“I’d prefer to calculate the angles rather than create them,” I say before I can rein in my inner nerd.
The slow smile he sends my way feels like spring sunshine warming my face. “Okay. I’ll start.”
After Trevor’s impressive break, I do some quick math to select solids or stripes. Since my good friend, the ten ball, is in the perfect position, I start with him, calling each shot before I take it. After four balls sink into their pockets, I’m out of options.
“Your turn.”
“Jeez, Kenz,” Trevor says, sliding past me to align his shot. “Are you sure you’re not hustling me?”
His slight chuckle, the way his callused hands tent over the table while his body stretches in preparation of his shot, and the fact that he shortened my nameagain…
I clear my throat, wishing I’d ordered an ice-cold water.
Trevor accidentally sends the cue ball skipping off the table, but instead of sulking or being irritated, his boisterous laugh draws the attention of the foursome of women playing nearby.
“Not sure you needed any more of an advantage,” he jokes before one of the women at the table beside us hands it back. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she coos with a wink.
Trevor ducks his chin, hiding his face beneath the brim of his hat before stepping close with an upturned palm. Ignoring the proffered cue ball, I glance up, meeting his gaze.
“Is she still watching?” he asks in a low murmur.
I flick my focus away before returning it to Trevor’s tense eyes. “They all are.”
The table of four friends seems very interested in us newcomers—or rather, the man wearing the heck out of a faded The White Stripes tour shirt and a pair of jeans.
Trevor frowns with a slow exhale.
“What if I…” Instead of taking the cue ball, I slide my fingers up his forearm until I’m pulling him closer by the back of his rock-hard tricep.
“What are you—”
“Just smile,” I add, pulling my lips into what I’m hoping is a flirty enough grin. “They’ll leave you alone if they think you’re with me.”
“I don’t think—”
His sentence drops off when my fingertips slide over his shoulder to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Trevor’s thick lashes flutter closed as a slight shudder wracks his body, sending a strange surge of power over my collarbones. His handdips until the back of it rests on the table, like the cue ball suddenly weighs a thousand pounds. Then Trevor’s head bends farther, surrendering until his temple rests against mine, his breathing even.
My fingers continue moving, but everything else inside me freezes. Even my trusty brain can’t rationalize why my roommate looks like he’s more blissed out than Banks on catnip.
“Are they still looking?” His husky words draw my attention to his lips.
His cupid’s bow is slightly uneven with an almost imperceptible scar line running through it. What caused that? A childhood accident? A baseball gone awry while his mask was off? My free hand drifts upward, wondering if that line is raised or—
When Trevor lifts his head, so do I, dropping my hand before glancing at the women who’ve long since returned to their game.
“The coast is clear,” I sing, snatching the cue ball and striding toward the other end of the table.
I’d planned on shooting from where I’d been, but I need a second to let my racing heartbeat settle. Recalculating angles will help with that. I don’t look up as I plan my next shot and the one after that. By the time I miss my last ball, I feel more in control of my body.
Trevor focuses on the table as he completes two shots, and then we both pause to thank the server for bringing our food and drinks to the bar shelf running the length of the wallsurrounding the billiards area. Hot greasy fries and a bubbly Coke feel like much-needed sustenance.
“Glad I wasn’t the only hungry one,” Trevor says with a friendly smile, already halfway through his mustard-covered fried pickles.
The way he’s acting, like nothing happened, like he never bowed to my touch, is making me feel like I’m going insane.
It had to be a show, right? I asked him to pretend, and Trevor did so in spades.
