Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
“I wanted to see you,” she confesses in that husky morning voice that goes straight to my cock. She turns away and stares out into the darkness. “It’s weird, you know? But hanging out with you was so unexpected it kind of felt like I imagined the whole thing.”
I know exactly what she means. My hand settles next to hers, close enough that our pinkies touch. That small point of contact sparks along my skin, makes me want to move closer. I hold steady because I don’t trust myself not to act.
“I wanted to see you, too,” I tell her. “It’s been a long, fucking day.” I hadn’t planned to admit that, but it feels good to confide in her.
Chess eases back against the seat and then curls her fingers over mine with a light squeeze. The unexpected touch holds all my attention. It’s nothing more than a simple offer of comfort, and here I am twitching in my seat as if she’d cupped my dick instead. I’m in so much trouble here because this woman is getting to me in ways I don’t know how to navigate. But I don’t pull away. Not one fucking chance of that.
Chess speaks, pulling my attention back to our conversation. “So tell me about it.”
I can’t remember the last time anyone asked me to tell them about my day. Likely, no one ever has.
So I do. And with every word that leaves my mouth, a little bit more of my stress eases. No, I don’t yet truly know Chess. Yes, our lives are different, but there’s no way I’m ending this. Because when it’s just her and me, everything else falls away. I’m not going to let myself forget that again.
Seven
Chess
When people say they’re busy, they usually mean they have a lot of work that piles up while they spend a few hours watching TV and lamenting how busy they are.
Hell, I’ve been there, done that, have the couch divot.
When Finn says he’s busy, he means it. Workouts, team meetings, practices, games, press conferences, television tapings, sponsor obligations, charity meetings and visits . . . I can’t keep up.
I hear from him in random spurts. Texts between his travels from one obligation to the next. Phone calls when he finally gets home, his voice soft with exhaustion.
Sometimes, I have to order him to get off the phone and go to bed because I can practically feel him fading.
I’d rather fall asleep talking to you, he always responds.
I won’t pretend that it doesn’t make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Days pass into weeks. Before I know it, Finn has become a fixture in my life.
One rare free Saturday afternoon, he takes me to the aquarium. “I’ve never been here before,” I tell him as he collects our tickets.
“Let me guess,” he says. “You haven’t been to the zoo, either.”
“I haven’t been to a zoo since grade school.”
“Where you from, Chess? You’ve never said.”
“Neither have you.”
“La Jolla, California,” Finn says with pride.
“Wow. Surfer boy, eh?”
“How do you think I developed my awe-inspiring balance and sense of timing?”
“That ego of yours inspires something, but I believe it’s heartburn.”
He slings an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “We’ll get you an antacid inside. Now, tell me where you grew up.”
“Brooklyn, New York.”
“No shit?”
“Yep, but my dad is from here. He bought my loft as an investment property, but gave it to me after I graduated.” It is the one big surprise from my parents that I found myself extremely grateful for. Usually their gifts were well-meaning, but involved some sort of drama that I’d need to clean up. “I took out some equity on the loft to pay for my camera and equipment, which really helped as well.”
“Your parents still in New York?” Finn asks.
“No. I think they’re in Oregon right now. Or Idaho. I can’t remember. They sold their town house and bought one of those tiny houses that you can tow all over the place.”
A startled laugh escapes him. “Really? You ever watch that show with the tiny house buyers?”
Cringing, I can’t meet his eyes. “Mom and Dad are on an episode.”
“Holy shit. Which one?”
“Nope. Not telling.”
“I’ll just do a search on their last name,” he warns.
“Damn it.”
Snickering, he gives my shoulder another squeeze before he looks me over. “So, Brooklyn, I’m guessing you know how to handle yourself in a rowdy crowd.”
There’s something in his tone that has my steps slowing as we reach the main aquarium lobby. “What are you up to, Mannus?”
He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing much. Just that you’ll have a couple of chaperones on this outing.”
By a couple, he means thirty. Ranging from the ages of six to thirteen, the crowd of schoolchildren gives a big cheer and cries, “Manny!” when we round the corner.