No one answered. And the one person who started to stand was pulled back down. What was going on?
She snagged her favorite cue stick from the rack. “Okay then. Is this a joke or something? No one wants to shoot a game of pool with me?”
The guy who had called out her name, glanced at the chalkboard. “Hey, there’s only you and Cain’s names left on the board. Why don’t you two play a game?”
People around the room quieted as if her answer was worth a million dollars.
Cain turned around on his stool. “That’s okay. I don’t think Betsy has ever shot a game of pool against me. Guess she’s afraid I’ll beat her.”
That did it! Betsy straightened. He’d just stepped over her line.
She picked up the blue chalk from the siderail. Tossed it in the air a couple of times. Took a few steps in his direction. And stared into his eyes. “So, you don’t remember the day I wiped you off the table in high school?” She cocked her hip out to the side and tapped her pool cue twice against the floor. “Right over there, at table number four.”
“Nope. Can’t say that I do.” He bit the side of his lower lip and crunched his brow as if deep in thought. Snapped his fingers. “Ooooooh, you mean that day after school when you lucked out and beat me? The day you were wearing those denim blue earrings with tiny gold stars holding them on your ears.”
Some of the other customers nodded in agreement. She turned to the crowd and opened her arms in an exaggerated bow. Good to know she wasn’t the only one from their high school group that still remembered the fun days of being young and crazy.
She turned back to him and smiled. He’d noticed. Noticed her earrings back then. “You remembered.”
“I remember a lot of things from back then.” Quick and easy, he shucked out of his jacket, tossed it over the closest chair and grabbed a cue stick from the rack. “We gonna play or not, Betsy?”
CHAPTER TWO
Cain figured a man never knew when his life might hinge on expertise in hand-to-hand combat, weapon usage, or evasive driving. And even though he’d been on leave of absence from the Drug Enforcement Agency for well over six weeks, that didn’t mean his skill set would ever change. Even something simple like running a pool table might be enough distraction to throw the opposition off their game.
Or not.
“Well, will you look at that? I’ve only got one solid left to drop before the eight.” Betsy Peyton spun the end of her pool cue on the floor. “Looks like a tricky angle though. Maybe you’ll get a chance after all.”
“Yeah, I doubt you’ll be able to make that shot.” Cain cocked his head, pretending to evaluate the placement, then raised his eyebrows as he shrugged. “Of course, I could. Easy as anything. I’d just glide…”
With exaggerated emphasis, she tapped the cue on the floor, flashed him one of her sassy squinty-eyed looks, and bent into her stance. Now that was distracting. Hellfire distracting.
He might lose, but nothing compared to watching the way her jeans moved across her bottom and tightened. Or the way her knee-high boots, on three-inch heels, made her legs look like they’d go on forever. Yet, the thing he liked most was the way her long red hair gathered around her face as she leaned in for each shot.
They’d been friends from fifth grade all the way through high school. Of course, something had changed midway through his senior year when their laugh-filled friendship had become awkward. Looking back, he figured that’s when he turned into a jock just trying to hold on to his peer status for another day. Whereas Betsy had buckled down even harder on her studies and got accepted to three colleges.
After graduation, he’d left town and never looked back. But she’d always been his best friend in his memories. He’d only been back in Crayton, Missouri, for a couple of months, but every Friday night he’d invite her to a game of pool or dinner. Every Friday night, she turned him down. Except tonight.
She’d won the lag. Dropped a ball on the break. Methodically sunk every one of her solids since. Now, all that stood between her and a win was the black ball.
“Where do you plan to drop that eight?” He knew where, but he wanted to make her call the shot. He knew Betsy’s skill at billiards. She was a pool ace. Fifteen years ago in high school, she’d crushed him, and just about everyone else, at eight ball. Since then, though, he’d learned a thing or two about pool. And women.
“Eight ball…” She pointed to the pocket closest to herself. Aimed the cue across her fingers. Pulled the stick back, then firmly tapped it forward.
Standing up after she made the shot, she moved her finger in line with the roll of ball. Across the table. Off the rail. Back across, till it finally dropped into the pocket next to her. She smiled for a speck of a second, then glanced in his direction.
“You didn’t even watch.” For a moment, her bottom lip almost pouted, but that wasn’t something Betsy would ever allow. “That was a darn good shot, and you didn’t even?—”
“Didn’t need to.” He hadn’t planned on not getting even one shot.
“And that…is how…you run…the table.” Betsy’s hazel green eyes, along with the tiny upturn at the corner of her lips, spoke volumes.
“I’ve got to say, you played one heck of a game. How about you give me a chance this time?” He laid the triangle on the felt and reached for the balls to rerack.
She pulled back her shoulders as all signs of fun left her expression. “Uh...maybe another time.”
“When?”
