The loft takes up half the floor of the building. It’s an enormous space of exposed old brick, well-worn plank floors, and industrial black grid windows. There’s a living space with massive brown leather couches and one of those coffee tables that are made out of a gnarly tree trunk. An old, farm dining table is set opposite a gourmet kitchen.
It reminds me of my place, and I have an odd sense of homecoming. Some of the guys don’t care about their spots as long as there’s a massive TV and good couch to recline in. But I do. Our homes are our havens, and God knows we’re barely ever there, so we should have a place to enjoy.
Chess stops by a big pedestal table near a wall of bookcases, stuffed with books, knickknacks, and old cameras. The table holds football equipment: pads, footballs, our team helmets, even some shin guards and tape.
I guess we’re doing dress up, only I don’t see any uniforms. My insides lurch, as the back of my neck begins to tingle the way it doesn’t when I’m about to get sacked.
A slim guy with a bushy read beard hustles out from the bathroom. He’s wearing a yellow fedora and a lime green skinny-pants suit with brown pinstripes. Nothing out of place for NOLA. In an odd way, it makes me relax a bit.
“I’m James. Chess’s assistant. Sorry about the delay. We were on the balcony having a smoke.” He grins, and his gaze slides over Jake nice and slow. And Jake frowns in obvious confusion, as if he’s not sure if he’s being checked out. “Or I was. Chess was just keeping me company.”
Chess picks up a large camera. “They don’t need a play-by-play excuse, James.” She doesn’t glance our way as she checks her equipment. “Changing room is to the left. Strip down, and James will get you oiled up.”
All the air sucks out of the room, and I hear a distinctive pop in my ears. My guys stiffen as well, their eyes going wide with obvious shock.
“Oiled up?” I can barely get the words out from between my clenched teeth. This is just fucking peachy. PR failed to mention anything about stripping. “You fucking with us?”
Her expression is bland as ever. “When I fuck with someone, he knows it, Mr. Mannus.”
Oh, I bet they do. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s left claw marks on some poor chump’s balls. My own balls tighten in sympathy.
Jake, who has never been one for self-preservation, laughs. “I love this chick.”
Green eyes flash beneath severe brows of justice. “I am not a chick, Mr. Ryder. I am a woman.”
Rolondo makes a faint, mock crowd-roar, and Dex elbows his side to shut him up.
“With a job to do,” she adds with such disdain that I can’t keep quiet.
“Let me guess,” I drawl. “You’re obsessed with finally finding One-Eyed Willie.”
Jake chokes on a smothered laugh, and Dex runs a hand over his beard, clearly hiding a smile.
“Man,” Rolondo mutters. “You’ve gone and done it now.”
I’m pretty sure I have. A hint of warning trickles down my spine, but I’m too irritated to heed it. We’ve been played and now we’re expected to strip like good little boys? I don’t think so.
Chess slowly walks my way. I’ve had offensive coaches stare me down with less intensity. But they’ve never made my heart rate speed up. It’s unnerving, but damn if I’m going to let it show. I set my hands low on my hips and wait for the inevitable explosion.
She stops in front of me, close enough that I catch a faint whiff of sunshine and earth, as if she’s been sitting in a garden, soaking up the light. Our gazes lock. I expect her to rip into me, and maybe she’s going to—her lips part as if she’s taking a breath. But she doesn’t speak. She just stands there, looking up at me as if frozen in place.
A weird shift pushes through the room. I don’t know what the fuck is happening. My focus narrows down to just her, nothing else. The warmth of her body radiates outward and buffets mine. And it’s as if she’s easing a hot hand down my abs. The sensation is so intense, my balls lift and my dick grows weighty and full.
What the actual fuck?
I can’t move. All my brainpower has gone south to take orders from my rising dick. And said dick is insisting that we get closer. He wants a formal introduction.
No, no, no. Not happening.
I pull in a deep breath, and my brain gets further scrambled by her scent. I’m in serious trouble here.
I’m almost grateful when she finally speaks, but her bedroom voice doesn’t help matters much. “Let’s be clear, Mr. Mannus. You’re in my house now. We have a job to do. I’ll do my part, and you do yours.” Her dark eyes search mine. “Make all the dick jokes you want. They won’t save you.”
No, I suspect they won’t. Like an inevitable collision with a charging linebacker, I suspect Ms. Chess Copper is going to take me down and make me feel it. Bitch of it is, I’m not sure if I hate the idea or kind of like it.
Chapter Two
Chess
* * *
Work flows as it always does. I cajole the shy, quiet big guy, Dex into relaxing. I manage the flirty one, Jake until he settles down. And the showboat Rolondo, I simply shoot as much as I can while he poses as much as he can. It’s fun, all of it.
Maeve, my part-time assistant, shows up and helps me with lighting while James gets each guy ready. And, yes, he is a stammering, blushing mess the whole time. The guys take it in stride. It’s clear they’re used to walking around naked, and they view their bodies as machines, for the most part. Disrobing doesn’t seem to bother them in the least.
Dicks, however remain a sensitive issue. Surprisingly, the flirt, Jake Ryder is particularly worried.
“Shit,” he mutters as he drops his robe and a fine blush tints his cheeks. “What if I get wood? I mean, I’m not turned on or anything. Not, that you aren’t really cute…Shit. I didn’t mean that.” He shuffles his feet, his hands moving to cover his penis before they jerk away as if he doesn’t want to hide either. “I’m just saying, I’m naked and you’re going to be looking. That usually tends to make him stand at attention.”