Prologue #3
“So you like to work on bikes? Are you some sort of weekend warrior? I’d imagine you don’t get a lot of time to ride, considering you’re probably busy doing accounting stuff.”
Braxton chuckles again as I line up my next shot.
Focus, Van. You’ve heard plenty of men laugh before. There’s no reason his should have any sort of effect on you.
“I make time now and again,” he says. “What about you? What do you do in your spare time?”
“Between my pedicure appointments and champagne brunches, I have hardly any time left over,” I reply in an airy voice.
“Wow, teachers make a lot more money than I ever thought,” he says, his lips twisting into a grin that tells me he knows I’m full of shit.
A couple of guys walk into the bar and order a pitcher of beer. Apparently Hole in the Wall is the happening spot tonight.
They have a seat at one of the tables closest to where Braxton and I are playing pool.
“You guys want to play teams?” one of the men asks, looking between me and Braxton.
I look at Clyde, and he nods his head. This isn’t the first time some random guys have walked in here while I was playing pool. Clyde’s nod tells me they aren’t regulars, therefore, fair game. It’s a little hustle Clyde knows I like to play every once in a while.
“If you guys are up for making it interesting,” I say with a smile.
The men whistle in unison as the one who asked nods and says, “Let’s do it.”
I look at Braxton, whose shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. “You’re something else, Vanessa.”
I shrug one shoulder and shoot him a coquettish smile. “What? I like to have a little fun.”
“Never said I didn’t like it.” Braxton tosses me a wink, and I nearly melt into a puddle.
From a fucking wink.
Maybe this birthday is turning out not to be so bad after all.
Two hours later and a hundred dollars richer, Braxton has settled up his tab.
He bought the guys who thought they were hot shit with pool sticks a round of beers after we beat the pants off them.
Running that little scam can easily go one of two ways.
Thankfully, tonight, it went the right way.
And the guys were good sports about everything.
I mean, I did pretend to be a shitty pool player the first round so they thought they had it in the bag, but I gave them a choice.
They were the ones who took me up on it.
It’s hardly my fault that I’ve spent countless nights in this bar for the last four years playing pool to give my brain something else to concentrate on rather than the shitty circumstances I’ve fallen into.
“So I guess this is good night,” Braxton says as the door to the bar closes behind us, and I hear Clyde lock it from the other side.
“Guess so,” I reply.
Why is my head screaming at me to stop him from going back to his hotel?
Probably because this is the most fun I’ve had in ages. A night where I could play the role of someone else, even though we both know we’re full of shit. I don’t want my time with him to end on the sidewalk.
“Maybe next time you’re in town you can stop in again. I’ll probably be here,” I say. Not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.
“Maybe. Maybe you’d like to get a nightcap somewhere else?” He takes a step closer to me.
“Everything around here is closing up. This part of town doesn’t stay open as late as the places downtown.”
Braxton nods, but his stare doesn’t leave mine.
“Does your hotel room have a minibar?” I bite my lower lip. Braxton’s heated gaze zeroes in on the movement as I release it and smile.
“Now that you mention it, it does.”
“I mean, I could be persuaded…”
“Yeah? And what would it take?” he asks, stepping so close I feel the heat emanating from his body.
“What do you have?” I breathe out, looking up into his blue eyes.
Slowly, Braxton slides his hand to cup the side of my neck and traces my lip with his thumb. I close my eyes and let the sensations rioting in my body from his touch take over my senses.
“Eyes on me.” That commanding voice is back, and when I open my eyes, he’s staring straight into them. “It can be just a drink.”
“Or it can be something else,” I whisper. My hands move to his waist, feeling the tight muscles under his flannel.
Braxton holds my gaze as though he’s looking for something.
When he finds whatever it is, he leans down and presses his lips against mine.
His stubble tickles my lips as he kisses me, slowly at first—until I grip his shirt and pull him flush against my body.
My mouth opens on a gasp at the feeling of the two of us being connected from mouths to thighs.
I don’t know exactly what he has going on under his clothes, but damn, I need to know—and immediately.
Braxton pulls away and takes a small step back. “Fuck, Vanessa, I’ve wanted to do that since I walked in and saw you with a knife in your hand.”
I bark out a laugh. “Just so you know, I’m not into knife play.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, there isn’t anything I want to do to your skin other than find out what it tastes like.”
“Then”—I lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips—“I suggest we start walking.”