“No, you like plaid,” she replied, then shook her head. His dad jokes were starting to rub off on her. “I take that back.”
She could feel his eyes on her as she lined up her next shot, but she wasn’t nervous. It was skill, not luck, on her side, and she couldn’t wait to show him. “Nine in the corner pocket,” she called, confident it would drop.
“Nice shot.” He pulled up a stool and took a seat.
“You’re going to need a more comfortable chair. You’ll be sitting for a while.” She smirked. “Watch and learn something, darlin’.”
The next four shots went into their designated pockets, leaving only the eight ball remaining. The last shot was tricky—she’d have to bank it off the rail, but it was doable for someone with her ability. “Eight ball, corner pocket.”
Clayton rose from his stool and assessed her shot from across the table. “That’s impossible.”
She took her time, inching back the cue stick and striking the white ball against the rail, confident she had the perfect angle. The cue ball ricocheted off the rail, grazing the side of the eight ball before disappearing into the pocket. “Booyah!”
“You ran the table,” Clayton said, sounding amazed.
“That I did.”
“Winner gets the next break,” Clayton said, pouting. He looked like a big kid sitting on the stool, his baseball cap turned backward, messy strands of hair sticking out from underneath. The glow of the lights carved sharp lines along his jaw, but it was the smirk tugging at his lips that caught her attention.
“No, you go ahead.” Jamie leaned back against the table, crossing her arms as a slow smile edged up the corners of her lips.
His smirk deepened. “Afraid I’ll wipe the floor with you?”
She huffed a soft laugh. “Hardly.”
Clayton grabbed his cue, rolling his shoulders like he was gearing up for a title fight. The movement pulled his shirt tight across his chest, but she refused to notice.
No, stop looking.
His break was swift and powerful, the crack of the balls echoing in the bar—but none sank. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
Jamie pushed off the table and stepped up beside him. “That’s cute. You tried.”
He scoffed. “Oh, you think you’re funny?”
“Yes, I do.” She lined up her shot and ran the table, sinking the eight ball like it was second nature. She straightened, tapping her cue against the felt with a little flourish.
Clayton blinked. “You straight-up lied to me.”
“About what?” She leaned her hip against the table, twirling the cue between her fingers.
His gaze flicked from her hands back to her face. “About only playing a few times.”
“A few timesthis year,” she corrected, tilting her head. “You should ask better questions, Clayton.”
He exhaled a laugh, stepping into her space—not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “You like making me look bad, don’t you?”
“It’s not my fault you set the bar so low.”
His grin was slow and dangerous. “All right, darlin’. Next game I’m raising the stakes.”
Jamie arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what do I get when I win?”
His smirk widened. “You’ll just have to find out.”
Jamie barely got any sleep with the adrenaline coursing through her veins and the looming four a.m. call time for their flight to New York City. But exhaustion didn’t matter, not when she was about to step onto a stage that felt like home.Rise & Shine America. A national audience. And best of all, New Yorkers.
On the plane Ruth leaned over and said, “I see you went to the hotel bar last night.”
