The Game Plan (Game On 3)

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.” Anna leans back, her eyes bright. “Best and worst time of your life, kid.”

Dex

The photographer’s studio is in New Orleans’ Warehouse District. We’ve been scheduled in small groups. I’m here with Rolondo, Finn, and Jake Ryder, our other wide out.

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, Finn pounds on the metal door with the side of his fist.

“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.”

Finn is the one who appears to be five seconds away from a huff, but I shrug. “Maybe he’s on the can or something.”

“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 Finn steps forward. “Er…we’re here for the calendar shoot.”

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

“You’re the photographer?” Finn’s eyes widen in obvious shock.

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

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

Finn is a pretty boy. We all love to tease him about it. But he doesn’t seem to like it now. “Hey now, we were told our photographer’s name was Chester Copper. Excuse me if I assumed it was a man.”

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.” Finn’s dubious expression clearly states that PR failed in this case.

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 gonna toss myself into the fires of Mount Doom cuz I gotta boner for a hobbit.”

“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 annoyance. “Hello? Can we please get back to The Goonies and Chester Copperpot? You know, that old dude they find all shriveled and crushed by a boulder?”

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 skinny-pants suit straight out of the 1960s appears. Like me, he has a beard, though his is red and scraggly.

“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?” Finn sounds like he’s sucked a lemon through his teeth. “You fucking with us?”

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

Ryder laughs. “I love this chick.”

“I am not a chick, Mr. Ryder. I am a woman.”