Page 17 of The Hot Shot
Finn presses his big hand to his chest, now sadly covered in a white T-shirt. “You wound me, Chester Copper.”
Shaking my head, I incline my head toward his. “The fact that you keep calling me Chester might have something to do with it, Finnegan Mannus.”
“Actually, it’s Finnegan Asshat Mannus.”
“So, I was right.”
“You’re the only one who’s figured it out.”
I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten to each other, that we were nearly nose to nose, him bent over me, his hand resting on the back of my chair. A loud laugh bursts the little bubble we’ve created for ourselves, and a man slaps a hand on Finn’s big shoulder.
Finn’s expression tightens for a second before he turns his head to look back at whoever grabbed him.
“Manny!” the guy yells in glee. “I can’t fucking believe it.”
“Believe!” I cry, waving my hands in the air.
Finn nudges my side with his elbow. “Cute.”
I blink innocently, but don’t miss the way he keeps his arm pressed against mine, as if we’re together. His skin is warm and firm and has my body’s complete attention.
Which is wrong; I’m on a date with... fuck, not again.Edward? Ethan? “Evan,” I mutter, pulling Finn’s attention back to me.
“No, it’s Finn,” he says, smug as hell.
He’s so tall, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “I’m on a date with Evan.”
He lifts a brow, glancing at my date, who is gesturing wildly as he talks to Jake about football stats. “Looks like it’s going well.”
“Well, maybe if someone hadn’t interrupted it...”
“You would have fallen asleep on your stool?” he offers lightly.
I exaggerate taking a sip of my vodka, turning my back on him even as he chuckles low and close to me. The sound sinks into my skin, an unwelcome prickle that makes everything shiver.
But then he’s crowded by more fans, getting more slaps on the shoulder. The loss of his attention is like being pulled out from under hot stage lights. It’s cold and dark where he isn’t.
I snort into my glass and keep drinking. I’m losing it around this guy. It must be his fame I’m reacting to. That’s all. It’s normal.Normal.
Except none of the other football players I photographed today did anything for me.
And none of them sent giddy anticipation fluttering through my middle.
Manly, deep laughter rumbles around me, and then I hear it: the softly feminine lilt of a bunch of women on the prowl. Stiffening, I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, four women have found their way to Finn and Jake.
These women aren’t wide-eyed with fame. Oh, they’ve clearly recognized the football players, but they aren’t fazed. No, they’re sizing Finn and Jake up, looking for a good in.
Hell, I’ve been part of such groups, heady college days when we’d go out in search of cute guys. It was thrilling back then, the excitement of hooking up, maybe finding someone who I’d actually want to stick around afterward. Now the thought of searching makes me tired.
Pushing my drink away, I lean past Finn’s wide shoulders and tap Evan on the arm.
He’s so caught up in fawning over his idols that it takes a couple of taps before he notices.
“I’m going to call it a night,” I tell him.
Relief washes over his face, though he does try to hide it. “You want me to take you home?”
“No,” I insist, wanting to escape and fast. “I’m good. You have fun.”
