Page 55 of The Hot Shot
Chess had been crying last night. It fucking killed me. I wanted to go to her so badly, I’d leaned against her door, my heart in my throat, my hand pressed to the wood. The only thing that stopped me was that she had obviously waited until I left to cry. She hadn’t wanted me to witness her pain.
That hurt, too. I want her trust. I want to take care of her. Badly.
An oddity I don’t fully understand, because I have never taken care of anyone but myself. Never wanted to until now.
Yet it felt good last night, knowing that I was providing her with safe harbor, seeing to her comfort. Which brings me backto feeling like a bit of a bastard. She’s hurting and I don’t know how to make it better.
I’d have made her breakfast, but it’s going on eleven and she’s still not up. I grunt again, picking up the pace. A strangled squeak has me pausing.
Chess stands in the living room, gaping at me. “Holy hell.” Her gaze slides over my bare torso like greedy hands. “Is this one of the perks offered at the House of Mannus?”
With a little more flare than necessary, I leap up from my plank position and land lightly on my feet. “Daily viewing times are at ten to eleven, barring travel blackout dates.”
“Excellent. I’ll set an alarm from now on.” She grins, and I feel a little dizzy. When Chess smiles, she lights up—even as she is now, hair tangled around her shoulders, eyes bruised by lack of sleep and crying. To make her smile feels like a reward.
I set my hands on my hips, not bothering to towel off. “You’ve seen me naked and didn’t bat an eye, but watching me do push-ups is a treat?”
“I was working. It would have been unprofessional to ogle the client.” Her gaze touches on my chest, and I swear I feel it. “Now? I might just make some popcorn and settle in. You have popcorn, right?”
“Sorry, I hate popcorn, but feel free to watch me anytime.”
“How can you not like popcorn?” Chess shakes her head as she folds her long limbs onto the couch. She’s in black leggings and a T-shirt with my name and jersey number on it. Not her usual attire, and I know Charlie bought the shirt, but damn if it doesn’t give me a possessive thrill to see her wearing my name.
“Gets in between my teeth. Drives me nuts.” I grab a glass of iced water from the kitchen counter and take a drink. “But I’ll stock some for you.”
Chess looks around, taking in the living room, small den area, and finally the kitchen with its black cabinets, brass fixtures, and concrete countertop. “You had someone decorate this place, didn’t you?”
“Realtor recommended a decorator friend of hers.”Ah, Jessica and Janet. Nice women.
Chess narrows her eyes, and I suddenly feel caught out. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”
How the hell?
Show no weakness. I give her an easy smile. “The Realtor or the designer?”
“Oh, God, both of them?”
Jesus, is she a mind reader?“Not at the same time.”
She scoffs like I’ve chumped her Cheerios. “For fuck’s sake.”
“I mean, I might have been down with that, if they’d asked,” I tease because it’s fun to get her riled.
But she looks more horrified than amused. “They were friends. You don’t think screwing each of them would cause problems?”
I’m beginning to feel like a worm just waiting to be hooked and cast in a lake. “I didn’t ask.”
“Because you never saw them again?” It isn’t really a question, though.
Condemnation is written all over her face.
I head into the kitchen and take out a packet of chicken breasts I’m going to cook. “You aren’t going to get all righteous on me about sex, are you, Chester?”
She rolls her eyes and follows. “Don’t worry, I’m not clutching my pearls. I’m just reminding myself why I’m glad we didn’t hook up.”
The chicken package lands on the counter with a slap as her words punch through me. It’s surprisingly painful knowing that she thinks I’m a bad bet. And yet... “So you have to remind yourself, eh?”
A pretty pink flush colors her cheeks. “I’m here at your house. You’re you. Can you blame me for being guarded?”
