The game finds an easy rhythm. Between turns, he tells me he used to play in dive bars after work in New York, that pool’s quieter than most ways to unwind. I tell him I read too many books and talk to my cat like he’s a person. He doesn’t laugh at that—just says, “Cats are good judges of character.”
Somewhere between another drink and his third win, I forget the time.
When it’s my turn again, he moves closer, watching my aim. “You’re off by half an inch,” he says. “That’s why I keep beating you.”
“You think?”
He steps in behind me, his voice near my ear. “Here.”
His hand slides over mine, guiding the cue. His chest brushes my back, the heat of him wrapping around me. My breath catches.
“Like this,” he says, softer now. His tone isn’t teasing—it’s sure. Masculine. My fingers tighten on the cue, my heart tripping over itself.
I nod, even though I barely register the words. He’s taller—by a lot—and when he shifts his stance, I feel the outline of him against me. The ball hits, rolls, sinks.
“Perfect,” he murmurs.
“Guess I had a good teacher.”
He steps back, but the air doesn’t cool between us. The scent of him lingers, warm and clean, threaded with something that makes every cell in my body lean closer. He’s an Alpha. I don’t need confirmation—the strength of his scent says enough.
We keep playing until the music slows and the crowd thins. At some point, the clock behind the bar hits two. People start filtering out, the noise tapering to murmurs.
My phone buzzes on the table.
Liam: Where are you?
I type quickly.Heading home soon.
When I look up, Knox’s eyes are on me again. The faintest smile curves his mouth.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. My roommate’s checking in.”
He nods. “Good roommate.”
“You have no idea,” I say under my breath. I grab my purse and finish the last of my drink. “It was really nice to meet you, Knox.”
“You too, Millie.”
At the counter, Keith’s tallying tabs. “You leaving already?”
“Yeah.”
“Next one’s on me too, if you bring the new guy back. You two made pool look like foreplay.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Goodnight, Keith.”
When I step outside, the cold hits sharp. I pull my jacket tighter, shivering. My phone screen glows—Your ride is 15 minutes away.
“Perfect,” I mutter. “Should’ve driven.”
I shift from foot to foot, breath fogging in the air. Behind me, the bar door opens.
“You okay?” Knox’s voice again.
I turn. He’s in his jacket now, collar up, hands in his pockets.
