Page 10 of The Hot Shot
I glance toward the kitchen and then incline my head as ifI’m confessing a secret. “It’s just, I have a headache.” Which is true; it’s been building all day and is finally here to fuck with me. “Playing some low, easy music helps to drown out all the background noise.”
Also true. But it will hopefully relax Finn as well. I select a slow song by Lana Del Ray.
The hard set of those broad shoulders eases a touch, and he nods shortly. “Half my life is fighting headaches. You have my full sympathy.”
Looking at Mannus, it’s easy to forget that he’s more than a pretty face, that he uses his body as a tool, battering and stretching it to the limit for a living. I wouldn’t be able to handle that kind of pain. But he does. They all do. It’s that strength and vulnerability that I want to capture.
He turns more my way. “Is it bad? I have some ibuprofen in my bag.”
Of course he does. I don’t know how to deal with nice Finn. But I try. “I took something before you came in. But, thanks.”
He nods again, still uneasy, but focused on me, at least. “Should we reschedule?”
So hopeful.
It’s like kicking a puppy to have to say no. “I think it would be best for both of us if we just get through this, don’t you?”
His blue gaze darts over my face, every muscle in his body going so tense, they stand out in perfect, glorious relief. Then he sighs, and his hard stance sags in defeat. “Yeah. It would.”
But he doesn’t move.
“You can keep the towel on,” I say in the awkward silence. “We can do a torso shot.”
That gets his attention. His brows snap together, and I’m treated to a focus that is laser-sharp. This guy, I can imagine him leading a team down field. This guy is intimidating without even trying.
“It isn’t that,” he says, deeper now. More in charge.
“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but—”
“I hate photoshoots,” he cuts in, color flooding the high crests of his cheeks. “All right? I don’t know why. I just do. I know it’s a part of my job, but it never gets easier. There’s something about them that makes me feel...” His shoulders lift in a helpless gesture.
His gaze is defiant, as if daring me to tease. Okay, I guess I earned that. I haven’t hidden my disdain very well. But that’s not what I’m feeling now.
“I hate having my picture taken, too,” I tell him truthfully.
He quirks a brow at me, and I lift my camera with a faint smile. “Why do you think I’m on the other side of this thing?”
“Wanna trade places?” he asks with a little brow waggle.
I am not going to find that cute. No way. I have to focus. “I’m fairly sure no one is going to mistake me for you.”
A slow smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and those pretty eyes warm. “Absolutely no possibility of that, Chester.”
There’s the flirt I knew was lurking below the surface. My stomach flutters, and I kind of want to kick myself.
He runs his hand over his face so hard that I hear the scratch of his palm over his stubble. “Fuck it. Let’s do this.”
“Excellent. Do you want to wait for James to get back? Or start now?” I’m guessing the latter. And he doesn’t disappoint.
“No, I’m good.” He clears his throat. Almost as if he’s moving in slow motion, his hand goes to the knot of the towel and tugs.
Even though I’ve put on music, I swear it’s so silent that I can hear the towel slither to the floor.
Jesus.
Like that, my heart pounds against my tight ribs, and I want to sit down, find my breath, because it has fled. Heat swirls between my legs and down the backs of my thighs.
Professional. You are a pro-freaking-fessional.
