Cassie snatched the rack and started clearing the table.Of course he wanted another—he hadn’t shown her up yet.
“You already lost your shirt,” she said slyly, brushing past him.“You wanna lose your pants too?”
Nash’s smile only darkened.“Depends,” he replied.“You plannin’ on helpin’ me outta ’em?”
Catcalls and whistles rose from all around.Cassie didn’t look up.“You sure you want me anywhere near your pants?”she shot back, dropping the last two balls into place with a sharp, deliberate clack.
He laughed low and stepped in beside her—close enough that she could feel the heat of him.“Still rack ’em the same way,” he murmured, his hip brushing hers.“Solids left.Eight dead center.”
Without looking at him, Cassie finished racking and began chalking her stick, feigning nonchalance under the overwhelming weight of his full attention.
“You really gonna let her break again?”Crusher called.“Thought you were supposed to be good at this.”
“Ladies first, Crush,” Nash replied.“How many times I gotta tell ya?”
Snorting, Cassie bent over the table, lining up her shot.“Don’t let him fool you, Crusher.It’s not so much chivalry as it is self-preservation.”
“Still got that back foot off.”Nash leaned in again, his boot knocking against hers.Her pulse jumped as his breath grazed her ear.“Told you a hundred times—you’re losin’ power that way.”
Lips pressed together, she lifted her eyes to his, then dropped her weight back, slid her hand down the cue, and rotated her wrist—an adjustment Nash hadn’t taught her.One she’d picked up in a basement bar in Prague from a hustler that made her look like a novice.
Still holding Nash’s gaze, she fired.
The cue ball exploded forward with vicious precision; the crack echoed like a gunshot as balls scattered violently.Two solids dropped immediately; a third rolled to the corner and fell.
The crowd went silent…then exploded.
“My foot’s exactly where I want it,” she murmured.
Nash, much like the rest of them, had gone quiet, though his burning stare had begun to blaze.His jaw flexed, his stance tightened, his mouth curving slow.“All right then,” he said, straightening.“Let’s see if you can keep it there.”His tone turned provocative, growing louder for the crowd.Pulling a wad of bills from inside his cut, he slapped it onto the rail.“Two hundred says you can’t run this table.”
Cassie tilted her head.“Make it two thousand,” she snapped back, “and you’re on.”
A ripple moved through those gathered.Someone hissed through their teeth.The number hung there, out of place in a bar like this—in a town like this—and Cassie suddenly felt every eye on her.
“Never said it’d be cash,” she added quickly, with a flash of teeth and a flip of hair.“Could be favors.”
The crowd erupted again, laughter and howls bleeding together as bills changed hands.
Nash bent down, close enough that his words brushed the edge of her jaw.“Still runnin’ that mouth without thinkin’.Still talkin’ circles when you’re cornered."
She didn’t answer.Just shifted her grip on the cue, stepped around him, and lined up her next shot like he hadn’t said a damn thing.It dropped—another solid, clean and quick.The cue spun back just enough to line her up perfect for the next shot.
“You always did like corners,” Nash said from behind her, their bodies brushing.“Still predictable.”
She drove the next ball in with more force than finesse.
“Though you used to clip your follow-through,” he added.“Looks like someone fixed that.What’s his name?”
“Oh god,” she sighed, all mock suffering.“There’ve just been so many—I’d hate to bore you with roll call.”
Whistles and laughter erupted; Crusher choked on his beer.
While Nash laughed with the rest of them, there was nothing humorous in his expression.If anything, that goddamn greedy look of his only intensified.
Doing her damndest to ignore him, Cassie circled to the far side of the table, eyes narrowing on the layout.One shot was tight, and the eight was worse—sitting close enough to taunt her.
She took the tight shot and sank it clean.
