The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(45)

Her lips pinch. “I go by Chess. I’ve no idea how your PR manager got my full name.”

“Probably because they do background checks to weed out the freaks.” Finn’s dubious expression clearly states that PR failed in this case.

Chess gives a bored roll of her eyes.

“Chester Copper… That’s kind of like Chester Copperpot from The Goonies,” Ryder adds helpfully. “Remember that movie?”

Our photographer utters a ripe curse.

“Yeah, that’s a cool flick.” says Rolondo to Ryder. “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 cuz I gotta boner for a hobbit.”

“He was on a quest to save Middle-Earth from Sauron, chucklehead,” I tell him.

“Naw, he wanted Frodo bad.”

Ryder makes a noise of annoyance. “Hello? Can we please get back to The Goonies and Chester Copperpot? You know, that old dude they find all shriveled and crushed by a boulder?”

Chess goes full-on red. “Yes, I know,” she grinds out. “My parents met at a draft house viewing of the movie. They expected a boy, and since my grandmama had already embroidered all my baby blankets…” She shrugs as if to say, what can you do?

“And they actually named you after a Goonies character?” I ask, kind of horrified. It’s worse than Gray’s mom naming him after a John Grisham character.

“Yes.” Her voice is tight, and none of us says a word, though I hear Rolondo murmur something about crazy white people under his breath.

With that she turns and walks briskly into the studio. After exchanging looks, we follow. Lights are set up around a large canvas. To the side, a long table holds football equipment: pads, footballs, our team helmets, even some shin guards and tape.

A slim guy wearing a fedora and a lime green skinny-pants suit straight out of the 1960s appears. Like me, he has a beard, though his is red and scraggly.

“I’m James,” he tells us. “Chess’s assistant. Sorry about the delay. We were on the balcony having a smoke.” He grins, giving Ryder a onceover. That makes Ry shift his feet and frown in confusion. “Or I was. Chess was just keeping me company.”

Chess goes to a table and picks up a large camera. “They don’t need a play-by-play excuse, James.” She doesn’t glance our way as she adjusts her equipment. “Changing room is to the left. Strip down, and James will get you oiled up.”

She might as well have dropped a stink bomb in the center of the room. I swear we all take a step back, our faces twisting with various levels of shock.

“Oiled up?” Finn sounds like he’s sucked a lemon through his teeth. “You f*cking with us?”

“When I f*ck with someone, he knows it, Mr. Mannus.”

Ryder laughs. “I love this chick.”

“I am not a chick, Mr. Ryder. I am a woman.”

Rolondo makes a faint, mock crowd-roar, and I elbow his side.

“Let me guess,” Finn drawls. “You’re obsessed with finally finding One-Eyed Willie.”

Ryder chokes on a smothered laugh, and I have to run my hand over my beard to hold in mine.

“Man,” Rolondo mutters. “You’ve gone and done it now.”

Chess has the stare of death. Like, scary fierce. I’m pretty sure her closet is full of the skeletons of other smart-mouthed ball players who dared to cross her path. It’s so bad we all stand there like recalcitrant boys who’ve been hauled up before the principal.

But my lips are twitching. I know in about ten minutes we’re going to be bare, and Finn is going to hate every second of it. I itch to take out my phone and text Fi. My smile dies a swift death at the thought of her. Fi didn’t sound right. She was hurting, and damn if I know why. The distance between us is like a cold hand gripping my spine. I don’t like the feeling, or the fact that she didn’t tell me the truth.

But I’m going to find out. The sooner I’m stripped and “oiled” the faster I can. I take a deep breath and step forward. “I’ll go first.”





Chapter Twenty-One





Fiona



It is a universal truth that women like to talk their problems out. Unfortunately, all the talk in the world won’t make a problem go away. Mine is waiting for me like a looming black cloud as soon as I get into work and see that Elena has moved to her own office at the end of the hall.

She waves, grinning broadly, as I walk past. I briefly wonder how a finger-wave back would go over but don’t bother. Instead she gets a chin nod as if I’m channeling a bad biker cliché. It feels stupid and ineffectual, and I’m in a piss-poor mood by the time I get to my desk and find that Felix’s to-do list includes ordering fabrics that I picked out but are now considered Elena’s design contribution.

She comes to my desk just as I’m turning on my computer. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me. Felix just called me into his office this morning. He gave me the associate designer job.” She squeezes my hand. “I hope we can still be friends. I’ve really enjoyed bouncing ideas off each other.”

God, she says it so sincerely. And what can I do? I’m pretty sure punching her in the face won’t help the situation. Though it might feel really f*cking good.