Page 4 of The Hot Shot
I have no idea why I’m even noticing. Her appearance has no bearing on how she’ll do her job. At my side, Jake stirs, his brows pulling together. “Chester Copper... That’s kind of like Chester Copperpot fromThe Goonies,” Jake adds, looking around at all of us. “Remember that movie?”
Our photographer utters a ripe curse that has me fighting a grin.
“Yeah, that’s a cool flick,” Rolondo says to Jake. “Little dude who played the lead grew up and played Samwise Gamgee. Man, talk about a sad sap. As if I’m gonna toss myself into the fires of Mount Doom ’cause I gotta boner for a hobbit.”
Dex, who has remained silent until now, shakes his head with clear disgust. “He was on a quest to help Frodo save Middle-earth from Sauron, chucklehead.”
“Naw,” Rolondo insists. “He wanted Frodo bad.”
My grin grows. Get these guys talking about movies and they’ll go off on a never-ending tangent. Something Jake knows as well. He makes a noise of impatience. “Hello? Can we please get back toThe Gooniesand Chester Copperpot? You know, that old dude they find all shriveled and crushed by a boulder?”
Chess flushes pink. “Yes, I know,” she grinds out. “My parents met at a draft house viewing of the movie. They expecteda boy, and since my grandma had already embroidered all my baby blankets...” She shrugs as if bored, but I don’t miss the tension in those slim shoulders. She’s pissed.
“And they actually named you after aGooniescharacter?” Dex asks, horrified.
“Yes.” Her voice is tight and pained.
I’m torn between kind of loving her parents and thinking they’re nuts. On the one hand, big points for originality. On the other, who does that to a girl?
Rolondo murmurs something about crazy white people under his breath, clearly not low enough because Ms. Chester abruptly turns and strides into the studio with those long legs of hers.
After exchanging looks, we follow.
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 area with 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 a good couch, but I do. Our homes are our havens—God knows we’re barely ever there—so we should have a place we enjoy.
Chess stops by a big pedestal table that 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. The back of my neck begins to tingle the way it does when I’m about to get sacked.
A slim guy with a bushy red beard hustles out of 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. “Or I was. Chess was just keeping me company.”
Jake frowns in obvious confusion, as if he’s not sure if he’s being checked out.
“They don’t need a play-by-play excuse, James.” Chess doesn’t glance our way as she inspects the props. “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.
