I stand speechless, pondering her words for a second too long. I laugh nervously. "Seriously, there's nothing to worry about."
She shakes her head. "That's not what I've observed, my friend. Trust me when I say… you're the one who needs to be careful."
Her words shut me the hell up, because as crazy as it sounds, she might just be on to something. I think of my upcoming games with Caine next Tuesday, and I do worry a little.
I’ll definitely need to keep Liza’s advice in mind.
Just to be safe.
The door chimes at exactly one o'clock. Caine strides in, his strong energy instantly filling the quiet, empty pool hall. My heart nearly stops as he nears the bar, his eyes locked on mine. Why is he always so intense?
Damn.
"Take a break," he says, his voice low and smooth. "It's show time."
CHAPTER FIVE
I nod, shaking a little bit. The man has me trembling like a scared little kitten for crying out loud.
Get a grip, Jenna.
I wipe my hands on a bar towel and grab a tray of balls. Liza elbows me, grinning like she's watching her favorite reality show unfold.
"Cool it," I whisper, shooting her a warning look. She winks and goes back to pretending to clean the already spotless glassware.
I glance at Reeves behind the bar. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense as he fills the beer refrigerator with more force than necessary.
My heart races as I step out from behind the bar. I'm acutely aware of the weight of Caine's gaze on me, anddespite my nerves, there's an undeniable thrill coursing through my veins.
Out of the corner of my eye, I study Reeves again. His jaw is set, his eyes narrowed slightly. He's obviously not happy about this, and with reason, and a part of me resents Caine for stirring up this tension.
Caine racks the balls with practiced precision, his long fingers deftly arranging them into a perfect triangle. I pick up a cue, chalking the tip, trying to steady my shaking hands.
"Ladies first," he says, offering me the break.
I line up my shot, hyper-aware of his eyes on me. My break is weak - balls barely scatter, leaving a huge cluster mess in the middle of the table. Heat creeps up my neck.
I want to tell him that I'm not really that bad at all — I've got some moves… sometimes. I've run a table… well, only twice, but still.
“You want to shoot this rack or try again?”
“Try again,” I say, and we gather the balls.
He kindly re-racks for me.
"Here," he says softly as he stands directly behind me, perhaps a little too close. “Let me show you something.”
I sneak a peek at Reeves in the distance. The man still looks livid.
“It’s all about a smooth stroke,” he says as he adjusts my grip on the cue. His chest brushes my back, and hiswarm breath tickles my ear. "It's all in the follow-through."
"Like this?" I strike again, the balls clicking satisfyingly.
"Better." His lips curve. "Though there's still plenty I could teach you," he adds with a playful wink, and my knees nearly buckle.
I catch Reeves watching us still, his dark eyes narrowed. I quickly step away from Caine, but can't help admiring how he moves around the table - fluid, calculated. He misses his third shot—on purpose or not? I don’t really know.
"Your angle's off," Caine murmurs as I miss again. "You need to get higher on your shot to get a really good look... then lower down."
