The Hot Shot
Game On Book 4
By Kristen Callihan
Release Day: April 18th
Blurb
First we were friends. Then we were roommates. Now I want more…
What can I say about Chess Copper? The woman is capable of bringing me to my knees. I know this about five minutes after getting naked for her.
No one is more surprised than me. The prickly photographer my team hired to shoot our annual charity calendar isn’t my usual type. She’s defense to my offense, a challenge at every turn. But when I’m with her, all the regrets and darkness goes away. She makes life fun.
I want to know Chess, be close to her. Which is a bad idea.
Chess is looking for a relationship. I’ve never given a woman more than one night. But when fate leaves Chess without a home, I step up and offer her mine. We’re roommates now. Friends without benefits. But it’s getting harder to keep our hands off each other. And the longer we live together the more I realize she’s becoming my everything.
Trick is… Now that I’ve made her believe I’m a bad bet, how do I convince her to give this player a true shot at forever?
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Excerpt
FINN
She sits quietly as I eat, and shakes her head when I offer
her a sandwich section. Because I’m hungry, and because I don’t like the idea
of her having to wait for me to eat, I wolf down my food. The brownie follows
with a few, quick bites.
Wiping my hands on a napkin, I set the plate and empty can
on a side table, and then let out a contented sigh. “Thanks. I needed that.”
Her smile is small and quick. “I should have fed you as soon
as you got here.”
“I’m good now.”
Chess braces her hands on the seat and leans forward to
watch her feet as we slowly rock the swing. Silence descends, thick and
awkward, and for the first time in her presence, I’m at a loss for words.
I don’t know this girl. Not really, and yet I’ve inserted
myself into her life with a determination I usually reserve for winning games.
Except I have no endgame here. I told her I want to be friends. But how does
that work for us?
Our friends and lives couldn’t be any more different.
Parties for me are self-congratulatory events, filled with people whose one
focus seems to be bolstering my ego, followed by me searching for a quick
hookup. And my friends are all part of football in some way. We talk football
or sports. It’s a narrow focus life, but it’s my comfort zone. That chafes too,
knowing I live a life that seems wild and free to outsiders but is actually
small and structured on the inside.
The silence has stretched too long. I should go. But I don’t
move. If I go, I know it will be the end of whatever this is. Embarrassment
will have me avoiding seeking her out again. Likely, she’ll do the same. And
that will be that.
The knowledge sits like a stone on my chest.
“I’m sorry about my friends,” Chess says. “They can be
uncomfortably brazen.”
“So can mine.” I shrug. “Your friends are…fun.”
Her lips pull tight. “They can be. But they were definitely
giving me—and by extension—you shit tonight.” She bites her bottom lip. “I
don’t think they know what to make of you.”
“So I wasn’t imagining things.”
“’Fraid not.”
The novel sensation of being a fish tossed into the wrong
pond grows. I’ve taken away Chess’s fun by coming here, and I’m sorry for it.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to come here,” Chess says in a
low voice.
She’s only echoing my thoughts but the stone sitting on my
chest pushes harder against my ribs.
Chess makes a small sound, as if she’s trying to laugh but
can’t. “Parties suck when you arrive halfway through and don’t know anyone.”
“I know you,” I point out quietly.
She turns and the porch light illuminates her face. Green
eyes met mine and hold, as a slow, true smile curls over her cherry lips.
Something inside of me shifts and slides. I want to kiss Chester Copper. Haul
her onto my lap and make out with her like we’re teenagers hiding out at our
parents’ party. But that’s not what she invited me here for.
“I wanted to see you,” she confesses in that husky morning
voice that goes straight to my cock. She turns away and stares out into the
darkness. “It’s weird, you know? But hanging out with you was so unexpected it
kind of felt like I imagined the whole thing.”
I know exactly what she means. My hand settles next to hers,
close enough that our pinkies touch. That small point of contact sparks along
my skin, makes me want to move closer. I hold steady because I don’t trust
myself not to act. “I wanted to see you too,” I tell her. “It’s been a long
fucking day.”
I hadn’t planned to admit that, but it feels good to tell
her.
Chess eases back against the seat and then curls her fingers
over mine with a light squeeze. The unexpected touch holds all my attention.
It’s nothing more than a simple offer of comfort, and here I am twitching in my
seat as if she’d cupped my dick instead. I’m in so much trouble here because
this woman is getting to me in ways I don’t know how to navigate. But I don’t
pull away. Not one fucking chance of that.
Chess speaks, pulling me attention back to our conversation.
“So tell me about it.”
I can’t remember the last time anyone asked me to tell them
about my day. Likely, no one ever has.
So I do. And with every word that leaves my mouth, a little
bit more of my stress eases. No, I don’t yet truly know Chess. And yes, our
lives are different. But there’s no way I’m ending this. Because when it’s just
her and me, everything else falls away. I’m not going to let myself forget that
again.
About Kristen Callihan
Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she’d rather be. She is a three-time RITA nominee and winner of two RT Reviewer’s Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine’s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal , best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher’s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.
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