“I’ve been watching you two play for the past few hours. I didn’t notice anything. You play a good game, but she played better. You shouldn’t bet what you can’t afford to lose. Better luck next time, buddy. Go to the bar and have one on me,” Muerto said.
Cory’s nostrils flared as he glanced at Muerto, then back at his friends. One of them came over and clasped his shoulder. “Let’s get another drink and then go find some food.”
Reluctantly he started to walk away. “This ain’t over yet, bitch. Let’s get outta this shithole.” He marched away, his two friends in tow.
“Some guys just can’t handle losing to a woman. Pathetic.” She slung her large purse over her shoulder and headed to the door.
“Not so fast, sweetheart.” Muerto cut her off and she bumped into him.
“What the hell?” She rubbed her head.
“We both know you hustled him.” He held up his hand. “Don’t fuckin’ deny it. You’re good. I didn’t even see you slip your own cue ball in the game or out of it, but I bet if I dig in that purse of yours I’d find it.”
She glowered at him.
“Even though you can wear a pair of jeans better than any woman I’ve seen, I don’t want you back in here hustling. If you didn’t have tits and curves, my fists would already be beating your ass.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “You can’t prove shit.”
He laughed. “You better wait a while and have a beer. Pretty sure they’re waiting for you outside. I’ll walk you to your car when I get done sorting out the receipts. The beer’s on me.”
“I don’t need you to play the fuckin’ white knight. I can take care of myself.” Her gaze went to the glass doors.
“Suit yourself.” He spun around and walked to the bar. When she slinked onto one of the barstools, a smile tugged at his lips. “What kind of beer do you want?”
“Give me a shot of tequila with a twist of lime.” She placed her shoulder bag on the stool next to her.
“A tequila girl. You’re full of surprises, sweetheart.”
“What the fuck does that mean? And stop calling me ‘sweetheart.’ I’m no man’s sweetheart.” She propped her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her hands.
“I believe that. Here you go.” He placed the shot in front of her. “Let me tell you something,sweetheart. You’re a shark in a sea of fish, but you keep it up and someone’s gonna run a knife right through you. Alina’s a small town, and you’re playing in dangerous waters.” Her flashing eyes shot daggers at him. He chuckled and held his hands up. “Just sayin’, that’s all.”
“I thought the customer was supposed toaskthe bartender for advice.” She drank her shot. “Save your sage wisdom for someone who wants it.” She twirled around on the stool, her back facing him.
“You want another?” He poured her one before she answered. “You from around here?”
She looked over her shoulder. “No.” She curled her fingers around the glass.
“Where’re you from?”
“Everywhere. My pop and I moved around a lot.”
“Muerto, I need three shots of tequila, six Coors, and two gin and tonics,” Jaime said as she perched on the barstool next to the pool hustler.
“Sure thing.” Muerto turned around and grabbed the beers, then made the gin and tonics. “The guys tipping good tonight?”
“Pretty much, but those three guys stiffed me. I think they were gonna tip me but they got pissed at her”—she pointed to the woman seated next to her—“for winning the game.”
The woman swiveled until she faced Jaime. “You blaming me for getting stiffed?”
“What? No, not at all. They could’ve tipped me as they drank. I loved that you put that big mouth in his place. He’s always in here bragging about how great he is. He thinks he can beat anybody. Well… you showed him.” Jaime giggled.
When the woman smiled, Muerto’s dick jumped. He studied her face: nicely arched eyebrows, thick black lashes, a thin silver ring in her nose, and beautiful eyes. He’d never seen eyes like hers before. They were gray, but not an unremarkable gray like that of concrete or stone. They were the gray of the ocean an instant before dawn’s first rays hit the water. And when she glanced his way, they ensnared him. She turned away quickly, and he was pretty sure he piqued her interest as much as she did his. He imagined that she was a woman who wouldn’t put up with any crap from a man; a feisty woman who’d give a man a real run before she tore up the sheets with him.
She turned back around, as if sensing that he was still staring at her. “Do you want something?” A frown deepened on her forehead and her eyes turned silver, like a well-sharpened knife blade.
“Depends on what you’re willing to give me.” He leaned forward so his face was a scant few inches from hers. The scent of leather, smoke, and spice wisped around him.
