing more than an appealing package to gaze on. What’s below the surface is so much more interesting.

  The fact that Finn Mannus, who annoys the hell out of me, has been tickling the edges of my thoughts since I’ve set eyes on him is not a welcome experience. That he’s up next and I’m going to have to see him naked, that I’ll need to keep my composure and photograph him, is messing with my head. A lot.

  My insides are stupidly fluttering and swooping. My fingers are cold, but my skin is hot. I’m so annoyed with myself, I want to take five and slap my own face. At this rate, I’m going to need James to give me a “bitch, be cool” lecture.

  I just need to get through the day, and soon it will all be a hazy memory. I’ll drink a glass of chilled white wine—or maybe an icy shot of vodka at this rate—and get ready for my date with…Shit, what was the guy’s name? I blink, unable to remember.

  Adam? Marvin? Melvin? “Evan!”

  “What?” Jake Ryder peers at me in confusion.

  I clear my throat and lift my camera. “Nothing. Carry on.”

  The advice goes for me as well. There is no way I’m going to be distracted by a mouthy quarterback. No freaking way.

  * * *

  Finn

  * * *

  “You seem…tense.”

  I halt mid-pace and shoot Dex a look that would make most guys fuck off. The guy merely settles back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and raises a brow. Since I’ve been trying to get him to be more involved with the team, I should be glad he’s taking any interesting in talking. Because Dex rarely does. But right now is not the time.

  It feels like ants are crawling over the lining of my stomach. And it’s all I can do not to claw them out. I haven’t been this unsettled since my last college championship game. A game I fucking lost to his team, thank you very much. So I’m not in the mood to play.

  “You’re done with your shoot,” I tell him. “Doesn’t that mean you can go now?”

  His smile is thin and knowing. “I drove all of us here, remember?”

  I do now. Shit.

  “And even if I hadn’t,” he continues blandly. “I wouldn’t want to miss this.”

  “Miss what?” I ask, even though I know full well what.

  “You falling apart. It’s fascinating. You get stiffer with each turn you take around the room.”

  I let my hands drop to my sides and order my shoulders to releax. My body ignores the directive. “Find something better to do.”

  “Can’t. This is basic study,” he says. “Now, I know the signs when you’re close to losing your shit on the field.” As my center, the more he knows about my body language, the better. I tell myself this, but I really want to knock the legs out from under his chair.

  “Dexter, when I’m about to lose my shit on the field, I’ll tell you. I have absolutely no qualms admitting when I need help during a game.” Some QBs would rather swallow their left nut than show any weakness. But we’re a team out there. And I believe in teamwork, not fucking up just to save face.

  Dex tilts his head and inspects me as if I’m some sort of exotic bug that flew in through the window. Shit, I can’t think of bugs. It pulls my attention back to the uncomfortable prickling in my gut.

  “And now?” he asks. “You gonna admit what’s getting to you in this situation?” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I mean, I know what it is, but are you going to admit to it?”

  Cursing, I lean against the rough exposed brick wall of the loft, and let my gaze wander around Chester Copper’s living area.

  Chester Copper. Despite my discomfort, I want to smile. God, she’s a handful. The kind that will bite your hand off. It’s kind of hot, in a pissed off gloom and doom kind of way. I guess I’d be pretty pissy if I was a girl and my parents had named me Chester.

  My smile fades. It’s clear she thinks I’m an asshole. I’m usually better at charming women. My game is off today. But I was expecting an old guy name Chester, someone who I might have been able talk football and maybe get away with asking him to take a few quick photos before I fled. Not a blunt woman with dark green eyes that seem to flay my skin and see right under it.

  She had assessed and dismissed me in a glance. While I’m used to being judged on my looks, I’m usually not found wanting. I shouldn’t give one great fuck. And I don’t really, except now I’m supposed to strip down in front of her and pose before the unyielding glare of her photo lens.

  The studio is cordoned off by massive rolling wall panels that can be moved around to block off however much space she wants. I stare hard at those panels. The harsh lights she’s using set the ceiling aglow, a beacon of my impending doom. Music throbs through the loft, some techno beat with a woman singing in a sultry voice. It started up as soon as Jake had begun his shoot.

  “What the hell is that music?” I mutter.

  “Goldfrapp,” Dex says easily. “‘Strict Machine’ to be precise. Great song. But I expected Jake to go for
AC/DC or something like that.”

  “This is dance music.” I squeeze the back of my tense neck. “I’m now imagining Jake strutting around on a catwalk.”

  Dex cracks a smile. “Don’t give me that visual.”

  “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 after they oil us up. 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 you have been looking.”

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

  I might have smiled on any other occasion. 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 hand over 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.”