The Hot Shot by Kristen Callihan

Author:Kristen Callihan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Plain Jane
Published: 2017-04-15T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Chess

* * *

Finn is waiting to catch me. The thought haunts me more than I want to admit. It runs through my head in the weeks that lead up to our trip to California. It looms large when James finally comes home and slyly offers to let me stay with him, both of us knowing full well that I’m not going anywhere.

I like living with Finn. And though I want my condo back desperately, living anywhere else doesn’t appeal.

Actual Thanksgiving rolls around. James and I spend it with Finn and his friends. Finn’s team plays that day, but he gets us tickets, which nearly makes James cry. Wrapped up in team scarves and woolen caps, James and I sit at the fifty yard line and scream ourselves hoarse.

At one point, Finn taps his fist to his chest and salutes in our direction. Which causes the crowd around us to go wild and speculate why he’d singled out our section; James, however, wraps his arm around my neck and gives me a happy noogie.

“Who’s caught the quarterback?” he sing-songs.

I do a very bad job of pretending to be annoyed. And don’t even try to hide my joy when Finn and his team wins the game.

Dinner is catered and better than any Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever had. Since Finn’s dining room is an unfurnished space he uses for exercise, James, Jake, a lineman named Russell, Finn and I crowd around his coffee table, sitting on the floor, to eat.

Shoulder to shoulder, Finn and I laugh and eat and trade jokes. He is a warm presence at my side the whole time. But, true to his word, he doesn’t try anything. And his promise keeps spinning in my head. I’m going to be there to catch you when you fall.

Now we are in San Diego where the sun shines lemon yellow and the sea air is a warm kiss on my cheeks.

Finn has rented a lime green convertible jeep and put the top down.

“This feels very nineteen eighties,” I say over the noise of the wind.

His teeth flash white within the tan of his face, sunlight in his hair. Jeep could sell dozens of these vehicles just by using a picture of him driving. “Too much?” Finn asks me.

It is; my hair whips around me like a lash, even though I started out with it in a secure ponytail. But it’s also fun. After hours of being stuck in a stuffy plane, the open sky and fresh air acts like a balm. “It’s perfect,” I yell back.

He laughs and then guns the jeep up the curving road hugging the coast. The scenery is stunning, with massive homes carved into the coastline, their endless glass windows glinting in the afternoon light, and the Pacific stretching west like a dazzling sapphire and gold studded canvas.

Finn pulls up to a gated drive and punches in a number.

“I had these installed after I was drafted,” he tells me, somewhat grim. “Dad didn’t like the idea, but I liked the idea of some crazed fan trolling around even less.

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