“When?” she asked, tilting her head, earrings knocking her neck.
“First time I saw you. The Green Room. You laughed like the room was late to the party.”
She sank the four, smooth, no pause. “Truth,” she said. “I noticed you first.”
“When?”
“You were helping a kid who couldn’t hit air. Hands on his shoulders, voice low like nothing else mattered. Then you broke your own rack and turned into someone else. I liked both.”
I swallowed, hard. “Which part?”
“Both.”
She lined the next shot, missed it by a breath—eyes caught on my mouth.
I stepped in. Cue gripped, glasses off—not for the crowd, forher. Bare eyes, bare truth. Ran the two, banked the seven, set myself clean. Her mouth twitched. She tried not to smile. Failed.
Her why came next. Electricity. Her father. Fixing things no one else wanted to touch. I asked if it was dangerous. “Every job has teeth,” she said. “Mine doesn’t lie about it.”
And I thought about those same hands on me—rough where I wanted rough, careful where I needed careful. The thought hit so hard I missed a shot I never miss. Didn’t care.
She asked my why. Teaching. I gave it to her—the parents, the two teachers who saved me, the kids I try to see the same way. She didn’t soften. Didn’t pity. Just held my eyes, like respect was enough.
We kept trading. Stories and shots. She brushed my hip passing behind me—casual on the outside, nothing casual about how my body reacted. My four-count collapsed into noise.
Another rack and we let the cues rest. She slid her tongue across her pretty lips, watching me. My hand clenched on air.
“Truth,” I said, my voice rougher than I wanted. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since yesterday. And I think you’ve wanted it too.”
Her eyes darkened, then steadied. “Two things. One: I tell my own truths.”
“Understood.”
“Two: Yes.”
That was it. I moved us to the hallway, braced her with one hand on the wall, the other locked on her hip.
“Tell me to stop,” I said, because I always ask.
“I didn’t tell you to start,” she whispered.
So I kissed her.
Heat. Teeth. Breath. Her lips dragged a sound out of me I didn’t know I had. Her hand slid between my shirt buttons, pressed firm, like she was signing her name.
“Again,” she whispered. “Again again.”
I laughed, broken. “Bossy.”
“Accurate.” She bit my lip soft, a promise.
I wanted her everywhere—over the table, on my lap, against the glass. Wanted her to break me down to nothing but yes.
But I pulled back before the hallway had an audience. Her mouth was swollen, eyes already wrecked. And God, I wanted more.
“Come with me,” I rasped. “Pretend we’re finishing those drinks at my place.”
She slid her palm slow down my chest, claiming me. “Settle the tab, teacher man.”
