Chapter 3 #4
My buddy Woodson lives a few blocks away. It’s poker night. I’m stocking up on beer.”
It’s only then I notice a twelve-pack tucked under his other arm.
“And tampons?” I ask with a pointed look around the aisle we’re standing in.
“Not tonight,” he says easily. “Though we used to keep a pack of them back in college. Light flows were perfect for stopping
up bloody noses.”
“Now there’s a visual.” Somehow, I’ve taken a step closer to him. He’s freshly showered, the golden brown strands of his hair
still damp at his temples. And I wonder if he’s just come from the gym or practice. “So back in college you went and bought
these tampons?”
“Nah,” he says with a cheeky smile. “I’d ask one of the girls hanging around to get me some.”
“Of course you did.” My nose wrinkles with annoyance.
“Give me a little credit, Chess. I’d buy them now if I had to.”
“Hmm . . .” I eye him, trying not to return his smile. If only because it’s more fun when he teases. “So why are you in this
aisle now, if not for potential nosebleed needs?”
“That’s easy.” He steps closer, a warm wall of muscle and clean scent. “I heard your voice.”
For a second I just blink. “You recognized my voice?”
His gaze darts over my face as if he’s trying to get a read on why I’m gaping at him. “Not to be . . . ah . . . rude, but
you’re loud when you talk on the phone.”
“Yeah, but . . . You recognized it.” We’ve only just met. It occurs to me that I’d recognized his both times he’d snuck up
on me. Then again, his voice is distinctive, flowing like hot honey when he’s relaxed or hammering down like iron to rock
when he’s taking command of a situation.
A soft flush of pink tints the tips of his ears. If I wasn’t staring at him, I might have missed it. He shifts his weight.
“Was I not supposed to?”
“No. Yes.” I shake my head and laugh. “I don’t know.”
He grins then. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m not flustered.”
I am.
As if we’ve come to some silent agreement, we head down the aisle to the register, drawing a double take from some skinny
guy buying a bag of M&M’s. The cashier gapes at Finn, but doesn’t say a word as she rings me up. She also misses the bag by
a foot when she attempts to put my gelato in it. I help her out by bagging my own stuff so she can continue to stare at Finn.
He takes it all in easy stride.
Out on the street, Finn nudges me with his arm. He does it gently, barely a tap, and yet I feel the strength in him. “This
makes two times now we’ve run into each other,” he says.
“I’m still not convinced about the whole stalking thing.”
He leans down a touch, so we’re nearly face-to-face. “I think it’s fate telling us to hang out.”
“Hang out, huh?” The truth is, I don’t want to go home now. I want to linger on this humid sidewalk and hear what ridiculous thing will come out of him next. But I have gelato melting. “I don’t know why. We’ve been at each other’s throats since we met.”
“Ah, Chessie, that’s just the way we play.” He nudges my shoulder again. “Tell me you haven’t had any fun with me. Come on.”
I can’t. And he knows it.
His smile turns soft. “I like you.”
He likes me. I want to grin like a twelve-year-old. I imagine this is how it feels to be passed a note by the hottest guy
in school.
“Is that so hard to believe?” he asks.
Not hard exactly. More like unexpected and strange. Yesterday, he was just some dickhead jock giving me shit. Now he’s telling
me we should hang out. And what does that even mean?
I’ve been silent for too long, because he speaks again, soft, cajoling. “I think you like me, too.”
Hell. I do. That’s the most unexpected thing of all. He’s unlike anyone I know. A challenge and yet easy to talk to. He’s
also a famous, extremely hot football player who has beautiful women throwing themselves at him. In a world full of bad bet
men, he’s at the top.
“I’m just not sure what you expect to get out of this,” I explain. “A date?”
Finn rubs the back of his neck, looking as perplexed as I feel. “I’m fairly crap at dating, Chess.”
Disappointment hits me like a brick to the chest. But I nod in understanding. “I’m fairly crap at hookups,” I tell him. “I’ve
run through that playbook and don’t particularly like it.”
His brows lift with a pleased expression. “Look at you using football terms.”
I bite back a laugh. “I thought I’d speak to your level.”
His amusement slowly slides away. “Last night, I did see you from the street. I went into the bar to talk to you. Even before
that—at dinner—I was thinking about you.”
I make a sound of shock.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “I dreaded that photoshoot. You turned it around and made it bearable. All the bullshit just went away.”
“That’s part of my job,” I say weakly. It isn’t a lie. But with him, I’d stopped thinking about getting a good shot.
And though we’ve just met, he appears to know that, too.
“And last night at the bar?” he counters. “Right now? You aren’t working.”
“I . . .” Shit.
“Everyone in my life is connected to football. I don’t get true interactions very much. And, if I do, they’re fleeting. But
I have them with you.” A line creases between his brows. “Does that make sense?”
I might not be famous, but I feel the same sense of isolation, as if I’m going through life underwater and everything is muffled
and distorted. When I get within a few feet of Finn Mannus, there is clarity. It scares the hell out of me, because I need
stability, too. But I can’t lie.
I clear my throat. “It makes sense.”
He smiles then, pleased and happy. And it takes my breath. His expression turns earnest, his eyes scanning mine. “I want to
know you, Chess Copper. I don’t know why, I just do. I could make a play to get in your pants, but I don’t want to. A one-night
stand with you doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Oh, well thanks.” It’s one thing to agree that sex is a bad idea. It’s another to be told you’re unappealing.
Finn shakes his head as if I’m slow. “Pay attention, Chester. I said I want to know you. I don’t get to know my hookups.”
“So we’re going to . . . what? Be friends?”
He looks almost boyish then. “Yeah. We are.” His eyes spark. “Fair warning. I’ll still be picturing you naked half of the
time. So get used to a bit of leering.”
“You just had to go and ruin the moment, didn’t you?”
“Probably should get used to that, too.”