Page 74 of Endgame

Thankfully for myself, the guys look away and ignore her. I have a feeling she isn’t used to being ignored.

As the boatcaptain leads us to the island, he anchors to shore and directs us one by one to gather our belongings and exit the side of the boat. I’ve been to Saint Simons Island more times than I can count, but I’ve never seen it privately like this. It’s absolutely breathtaking. The sand is pure white between my toes without any dirt or debris. The sun feels majestic on my skin, its rays blinding. The palm trees are the brightest shade of green, a contrast in color I can’t wait to see on film.

Thisis the feeling that centers me.

We hit the ground running the first fifteen minutes after arriving here. The guys are shuttled to the tented changing room for wardrobe and touch-ups, which I’m not sure why since the photoshoot calls for absolutely nothing.

The team directs me to the shooting set where I’m introduced to theSports Illustrateddirector, Blair.

From what I've observed so far, Blair is an older man with a light-hearted personality. You can tell he loves his job and takes pride in the lengths to which the magazine has succeeded. Blair and his assistant, Devin, will work with the guys during the shoot, making sure they’re comfortable, adjusting the landscape setting if needed, and transferringpropswhen appropriate.

Why do they get the fun job?

Waiting on the players to take their place at the shooting site, Devin sidles up next to me, clearly looking to flirt and get chatty, but I’m not accepting the bait on the hook. I won’t be rude and unkind, but my mind is in the work zone.

“So, how long have you been working for the Strikers?”

Okay, a friendly conversation I can do.

“About three months now. The job kind of fell into my lap.”

Devin actually seems to have a lot going for him. He looks to be close to my age and obviously has a great job working forSports Illustrated. He’s pretty good-looking, too: dirty blonde hair, shaggy in the surfer kind of way, curling slightly behind his ears; blue eyes; and a tall, bronzed frame. He’s muscular with a swimmer's build.

“That’s incredible. So do you live here in Saint Simons or are you visiting for the shoot?”

Since I’m somewhat enjoying his company, I decide to engage. “I actually live in Atlanta, but my —”

“Dakota.” That voice stops me mid-sentence.

I’m not exactly sure where he’s coming from. I decide to turn towards the changing tent and collide with ocean eyes of fury. I expect to find Callaway looking at me, but instead, his eyes are piercing daggers into Devin.

His body is vibrating with palpable anger, the anger I’ve not once seen come from a man as gentle as him.

He’s jealous, and my brain is finally catching up to the gravity of it.

I love it.

Raising my voice slightly to break his trance, I call out to him, “Yes, Callaway?”

My tone is laced with humor; I’m sure he can tell I’mdoing my best to get under his skin. I caught him in a jealous moment, and I refuse to let him get away with it.

I’d never take it any further. I’m relishing that he’s so protective of me—it feels liberating.

He looks at me, contemplating his next move. Devin and I are unmoving, staring at him in expectation; Devin, without a clue thatheis, in fact, the target of Callaway’s annoyance.

Devin wants to die today.

“What’s his deal?” Devin leans in close to whisper in my ear.

Wrong move, buddy. Wrong move.

I’m not sure if I want to look at Cal. Not that I’m doing anything wrong, but he’s pissed. Most likely Devin attempting to get to know me, but he doesn’t know that, nor does he have any say in who I can and can’t converse with.

I have to admit, though, it’s strangely sweet.

Callaway’s eyes have yet to leave Devin. When I think he might do the unthinkable, he grunts so loudly the entire staff turns in the direction of his behavior.

His chest is puffed out, chin lifted, as he stands to his full height looking like the epitome of an Urban King. He’s unashamed of his brashness and ability to bring an entire production to a halt. He stands there for seconds, motionless and scowling like the caveman I seem to bring out in him. Without so much as another word, he saunters back into the tent.

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