I push the thought of exploring Chess out of my mind. “So after elevenses, we’ll go and buy you a new camera and some equipment. Get you set back up for work.”

She rests her slender fingers on the edge of the counter. “Thanks, but I don’t get a check from the insurance for a few weeks.”

“Which is why I’m buying.”

A frown works over her face, and I lift a hand. “You can pay me back when you get your check.”

“Or I can wait,” she argues. “I’m already staying here. You bought me clothes. I can’t take more—”

“Chester, I make an obscene amount of money and spend it on very little. You and I both know that. So let’s not pretend you’re putting me out monetarily.”

“We’re talking about nearly thirty-thousand dollars of equipment, Finn.”

“I am aware. Makes no difference to me.” When she rolls her eyes, I lean in. “Helping you get back on even ground makes me happy. All right?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be on even ground. Maybe I want to mope.”

I don’t buy it for a second. I see the anticipation in her eyes. The girl is dying to get a camera back in her hands. “Too bad. The House of Mannus also has an anti-moping law in effect. Violators are subject to noogies and loss of TV time for one day.”

Chess looks at me as if I’m full of it. Which I am. But she clearly likes that. “Any more rules I should know?”

“They’re all in the playbook located on your bedside table.” I open the fridge and pull out some roasted beets, goat cheese, and bulgur salad.

Chess watches me with bemused interest. “This looks…elaborate. You cooked all this?”

“I can cook the basics, but the team’s nutritionist has a chef on staff who sets us up with a few of our weekly meals. You know, elevenses, lunch, second lunch, and so on.”

The doorbell rings, cutting off whatever Chess wants to say. I hustle to get it and find Charlie, box in one hand, a massive bouquet of flowers in the other. The spray of orange roses is so big, I can barely see his head. “Charles,” I say, as I let him in. “You shouldn’t have. I’m more of a plant man.”

Before Charlie can give me shit back, Chess walks in and makes a sound of wonder. “Wow.”

Charlie steps past me like I’m not even there. “These are for you.” He sets the ridiculous bouquet on the hall table because it’s too damn big for her to hold. “They’re from the offensive team.”

My guys went in on flowers and didn’t tell me? Those little ass-kissing shits. I could have told them that Chess isn’t the type to get impressed by flowers—

“Oh!” Her face glows with pleasure. “How lovely.”

Wait. What?

“Well,” I say, trying not to grind my teeth. “That’s how we do.”

Chess sniffs a rose, as she reads the card that’s covered in signatures. “Stop trying to get a gold star, Finnegan. I don’t see your name on here.”

Biting back a grin and pointedly not looking my way, Charlie holds out the box in his hand. White and sleek, it doesn’t hide what’s inside. A freaking MacBook Pro? “And this is from the defensive team.”

She looks stunned.

Chess will never take it. No way.

But then she smiles, all wobbly and misty-eyed. Just like she did last night. “That’s so…sweet.” She clutches the box to her chest like it’s precious.

I’m torn between gratitude to my teammates for putting that look on her face, and feeling the urge to punch them all in theirs because I didn’t get her a computer first.

I close the door with a little more force than necessary. “Chess. Meet Charlie Beauchamp.” Resident turncoat. “When not helping me, and some of the guys out, he’s a junior, studying at Tulane.”

“You play football, Charlie?” Chess asks.

It’s a valid question. At six five and two hundred and eight pounds of bulky muscles, he could easily be a defensive end.

Charlie, used to the question, gives a wry smile. “No, ma’am. Much to my chagrin, I have two left feet and they’re made of lead. Or so says every coach I’ve tried out for.” His Haitian accent thickens a bit. “I’m majoring in Sports Management.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Chess says. “For buying me those clothes and things. I’m so grateful.”

Charlie’s cheeks turn the color of rosewood. If I wasn’t standing here, I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of blushing. He’s an unflappable island of calm around me. “It was the least I could do, ma’am. Though I apologize if anything doesn’t…” He clears his throat. “If certain items aren’t your usual style.”

A low, laugh escapes Chess’s lips, and even though there’s nothing suggestive in her expression, the sound is pure sex to my ears. “You did just fine.”

I find myself picturing her wearing one of those uninspired panties Charlie picked out and nothing else. Pure white cotton, stretched over that toned, pert ass, hugging every curve and dip.

Jesus. Charlie might be onto something. I shift my weight and try to think of something unsavory, such as the way Dawes never washes his socks during playoffs.

Yep, that’ll do it.

“It was a novel experience,” Charlie is saying. “Buying women’s underwear.”

“I’m sure you’ll get to do it again under better circumstance someday,” Chess assures, barking up the wrong tree.

Charlie gives her a small smile. “I don’t think any of the guys I date would be into that, ma’am.”

“Probably wise of them,” Chess says without missing a beat. “Bras aren’t the most comfortable attire.”

I really don’t want to start thinking about Chess wearing a bra. Or going without. “We’re about to eat,” I say to Charlie. “Want to join us?”

Before he can speak, Chess hooks her arm around his. “You must.”

“Let the guy answer for himself, Chess.”

She shoots me a reproving look. “I’m trying to make him feel welcome, Finn.”

“He knows he’s welcome. I just asked him to join us.”

Charlie chuckles, interrupting us. “You two sound like my grandparents.”