Page 18 of Curveball

They could be the distraction I needed.

The one with long dark hair and seductive eyes spoke first. "Hey guys, any of you interested in playing us in a game of pool?" The other one had shoulder-length blonde hair and seemed the shyer of the two.

Probably terrified of my sister's wrath, Dean made the wise choice. "It's getting late, I think I'm going to call it a night. Arch, you coming with me or staying with them?"

Archer, also a wise man considering Harper was slightly unhinged, said, "I'll ride with you." He turned toward Weston and me. "Good to see you guys, I'm sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other now."

We said our goodbyes to the Adler brothers and told Dean to add his brother to our group chat, then turned our attention back to the two girls waiting for an answer. "Well, I'm up for a game of pool. West?" My brother just grunted something incoherent about being a wingman and stood up to follow the girls to the pool tables.

Weston and the blonde girl, I think her name was Stacey, were sitting at one of the high tops near the pool tables, talking, while I was kicking the brunette named Vanessa’s ass in pool. I happened to notice a few times that Farrah glanced over at Vanessa and me, and I decided to be petty—yup, I was that guy. Vanessa was about to take her shot, but I stopped her, making my way behind her. I caged her body in, her back to my front, running my hands down her arms suggestively under the guise of helping her position her pool stick correctly. I was making a goddamn show out of it. Vanessa clearly loved it, arching her back, pushing her round ass into my dick.

And nothing.

It did nothing. Literally nothing for me. Pushing that concerning reaction, or lack thereof, out of my mind, I helped her line up, and she took the shot, sinking the ball into the corner pocket. She pulled me into a hug in celebration, and I locked eyes with Farrah over her shoulder, who looked none too pleased.

Yeah, it isn't fun to watch, is it?

Weston and I played pool with the girls for another hour or so before we decided to call it a night. They were nice enough and easy to talk to, but I could tell Weston wasn't feeling her friend. By my dick's lack of reaction toward Vanessa, I wasn't feeling it either… but Farrah didn't need to know that. To really bring it home and be an even bigger asshole, I walked out of the bar hand in hand with Vanessa, making sure Farrah saw.

Once we were outside with the girls, Weston and I let them down easy and sent them on their way in an Uber… but Farrah didn't need to know that either.

Chapter 9

Farrah

Did he really just do that? Was he really that petty and immature?

I tried to focus on what Ryan was saying, but the moment I noticed Walker across the bar, my attention fractured. I couldn’t stop watching as he walked out with another woman, making what felt like a very deliberate effort to pass directly through my line of sight. Maybe it wasn’t intentional. Maybe I was reading too much into it. But the way he angled his body, the way he glanced back, made it feel pointed.

She was tall, with long, dark, silky hair that spilled down her back. Full lips. Seductive eyes. The kind of curves women secretly envied. She pressed herself into him as if she belonged there, and he didn’t exactly discourage it. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying the attention.

Which only pissed me off.

The date with Ryan had started off well—better than I expected, actually. He looked incredibly handsome, and conversation came easily. We talked about design and construction, divorce, and our shared love of reading. Granted, my shelves were filled with contemporary romance novels while his leaned more toward war stories and true crime, but it felt like a difference we could laugh about. He was fascinated by my big family because he was an only child, and I loved hearing about the chaos he and his cousins had gotten into growing up. He was funny, witty, and smart, and I could feel a genuine attraction forming.

That was, until the familiar sensation returned—like someone had sat on my chest, squeezing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. I watched as Walker slowly ran his hands up and down the woman’s arms, his touch casual and intimate, as if it came naturally. My discomfort must have been written all over my face, because Ryan kept asking if I was okay as the mood at our table had shifted. I assured him I was fine, over and over, until Walker finally walked out of the bar with his new, gorgeous companion.

That was my breaking point.

I told Ryan I wasn’t feeling well and needed to head home. He walked me to my car, placed a sweet kiss on my cheek, and asked for a second date. Wanting nothing more than to be alone, I agreed before I had the chance to overthink it.

Once I was in my car and Ryan had pulled away, I blew out a frustrated breath.

Why did Walker still affect me like this after all these years? I was allowed to be on a date. So was he. I lay my forehead against the steering wheel, forcing myself to breathe. If I didn’t get my shit together, this was going to be a long, painful year with him back in town.

I pulled out my phone and texted my sister. I needed her.

Me: Hey, you busy?

Aria: Your date is over already? That bad?

Me: Actually, no. The date wasn’t bad. He’s great. Walker happened. Are you home?

Aria: Yeah. I’ll open a bottle of wine.

Me: Good. I’m going to need it.

As I drove to Aria’s house, my thoughts spiraled. I couldn’t stop imagining Walker with that woman. Were they at his place now? Had they fallen into each other the second they crossed the threshold, hands everywhere, unable to wait? The images played on a loop, uninvited and relentless.