Page 95 of The Hot Shot
Dougie sees that I’ve sent the pictures on and starts to fidget in his seat. Because I’m still holding his phone. It’s clear that he’s worried I’m going to delete them.
Chess tenses, obviously thinking the same. I could do it. Easily. It would take a tap of a button and there is no way Dougie could stop me. I have at least seven inches and about thirty pounds of muscle on him. But I’ve played the game long enough how that would go down.
I give him a thoughtful look. “Would you like a selfie with me?”
He brightens, letting out a breath. “That would be awesome.”
My cheeks fucking hurt with all this fake-ass grinning. “I see you’re wearing my team cap. Could sign that for you, too.”
Dougie loves that. “Shit, yeah.”
“Cool.” I straighten to my full height. “All I ask in return is that you delete these.”
His happy face falls.
I nod toward Chess. “See, this is our first date. I’d like my girl to keep her privacy.”
He swallows hard. “I wasn’t going to share them.”
Sure you weren’t.
“Still,” I say, “it’s hard to impress a girl when she’s worried about photos.”
Again, I hold his gaze.Come on, Dougie. Don’t make me toss this phone into the Pacific.I know one thing: I’ll try the nice route, but he isn’t getting this piece of Chess and me.
Dougie rubs his chin like cock of the walk. I lean in a bit, noting how he stiffens.
“Besides,” I say in a low, confiding voice that’s just between him and me. “I’m pretty sure the guys would appreciate that selfie more than me dancing with a girl.”
That does it. Weakly, he nods. He still wants those pics, that’s obvious. But he won’t push it. I delete them, relief rushing through me like air, then pose for new pictures with Dougie. My scrawl on his cap is quick and messy.
“Well, then,” I say, trying not to toss his hat back in his face. Be nice.Be nice.“Have a nice night, guys. Dinner’s on me.”
His girlfriend beams. “You really are so sweet. We love you, Manny.”
I wink at her. And then I’m grabbing Chess’s hand and taking us away from the couple as fast as I can. Heading toward the hostess stand, I explain that I’m leaving and give her enough money to cover our bill and Dougie’s.
The whole time, Chess stays silent, her hand in mine. She doesn’t say a word as I take her down to the beach, my stride brisk, my heart still pounding with unleashed rage and regret. Stopping only to take our shoes off, we walk away from the lights of the restaurant, the sound of laughter and music slowly giving way to the crashing of surf.
The moon hangs overhead, bright enough to illuminate the beach and shimmer off the ocean. I slow to a stop. Moonlight gleams white on the inky strands of Chess’s hair.
Her eyes are big and worried as she stares up at me. “You didn’t have to pay for that rat’s dinner.”
“He didn’t have to give me those pictures. But he did.”
“He was a creep to take them.” She scowls at the ocean. “Jesus, I know I said I wanted my camera when we watched that older couple, but I wouldn’t have actually done that. It’s an invasion of privacy.”
I sigh, letting the anger leach out of me. “He’s a fan. It’s what a lot of them do.”
Her gaze returns to me, and a small smile curves her lips. “You handled it well. I would have just smashed his phone and told him off.”
A humorless laugh huffs out of me. “Yeah, well, I was tempted. But that would have caused a shitstorm. It’s easier to manipulate the situation with kindness.”
“You’re amazing,” she says. But her expression is troubled.
I touch her cheek, tucking back a stray lock that whips in the wind. “I’m sorry about that. I wish I could say it won’t happen again, but I can’t guarantee that. Fuck, it probably will.”
Chess curls a finger into the belt hoop of my jeans. It’s a small touch, but it anchors me. Again, she watches the waves. “They’ve already taken pictures of me. Remember?”
