As easy as it was to kiss him publicly for the first time, I still couldn’t let him touch the metal on what was left of my arm. It was the lasting symbol of everything that was fucked up in my life, and I knew if I let him into that part of who I was, he’d never want to look at me again.
“Let’s go,” I said, immediately pushing past him.
He noticed the change in my attitude right away, but damn him and his kindness for not calling me out on my bullshit. As he looked at me across the acres of green felt, I could tell I was running out of chances. But for now, he had a bet to win and nothing, not even me and my lost arm, would keep him from trying to kick my ass.
“You break,” I offered.
“No,” he crooned. “You.” He pointed his cue at me as if it were an actual extension of his body. “I insist.”
Something in his eyes let me know I was about to get my ass kicked. And it had nothing to do with my arm or lack thereof.
It had everything to do with his desire to do whatever the hell he wanted to me. Nothing was going to stop him from that.
His body, long and lean, stalked around the table. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his ankles, waiting for me to make my move. While fine motor skills were most definitely not my strong suit, I could still move my arm enough to break. Or at least I thought I could. As I cocked my arm back, I had a fleeting feeling I was about to make a fool of myself. Despite focusing as hard as I could, and willing my body to work the way it once did, as I moved my arm forward, the ball barely skittered across the table with enough force to break up the tightly packed triangle.
“Nice shot, Ace,” Jude joked, stalking toward me. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to lose on purpose.”
My mild embarrassment was forgotten as his heat bathed over me. He stood behind me, and I leaned my head back to whisper in his ear, “And why would I do that?”
He bit my earlobe lightly before saying, “So I can have my way with you.” Giving me another bite, he added, “Again,” before he moved to line up his shot.
As he pulled back his cue, the thick muscles of his arms bunched and pulled, making my mouth dry. Win or lose, being with him was going to be the highlight of my night. His long legs took him around the table effortlessly. With each shot, he made sure to look up at me, as if he was asserting his dominance. I looked around the bar, my eyes landing on other couples dancing and having a good time. It was a difficult emotion to grab ahold of, but I felt calm. Jude and I existed in a bubble of peace for which I’d been searching for so long.
And now that I was here, inside that bubble, I almost didn’t know what to do with myself. My instincts, which were based on hiding who I was for my entire life, were telling me to do nothing but stay on my side of the table and keep my hands to myself.
Lining up another shot, he looked at me once again. And I saidfuck itto my instincts. He sank the ball and I strode over to him, pulling him against my body and attacking his mouth. When I pulled away, there was confusion in his eyes where confidence had been no more than a minute ago. “What was that for?”
Brushing my thumb over his lip, I smiled, trying my best to keep a hint of mischievousness playing in my eyes. “Because I can,” I stated simply, popping another kiss to his soft lips. “Distraction technique,” I offered as another explanation.
Pulling my face back to his, he drove his tongue into my mouth, nearly knocking the wind out of my lungs with the ferocity of his passion. Now it was my turn to ask, “What was that for?” The only difference was that I was all breathless and winded. Damn him and his fucking kisses.
“Victory kiss,” he stated plainly, with so much confidence I almost wanted to smack him.
“Game’s not over yet,” I taunted, but it was pointless as he sank yet another ball.
Lining up another shot, he looked up at me, and said, “Give it a few minutes.”
And less than ten minutes later, Jude called, “Eight ball. Side pocket.” Damn him to all hell, he sank the shot, looking sexy as fuck as he did it. “Told you,” he bragged. He walked past me and grabbed the cue from my hand, deliberately running his fingers over mine. After hanging the cues back on the wall, he walked past me again, this time grabbing my hand. He pulled me away from the pool table area and back toward the table we were sitting at. “Now, I think you owe me a drink.”
He sank into the booth, and I walked over to the bar. “Two,” I said as Heath walked over to me.
“You two look like you’re all chummy,” he said flippantly as he filled the mugs from the keg.
“Guess you could say that.” Taken back by his brash words, I was too shocked to hide the sarcasm in my own. “Is that a problem for you?” Leaning on the bar, I tried to invade his space, which was a pointless effort since two feet of solid oak stood between us. One more comment though and I was going to jump over the damn bar and knock him the fuck out.
“Maybe,” he added, sliding the mugs in front of me.
“Maybe?” I seethed, clenching my fist on the bar top. “What’s your problem, asshole?”
“Nothing. At least not yet. So it’s up to you to keep it that way.” The fucker tipped his hat and started walking away.
“Wait a fucking second,” I yelled. He turned around and returned to what I guess you could call a conversation. He looked at me, waiting for me to say something and I was too angry to think of anything intelligible quickly.
“I’m a little busy here, in case you haven’t noticed. So if you don’t mind.” Sweeping his arm to the side, he pointed at the packed bar. “You were saying?” he prompted, shooting me a smartass grin.
Regaining my wits, my brain began to function again. “Whatever the hell happens between Jude and me is our business. Not yours. So you don’t have a fucking thing to worry about.”
Completely unaffected by my words, he moved into my space, paying no mind to the bar between us. Pitching his voice low, it took on a different, more emotional, more serious quality. “Just don’t hurt him. He’s been through enough.” And with that, Heath walked away to tend to the other people in need of refills.
