Page 16 of Bad Blood Wolf

Chapter 6

Jasmin watched the White Tornado chalking up his cue.

This was fucking crazy. Jasmin didn’t have much spare cash—she was saving for a car of her own so she could get a restaurant job, someday when her jag settled down a little. She couldn’t afford to throw away two hundred bucks.

Even after Flynn had agreed to lend her the truck tonight, she hadn’t been sure she was going through with this.

But Brody Fucking Jameson wouldn’t stay out of her head. She’d checked out two other bars before she’d lucked out and found him in the same place where Bastian liked to play pool. Now she just had to get him his damn money back so she could forget about him, and that desolate look when he’d lost it.

He looked anything but desolate now. He looked hot as fuck—blue t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and stretched tight over his pecs, tucked into worn-in jeans with tears in the knees that fit like a second skin.

Forget that, she told herself. Focus on the mission. Focus on your anger.

It pissed her off that she’d been robbed. And it pissed her off even more that Brody had gotten robbed trying to help her.

But what pissed her off the most was that they’d been robbed by arrogant pricks who didn’t even need the money. They just did it because they were entitled assholes. Because they could.

None of them had the balls to get in the cage, so she had to make them submit some other way.

And we might get to taste the wolf again. We could bite him.

Stop it, she told her jag. That kiss was a one-time thing.

Still, she watched him, telling herself she was watching for weaknesses. Trying to figure out what made him tick, why he needed so much money he’d fight week after week with no enjoyment.

Gambling debts? But gamblers were adrenalin junkies, and she’d seen enough of him in the cage to know he wasn’t. And he didn’t act like an addict, either. Anyone with a habit that big was jumpy, mercurial, moody.

Brody was none of those things.

Who cares what he wants the money for? Just get it for him, and then you can be gone.

She strolled over to where he was standing and took the chalk from him. Electricity tingled up her arms when her fingers brushed his.

He looked over at her, startled.

Had he felt it too?

Butterflies started fluttering in her stomach. Game nerves, she told herself. That’s all it is.

Bastian’s team laid down their money. Four hundred dollars on the edge of the table.

Trace broke first, and the balls scattered. He stalked the table, checking it out, and then had a murmured conversation with Bastian. “Solids,” he said, calling the color. He sank the 6 ball before he missed a shot.

Jasmin looked at Brody, and he jerked his chin toward the table, giving her first shot.

They had stripes—balls 9 through15.

Jasmin hadn’t shot pool in a few years, but it was like riding a bike. Or anyway, she hoped it was. She’d never actually learned to ride a bike, so that saying could be a load of shit for all she knew.

She sank two balls before she miscalculated and missed one.

Bastian took over, and as soon as he shot she knew he was good. Better than her, probably. Which meant that Brody better be a damned good pool player.

Bastian sank three balls in a row, and then it was Brody’s turn. “Better get ready to lose your money,” Bastian sneered. “Brody there’s a pool virgin. You might have to show him how to hold his stick.”

Brody just gave her a lazy smile. “You can wrap your hands around my stick any time, babe.”

Her jag wanted to go rub up against him and show him exactly where to put his hands, and his stick. Oh, fuck.