Chapter 42
“Morning, sunshine.” West tickles my toes.
I pry my left eye open, seeing him standing beside the couch, grinning down at me.
“I’ve got fresh coffee,” he whispers enticingly.
I stretch and sniff, and he presents a cup. Wiggling up, I grab the mug and take a welcoming sip. “What time is it?”
He cups my cheeks and gives me a quick kiss. “Seven.”
Last night in the dark with the fire glowing, everything had been intimate, secretive, hidden. Now, in the bright daylight, it’s all almost too real. I take another drink of coffee, hoping to mask my morning breath.
I survey his fresh clothes and wet hair. “You showered.”
“Yes.” He sits down on the couch and slides my feet into his lap.
I’m curious how we slept together the whole night on this couch, and he got up and showered, and made coffee, and I didn’t wake up. That’s not like me.
“Last night was awesome,” he says.
Yes, it was.
Love. It comes across as very real to me right now. All warm and bubbly and floaty. All sexy and smiley and well, cute to the point of ridiculous. I lift the mug and take another sip, acting like I’m not thinking about what I am. Love.
“So, what do you want to do today?” The bank of windows offers an already sunny view. “Looks like it’s going to be pretty. Oh, wait—it’s New Year’s Eve!”
“Yep, and that’s a perfect lead into what I want to ask you.” He leans forward. “There’s supposed to be a festival going on in the next town over. Thought we could browse the booths and share a funnel cake. Then come back here for a quiet New Year’s Eve. Yes? No?”
“I love that idea!” I hop up. “Give me thirty and I’ll be ready.”
He tweaks my butt as I trot past, and I quirk an eyebrow, smiling.
We spend the entire day in the small town, winding in and out of booths and eating entirely too much junk food.
At a pet stand, we buy an enormous bone for Jake.
West wears his usual fedora and sunglasses, but other than my blue hair, no one pays us much mind.
Then again, this isn’t an indie rock area.
People probably have no clue who West is.
Late afternoon rolls in, and still out and about West asks, “Know how to play pool?”
Anne’s awesome at pool, and she spent a whole day back when we first met teaching me how to play. I caught on quick. I like the game. “Yeah, a little,” I answer.
“Are you a betting girl?”
“I can be,” I tell him.
“Well, I usually wager kisses.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“But since we’re way past that point, how about this: if I win, you have to go back with me to visit my family.”
I would’ve gone anyway. “If I win?”
“You name it,” he says.
“I want to stay in a big fancy suite at some point on the tour.”
He nods. “Deal. Only if you let me come over and ravish you with my luscious kisses.”
“Luscious kisses?” I ask, completely amused.
West pulls me in and gives me a very public, very long, delicious one just to prove his point. I don’t want this to stop. It’s all I can think as he leads the way a couple of blocks down and into a small log cabin with a BBQ & POOL sign hanging from it.
A barbeque pit occupies one corner, and small tables sit scattered about.
A horseshoe-shaped bar takes up the middle, and three pinball machines stand against the back wall.
Four pool tables form a line, spaced a few feet apart.
Two of the four pool tables are occupied, so West leads me to the farthest one.
He slides some quarters into the table’s slots, and after taking my jacket off, I start racking the balls.
I place every striped and solid in their specific spot, like Anne taught me, then spin the eight ball for a tighter break.
I pick up a cue stick and roll it across the table, making sure it isn’t bowed.
“Something tells me you’ve done this before.” West squints.
I chalk the tip. “Anne taught me a few things. Do you want to play eight ball, nine ball, snooker?”
“You’re going to kick my ass, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” I slide him a look.
“I only know how to play eight ball.”
“Good choice. Anne says that’s a good betting game, and I have a hotel suite to win.” I reach inside my front jeans pocket and pull out a quarter. “Call it.” I flip it in the air.
“Heads.”
I snatch it on its descent, turn it over to reveal tails, and West grunts his disappointment. Shoving the quarter back into my pocket, I pull the rack from the balls and execute a clean break. The loud cracking noise echoes around us as a solid red ball sails to the rear corner pocket.
I glance up at West to see if he’s impressed and catch him staring right down my shirt. “Cute bra.” My skin catches on fire, and he grins. “Just trying to distract you, that’s all.”
“West,” I playfully warn.
“What? There was nothing in the bet about distraction rules.”
I circle the table, wishing I knew how to play the flirting game better. “I’m sure the bra wasn’t nearly as cute as those lacy ones that get thrown at you.”
“Jealous?”
I give him a look that says I’m anything but. Yet I suppose I am.
“Don’t worry, I’d rather see your beige cotton one than any lacy thing.”
“West,” I warn again.
“Fair enough.” He waves me on.
I tug my V-neck T-shirt up so he can’t see my bra, then line up for the next shot. A solid yellow goes in the side pocket, then a solid blue into a corner pocket. I miss green, and West jumps off his stool.
I search my brain for something to say to distract him, but come up with nothing.
He succeeds in sinking a purple striped but misses on his next try.
I step back into place and lean over for my next ball, completely aware that West stands right behind me.
“You’ve got a cute little butt.”
I miss my shot and turn to look at him. “You did that on purpose.”
“Yes, I did.” He misses his shot, too.
My turn again. I motion for him to go sit on a stool. “No talking. No lecherous looks either.”
He holds his hands up in surrender.
My solid green ricochets off the side and zips into the opposite corner. I circle, studying the solid purple, and then send it from one end of the table to the other, back again, and spiraling down a front corner pocket.
West claps. “Go, girl.”
I round the table for the winning shot, the eight ball. I point to the side pocket to signify where the eight will go, give it a soft tap, and it plops into its appointed hole.
Still on the stool, West crooks his finger at me.
Casually, I stroll over. “Guess you’re getting me a suite.”
“Guess so.” He hooks his finger in my front belt loop and pulls me in between his legs. “Anne would be so proud.”
I loop my arms around his neck. “Yep.”
He presses his lips right below my ear and chuckles, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He slides his hands to my rib cage and pulls me closer as his lips trace the line of my neck. I tilt my head, savoring the tingling sparking through my muscles.
He presses one last kiss to my cheek before hopping off his stool and grabbing our jackets. “Better clear out before the New Year partiers get here.” He helps me into my jacket, takes my hand, and leads me out.
I soak in the moment. “Maybe next time we can bet on more of what we did last night?” I unexpectedly, boldly say.
He stops walking and turns to me. “Eve, are you flirting with me?”
“Yes, sorry.” I cover my face with my hands. “I’m not very good at it.”
Prying my hands away, he kisses me hard on the lips. “You’re very good at it. And we don’t have to bet. I’ll gladly let you do more ‘homework’ anytime.”
As we finish walking back through town to where we left the SUV, the sun completely sets, and exterior lights flip on. One to the right draws my attention. It’s brighter than the others and sits up high.
There, some fifty feet away, is a giant billboard featuring Grayson and me.