Finn catches it midair, pops it into his mouth, and munches away without remorse. “Hey, Chess?”
He steals another fry off my plate.
“Yes, thief?”
“We’re hanging out again.”
The urge to giggle like a smitten schoolgirl is so strong, I have to bite my lip. What the hell? I’m a badass woman. A rock in the face of hot quarterbacks with cheeky smiles.
And yet here I am, flushing with happy pleasure and grinning wide. “Yeah, we are.”
Lord help me, I’m in trouble.
* * *
“These shots are gorgeous, Chess.”
“Thanks. I’m happy with how they’re turning out.” I’m on the phone with Dani, the graphic artist who is laying out the charity calendar, and Meghan, who is in charge of publicity for Finn’s team.
Currently, we’re going through a set of photos that include Ethan Dexter, Rolondo Smith, Jake Ryder, and Finn. My first shoot, and the group of men who Meghan seems to be most interested in featuring.
“These guys are gorgeous,” she says now with little, breathless laugh. “We really should have a shot featuring Manny flanked by his offensive line.”
I stare at the image on the massive screen I use when editing photos. Finn stares back at me. It’s a fairly tight shot, from the waist up. He’s caught in a laugh, his smile self-deprecating and wry. There’s a light in his eyes, a charisma and confidence, that draws you in, makes you want to get closer just to bask in his perpetual energy.
It’s been days since I’ve seen him. Enough time that I’ve almost convinced myself our lunch by the lake had been a one off. A nice memory for me to pull out every once in a while and think about fondly. Except he keeps sending me texts at random times—quick inquiries about my day or cute anecdotes about his.
I’ve come to live for those texts, each one of them sending small zings of happiness through me. Looking at his smiling face now, I find myself missing him. Which is ridiculous. I barely know Finn Mannus.
I want to know you.
My fingers curl into a fist so I won’t touch the screen. What had Meghan been saying? Finn and his linemen. Right. “We can schedule a group photo session if you like. Might make for a nice cover.”
“I was thinking of having the option to choose your favorite player for the cover,” Dani says.
While Megan and Dani go over the costs involved for having various options, I tap my trackpad and move on to a shot of Ethan Dexter, so I don’t have to keep staring at Finn’s smiling face.
The image of Dex is a good one. Set against a red background, he’s crouched down, fingertips braced on the floor, as if he’s about to rise up and sprint. Every muscle on his big, impressive frame tensed and corded.
It’s enough to stop the conversation between Meghan and Dani.
“Look at those tats,” Dani says with appreciation. “They really pop here. I love that you went for color instead of black and white with these, Chess.”
I study Dex with detached focus, looking for flaws in the overall image. “Seemed the right choice. Black and white softens things too much. These guys should be shown in living color, bruises and all.”
“He’d make a good Mr. December with all that red,” Meghan puts in.
“I thought so too,” I say.
“We want to send a couple of shots to the press,” Meghan goes on. “Whet the public’s appetite and drum up some excitement.”
“The Dex shot would definitely work.”
“Agreed. Love the quiet intensity of him. What else to do you have?”
I click again, and a collective sigh runs over the phone line. As for me, it’s as if a wave of heat has slapped into me. Because it’s the shot: Finn, his hard, golden body stretched out in a plank position, his expression serene yet intense, almost as if he’s on the verge of coming.
I swallow with difficulty, trying to pulling in a breath.
“Wow,” Meghan says. “If this got out, I think we’d have a riot on our hands.”
“Yeah.” Dani sounds queer, as if she’s struggling to maintain a steady voice. “Given that he’s all…” She clears her throat.
When I’d taken the shot of Finn, I’d been transfixed by his face, the expression on it. But Dani’s comment has my attention sliding down. Violent heat suffuses my cheeks. The photo is unedited; I haven’t had time to crop out certain things. It doesn’t take a genius to know Dani is staring at Finn’s cock, hanging low, the wide tip just touching the floor.
“Ah…” Meghan, huffs out a sound. “Is he… Um?”
The heat in me churns, pushing at my skin and clogging my throat. Finn’s cock isn’t hanging limp but is at half-mast, thick and curving a bit as if it’s about to get a whole lot thicker. God, I hadn’t even noticed at the time. And now? I am painfully aware that two other women are looking at it; violating Finn’s privacy.
“He’s getting there,” Dani whispers.
The heat in me boils over into something vengeful and dark that feels like possession but is stronger. It crashes over me, followed by a wave of recrimination and shame. I put this picture up without checking. I let them see this. Instantly, I shift the image toward his torso, zooming in on it so that his lower half is out of view.
Somehow, I find my voice, but it sounds halting to my ears. “It happens sometimes when the guys don’t have clothes on.” I don’t know if I’m defending Finn or myself. Neither of us has any reason to be ashamed, but I don’t want these women assuming the worst. I push on before they can answer, as if the subject of Finn and his dick is nothing more than a blip. “We’d do something more like this.”
“Too bad,” Dani murmurs, but then says in a stronger, more professional tone, “I think we should at least bring it down to his hips. Although I’m happy to Photoshop it, if you want to go lower, Meghan.”
No fucking way. You don’t get him.
“I edit my own work,” I say, tightly. “You can crop the picture however you think best after that.”