Chapter 2
Two
Chess
Work flows as it always does. I cajole the shy, quiet big guy Dex into relaxing.
The showboat Rolondo, I simply shoot while he poses in as many ways as he can. I manage the flirty one, Jake, until he settles
down. It’s fun, all of it.
And, yes, James 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 seems
to be particularly worried.
“Shit,” Jake 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 real 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 endears him 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.
With that, he relaxes, and we get along just fine. All the while, there’s a burr under my skin, the 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 more than a
passing glance from me. Why should they? I’m around good-looking men all the time. Physical beauty is nothing more than an
appealing package. 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. He’s up next. I’m going to have to see him naked—keep my composure and photograph him, and
it 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, because soon it will all be a hazy memory. I’ll drink a glass of chilled white wine—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. Dex rarely speaks, but 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. 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.
“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.
“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 relax. My body ignores the directive. “Find something better to
do.”
“Can’t. This is basic study,” he says. “Now I know what the signs are 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. 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 type who will bite your hand off. It’s kind of hot, in
a pissed-off gloom and doom way. I guess I’d be pretty pissy if my parents 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 to talk football with and maybe convince him to take
just 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 lens.
The photo studio is cordoned off by massive rolling wall panels that block my view of the photo session going on. 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 stiff 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 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, you have been 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 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.”
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.