“Wow,” I said, folding my arms. “Is this how you welcome all your guests? Public shaming with a side of warm milk?”
She laughed, a real laugh. It softened something in her face I hadn’t seen before.
“No,” she said, still smiling, “Just the ones who sneak around at midnight.”
“I wasn’t sneaking, I was wandering. Respectfully.”
“To beg for milk.”
I held up my mug. “And look where that got me. Free drinks and a pool lesson from a Cadiz. Pretty decent perks, if you ask me. Now, how do I do this?”
She snorted and walked over, gently grabbing my hand again to fix my grip. “You’re holding this like it’s a baguette.”
Her touch was light, clinical, and focused, but the sudden closeness made something buzz at the back of my neck. Her scent was clean and sharp, like mint and something woodsy, maybe her shampoo. It was unfair, really, how good she smelled.
Something about her was different tonight. Lighter.
“I don’t exactly come from a long line of pool experts,” I mumbled.
“Well, clearly,” she teased, her voice low, a smile tugging at her lips. “But I can work with this.”
Her hand didn’t move. Neither did mine. I could feel her warmth through my hoodie, the slow, steady press of her arm against mine.
“You’re very close,” I whispered, not quite able to stop myself.
“You’re the one who asked for a lesson.”
“Didn’t know it came with personal space violations.” I joked.
Truthfully, I wasn’t really bothered. And that was the problem. If anything, I found myself leaning in without realizing it.
She cleared her throat and stepped back, brushing her hair behind her ear like she hadn’t noticed anything at all, except I saw the faintest pink creeping up her neck.
“Right,” she said. “Try again. Hit whatever ball you want.”
I leaned forward, trying not to grin. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Obviously.” She crossed her arms, hip resting against the edge of the table, eyes glinting in that way that made her look both smug and unfairly attractive. “Now don’t miss. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I lined up the shot, heart still beating faster than it should’ve. “No pressure then.”
“None at all,” she said, smiling.
To my own surprise, I started to get the hang of it. Nothing fancy, but I was making clean shots, and Alex was… patient. And every time I glanced up, she was already watching me with that same quiet, unreadable expression that somehow still feltwarm.
I let out a slow breath and rested the cue stick against the table. “I think that’s me done. I can barely keep my eyes open.”
She glanced at the clock and gave a soft, almost fond smile. “Guess I wore you out.”
“You did,” I said, smiling back. “In the kindest way.”
She racked the cue stick back in its place, fingers brushing the polished wood with the same easy precision she had on court, and gently gathered the scattered balls into the pockets, letting them drop with soft, muted thuds.
“Thanks... really. For the milk, the cookies, and the whole lesson,” I said, lingering by the doorway.
“You’re welcome.”
It wasn’t teasing or cool or distant; it was soft. Real. Like something she didn’t say often, but meant when she did.
