The Game Plan

“Oh, he leaves me quite satisfied. Quite.”

We give each other an immature fist bump and dissolve into laughter.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised,” A

“Why? Because of the athlete thing?”

“Well, partially that. I mean you’ve shrugged off every friend of Drew’s who’s hit on you.”

More than a few guys on Drew’s team have made passes whenever I hang out with him and A

“But really,” A

I have to laugh. “He’s not quiet when we’re together. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’d kill someone who was exactly like me. Imagine all the noise, noise, noise!” I fake a shudder.

A

Like that I wilt. I could tell her about my job. But that’s not what’s hurting my heart at the moment. “Because I don’t think I’m cut out for a long-distance relationship. I miss him already.” I don’t just miss him. I need him. Here. Now. “I’ve got all this fluttery anticipation and nowhere for it to go until we see each other again. Won’t it get worse the more attached I get?”

Reaching out, she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Shit, I wish I was better at this. I don’t know. I fucking hate it when Drew is gone. But what can you do? We love who we love.”

“I thought falling for someone was supposed to be awesome.”

“Ha.” A

Dex

The photographer’s studio is in New Orleans’ Warehouse District. We’ve been scheduled in small groups. I’m here with Rolondo, Fi

Aside from Ryder, none of us are particularly comfortable with the idea of modeling for the next few hours, but it’s for charity, so we’ll make due.

No one is here to greet us, which is odd. When ringing the bell fails to get a reply, Fi

“We get the time wrong?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Nope. In fact, we’re a few minutes late.”

“The photographer had better not be having some sort of artistic huff.”

Fi

“Great,” drawls Ryder. “We’ve gotta wait for a shit? That could be half an hour at least.”

Rolondo bends his head back and looks at the ceiling. “Lord, these boys keep leaving themselves wide open for a smack down. It’s almost too easy.”

Ryder smirks, then reaches past me and slams on the door as well. “Dude! Nip it off and open up!”

“Jesus,” I say, my ears ringing. “Have some class.”

He just grins.

The door whips open, ending the conversation. A tall young woman with long, straight hair a saturated shade of magenta gives us a dark scowl that takes our measure. I’m guessing we’re found lacking.

“Nip what off, do tell?” she asks, her voice so husky I wonder if she’s a smoker.

We all kind of shuffle, then Fi

“Well, I certainly didn’t think you were here for the little league group shot I have scheduled later.”

“You’re the photographer?” Fi

“Let’s not be a cliché, eh, pretty boy?”

Ryder snickers. “She’s got your number, sweet cheeks.”

Fi

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.” Fi

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 go

“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 a

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 ski

“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?” Fi

“When I fuck with someone, he knows it, Mr. Ma

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,” Fi

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 Fi

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