Nash held her gaze.“What can I say—always did like watchin’ you run a table.”
Her smirk deepened.“That so?Guess you used to be better at hiding it.”
“Used to be better at a lot of shit,” he said, half a smile of his own creeping up.“Like keepin’ my damn distance.”
“Now that’s a damn lie, and you know it.You couldn’t stay away.Always showing up wherever I was, findin’ excuses to give me rides.Thought you were real smooth with all them cheesy one-liners.”
Cassie took a sip of her drink, her green eyes glinting.“You keep standin’ there watchin’ me, little Berry,” she mocked in a comically deep voice.“You might as well climb up on.”
Nash found himself leaning into the bar—into her space.Barely sixteen and trying to show off at the garage, he’d gotten clocked twice for that one—first by Connor, second by his old man.
“Worked, didn’t it?”he murmured.
She tilted her head, her smirk returning.“Maybe.Or maybe I just liked watchin’ you try.”
She tossed back the rest of the whiskey, grabbed the beer, and drifted back toward the tables.Just before disappearing into the noise, she glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching his for half a heartbeat.Heat pooled low and cruel—a hell of a lot more than just a spark this time.
Slow this time, Nash took a long drink, letting the burn do what it could.
Boone dropped onto the stool beside him.“Christ, Nash, just go get your goddamn girl.”
Nash’s eyes stayed on the crowd.“She ain’t my girl no more.”
Boone snorted.“Yeah?Tell that to your face.”
Across the room, Cassie’s laugh rang out—a little drunk, and bright enough to hit him right where it fucking hurt.It sounded like the good parts—back when his old man was still here, Connor too; back when life was young and loud, and full of fight—and goddamn it, he wanted to grab it, drag it back, make it fucking stay this time.
“Fuck it,” he bit out, throwing back what was left of his drink and setting his glass down hard enough to make the bar jump.Pulling Connor’s folded cut from his vest, he handed it off to Boone.
Boone’s laugh rumbled after him.“Atta boy.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cassiewasstillalittle breathless.
Not from the booze or the trail of Kings she’d left sulking around the pool tables—but from the playful exchange with Nash at the bar.And that look he’d given her… It was a look that used to send her running, giggling, straight into his arms, their mouths fusing first, skin second.
God, shut up, she chastised.Shut your stupid horny mouth.
But she couldn’t.
Not when she’d spent half the night pressed against Nash’s broad, muscular back.
And on the Beast, no less—the bike that had seen more sins than a million Sundays could ever wash clean—half of them hers.Even now, she could feel it—the deep, thrumming echo of the ride, the buzz of the engine still alive between her thighs.
“You takin’ notes over there, Cas?”Crusher hollered over the racket.“Or just admirin’ the view?”
Cassie whipped around and busied herself chalking her cue.“Depends.You actually gonna make a shot this century?”
Snickering, Crusher bent over the table, lining up with exaggerated care—tongue out, brows drawn tight.“We could call it now, or you gonna give me a mercy shot?”
“Sorry, Crush, mercy ain’t really my thing.”
He fired.The cue ball skidded left, kissed the edge of its target, and spun useless into the rail.“Guess I’ll just hand you my ass, then—save everyone the spectacle.”
Cassie stepped up beside him.“If I may?”Crusher shuffled back, mock-bowing.She leaned in, sent a ball flying clean across the table, dropped it neat into a pocket.Then another.Then a third.
Crusher let out a low whistle.“You teach lessons on the side, or just like showin’ off that stroke?”
