“Shut up. You know I would. And do you really think I don’t know it was you who put this idea in his head?”
I can almost hear him smile. “So you’ll do it? The project starts in two weeks. They need to know as soon as possible. It should run for about a month, maybe two, depending on scheduling.”
“Where would I live?” I pace again, touching the edge of my dress then walking to the other side of the closet to brush a hand over the sleeves of Finn’s suits.
“With the money they’re paying, you could rent a place. But Michael has offered the use of his loft.”
“Michael is being generous as fuck.”
“Oh, please, Chessie. You know he’s always had a thing for you. I’m not at all surprised he asked about you.”
Halting, I stare at the wall of sneakers that is Finn’s secret pride and glory. “He’s not expecting… You told him about Finn, right?”
Finn. What will he say? I press a hand to my hot cheek and find my fingers cold.
“Yes, I told him,” James says, exasperated. “And don’t insult yourself. This is about your talent and people recognizing it.”
I’ve trained myself not to put too much hope into a good thing. Plans change, promises fall through the cracks. You stand on the curb enough times waiting for parents who forgot about yet another school function and it’s inevitable.
But I don’t want to be ruled by my childhood. So I let myself get excited. “I’m interested. Of course I am.”
“I’m so fucking excited,” James bursts out.
I grin wide, wanting to jump around. But then I catch sight of Finn’s shoes again. My smile dies down. “Don’t say anything yet,” I tell James. “I have talk…”
“To Finn,” James agrees, as expecting nothing less, as if we’re already a package deal.
We are. I’m living with the man. I flex my cold fingers, shaking them to get warm. “But I’ll let you know soon.”
Hanging up, I walk over to my dress. Happiness is a strange thing. One second, it surrounds you and you’re swimming it in, gladly willing to let it consume you. Next second, thoughts roll in and it takes effort to hold onto your happy.
Finn is my happy. But he can’t be the only source. I’ll drown that way.
* * *
Finn
* * *
Chess has cast me out of the bathroom—out of the bedroom, really. It has been declared “woman’s domain” as she gets ready for tonight. I like that she’s claimed her space and ordered me out of it, because it means she feels at home.
And even though I’m stuck in a tux, my neck held too close by a stiff, white collar, I’m happy to wait on the couch and flip through TV channels. Every so often, I hear sounds, the hum of the shower, the high-pitched whine of her hairdryer, and part of me really wants to peek.
I won’t. Anticipation is better.
Tonight, we’re attending a gala hosted by the Whett Foundation, the charity behind our calendar. Despite the fact that a bunch of football players are attending, the invite had been clear: it is a black tie event.
There had been much grumbling among my teammates. Personally, putting on a tux isn’t any different then donning a suit for game day, so I’m not going to complain.
Down the hall, the bedroom door opens with a definitive snick, followed by the click of high heels. I get to my feet and make my way toward Chess.
I’m quicker than she is, and we find each other at the end of the hall.
The first sight of her makes me light-headed, the floor beneath me unsteady. “Wow,” I say with a breath. “You look… You’re fucking stunning, Chester.”
Her cheeks pink, as she looks down as if to inspect herself for flaws. “I’ve never been to a black tie gala. I hope this is all right.”
“It’s perfect.” I take a step closer, her perfume and warmth hitting my system like a drug. She staggers me. “You’re perfect.”
Her dress is floor length with thin straps holding it up. It skims over her like milk, the fabric white and black pattern lace that, when she moves, reveals tantalizing glimpses of skin beneath.
“Please tell me you’re wearing something under that,” I beg her. “I don’t think I’ll be able to function if I catch a flash of nipple.”
She laughs. “It’s lined. No nipple peeks for you.”
“I’m almost sorry about that.” Reaching for her, I slip my hand around her waist, but halt when I find smooth, bare skin. “Oh, now what do we have here?”
“That would be my back,” she says with a straight face.
I haul her closer, my hand gliding up and down. “Your entire back.” Glancing over her shoulder, I confirm it with a groan. The devious dress rests just above the rise of her peachy ass. “Jesus, Chester. You’re going to kill me.”
A small smile plays on her pink lips as she fiddles with the lapels of my jacket. “I’m pretty sure you’ll want to live, if only to take this off me later.” She straightens my bowtie, and her green eyes meet mine. “God, you’re gorgeous. It’s like I forget the impact of you, and then ‘wham’ weak knees and fluttering heart.”
The way she just out and says it, her gaze sliding over me as if I’m hot fudge on a cold day, I get weak-kneed myself. My free hand cups her cheek, the silk of her hair sliding over my fingers. Without a word, I seek her mouth.
Her lips are a study of contradictions: soft yet firm, yielding then greedy. She sighs inside a kiss, small sounds of pleasure and want. It sends a fierce surge of lust through me. I take her mouth, own it, plunge in deep, feeding her my tongue with urgent strokes as if she’s starving for it. And yet she’s the one who owns me. I’m the one starving.
“I love kissing you,” I say against her lips, never stopping, but taking more and more. Begging for it in return. Chess grips my lapels, holding on, bringing me closer.
My hand slides further along the curve of her back, down under the edge of her dress. A pained groan rips from me. More satin skin. “Fuck no,” I plead, sucking her lower lip. “You’re bare?”