Since I really don’t like the direction my thoughts are taking, I move on to simpler topics, such as college football and who will likely be a real pro contender once drafted. Jake and I eat our food and drink our beers. Every so often, fans come up and ask us for an autograph or thank us for a good game. This is my life. It’s fucking fantastic.

I tell myself this as we leave the restaurant and walk down Iberville Street. I could have bought a house somewhere Uptown. But it’s just me, and who the hell wants to rattle around in a big mansion on their own? So I bought a condo just at the edge of the Quarter.

“Man.” Jake nudges me on the side. “Never say I don’t support you. Look over there.” He points to a restaurant across the street. Sitting at the bar, her long purple hair glinting in low light, is Chess Copper. She’s traded her black tank for a silky gold top that clings to a firm pair of tits I could easily engulf with my hands. The thought flickers to life and my fingers curl in response.

She isn’t the sweetly pretty or stunningly beautiful kind of woman I usually spend time with. She’s severe, elegant. It would be easy for me to say she isn’t my type. But I’m fairly certain that goes both ways. And I’m beginning to think my “type” has just changed.

“I think fate is tapping on your shoulder,” Jake says in a stage voice.

A weird surge goes through me, but I ignore it. “More like telling me to piss off. She’s on a date.”

Hard to miss the guy sitting with her, his body turned her way. He’s just the kind of guy I’d have guessed she’d go for: beard, multiple tatts and piercings. Hell, he looks like a skinny version of Dex.

“Maybe he’s trying to pick her up,” Jake points out.

“It’s a date. They’re settled in. Her bag is on the back of his chair, and he’s completely at ease.”

Reading body language is second nature to us now. And Jake nods. “Good point.”

I shift my weight, ready to move on. “Let’s go before she spots us gawking like a couple of—”

Chess turns her head away from her date and hides a yawn in her hand. It could be that she’s simply tired. But I see the boredom in her expression, and that strained, “when the hell is this going to be over” look in her eyes. I know that look because I’ve worn it too.

“You know,” I say, still watching. “It would be rude if we didn’t go in and say hello.”

A slow grin spreads over Jake’s mouth. “After we’ve spotted her and all.”

I match that grin. “And we’re nothing if not polite.”

“Perfect gentlemen.” Jake tugs the brim of his cap down further over his brow. “I’ll take care of the date.”

I clasp his shoulder. “Good man.”

 

* * *

 

Chess

 

* * *

 

There has got to be a better way to find love. I take an anemic sip of my watery vodka tonic and try to search for something to say to Evan, my date for the night. As dates go, this isn’t the worst one I’ve had. Not at all. It’s just off.

Which is disappointing. I had high hopes for this one. Physically, Evan is exactly what I look for; soulful brown eyes, full tattoo sleeves, thick but trimmed beard. He had caught my eye last week when we both stopped to listen to a zydeco band playing on Royal Street. He’d been engaging then, witty enough to have me agreeing to this date.

Now?

I give him a smile that feels strained. “So, you’re a tattoo artist.” Great, you’ve only mentioned his job twice before now. “How is that going?”

Oh, holly hell, maybe I’m the boring one here.

His pinched expression says pretty much the same. “Can’t complain. I live for skin.”

That probably sounded better in his head.

I nod, take a sip of my drink. I don’t miss the way the bartender shakes his head as he puts away a glass. Yes, we’re that pathetic. This date is going down like a week-old balloon. And it hurts. Not the loss of this particular guy, but the loss of a possible connection. Simple, basic connection. Someone to touch me, make me feel good. It’s been so long since I’ve had good sex, I’m beginning to forget how it feels to be touched in reverence. And that fucking hurts.

Evan lets out a sigh, and I’m hit with a waft of garlic and stale cigarette smoke. That’s the other thing; he has terrible breath. Why didn’t I notice this before? Maybe it’s just tonight? Should it matter? Everyone has bad breath now and then.

“Chess?”

I blink out of my fog, ready to answer Evan when I realize the voice that had spoken was deeper, laced in an innate sense of confidence and command. That voice grabs hold of my spine like a hot hand, sending prickles over my skin. No, God no, not him. He cannot be here to witness this fiasco.

And even as the thought runs through my brain, my stupid, traitor of a body sends a happy zing through me.

Bracing myself, I turn and come face to face with my tormentor, my rescuer. Finn Mannus. Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world… From beneath the brim of a battered Mickey Mouse ball cap, his blue eyes twinkle. There’s such sly humor in his gaze that I’m hard pressed not to smile.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, crowding my seat. He isn’t exactly insinuating his big frame between Evan and me, but it’s a close thing.

“Who did I piss on in a prior life to deserve this?” I mutter, even as my body stirs with renewed energy. And, really, I’m full of shit because I’m happy to see him. My mouth can lie, but my heart knows the truth.

He’s close enough that the warm length of his arm brushes against mine. “Some say my presence is a blessing.”

“It doesn’t count if you pay them to say that,” I lob back.

He chuckles low and easy. “It was only the one time, I swear.”

My lip twitches. And he sees it, his eyes bright with shared humor.

Jake Ryder takes the moment to make himself know. “Chess!” He bumps into both Finn and me. “Can you believe this coincidence?” He says it with such obvious exaggeration, that I give Finn a look.

He’s got a good poker face, but the fact that he’s even wearing one makes me wary.

“Is it now?” I drawl.

Again, Finn flashes a quick smile meant to charm and evade. But when he leans in a touch, his voice rubs over my skin. “I was just nowhere near your neighborhood.”