37. Chapter 37
“Admit it. You’re impressed by my stick work.” Jase winked.
“Yes, you’re very good at handling a stick.” Lindsey rolled her eyes when in truth Jase really was very good at pool. All the time he spent on the road, he’d said.
“Didn’t you say you were a bartender?”
“I was.” Lindsey added chalk to the end of her pool cue and lined up a shot that she missed. “Damn it.”
“I’d figure your stick work would be better.”
She glared at him across the green velvet table filled with stripes and the lone orange solid Jase was about to sink.
“I don’t get much practice from behind the bar.”
“Let me show you.”
Jase came around the table and, ignoring that it wasn’t her turn, motioned for her to line up another ball.
“Does this really work for you?”
“What?”
“Giving pool lessons?”
His eyebrows shot up, the portrait of an affronted man. “Lindsey, do you think I’m hitting on you?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, leaning over the table.
“I said if I was, you’d know,” he reminded her. She hadn’t forgotten the road in Kentucky the first time he’d called her Sundress. Playful banter, she could see now. Even dancing in New Orleans was a harmless product of alcohol, heat, and Bourbon Street.
There was nothing playful or harmless about the way he formed his body around hers now, his warmth igniting every nerve in her back, or his mouth next to her ear, saying, “You’re unsteady.”
“I’ve been drinking.” The alcohol wasn’t why she was shaking.
“Hold still, babe.” He closed his hands over hers, guiding the cue between the tips of their fingers as he aimed.
The heat in her cheeks might’ve been the whiskey, but the warmth in her chest spreading through her stomach definitely had more to do with Jase’s pelvis pressing into her jeans than anything she’d had to drink.
As soon as they sank the eleven ball in the corner pocket, Lindsey stood.
“Better,” Jase said.
“You’re good,” she said.
He leaned on his pool stick. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean pool.”
“I know what you meant.”
His hooded eyes were a shade darker now.
“You’re drunk,” she said.
“You’re beautiful.”
She laughed and backed up a step. “You can’t even help it, can you?”
He caught her belt loop and yanked her back to him. She felt the tug between her legs. “Can you blame me for wanting to have a little fun tonight?”
A little fun. The weight of his stare was open to interpretation about just how much. Son of a bitch. This was how it happened. It was literally this quick. It didn’t have to take longer, and he didn’t have to try harder when the drinks—how many was it?—and a few practiced moves were enough.
“It’s your shot,” she pointed out.
“And I’m shooting it.” He released her belt loop and slunk around the side of the table to the cue ball.
There was a glassy sheen to his eyes from the light above the pool table, and an intensity as he aimed and looked at her afterward that drowned out Billy Ray Cyrus on the jukebox.
Drowned out everything besides Jase and the keen awareness of something in her lower belly waking up.
Lindsey could still feel the tug of his finger through her belt loop.
Her mouth went dry, and she sipped her beer. The one drink she’d promised to have had turned into two, turned into seven, and now she lost count.
Not surprisingly, Jase made the orange solid. He swiped his Bud off the high table next to him, and Lindsey tried not to fixate on his mouth. His lips barely touching the rim would be absolutely devastating with a little pressure.
He assessed the angles and lined up the eight ball. Lindsey was directly across the table from him.
“You’re going to miss,” she said.
“What’ll you give me if I make it?”
She must’ve been drunk or she wouldn’t have bent over the table and pulled her tank top down to show the top edge of her bra.
It was one of the only shots Jase missed all night.
She cheered her minor victory and said, “I guess we’ll never know.”
He dropped his head over the table. “That’s some dirty pool, babe.”
“It’s the only way I know how to play, babe.”
“And you say I’m the miserable flirt.”
He lifted his head with a devilish grin, and she suddenly felt like a fly in a trap. He swallowed another drink and made his way back to her.
“If I sink the eight ball next turn, I get to see the rest of these.” He poked the tank top between her breasts.
She swatted his hand away. “I take it back. You’re exactly how they said you were.”
He frowned. “I told you I was.”
“You said you weren’t hitting on me.”
He lifted his chin. “No, you said I wouldn’t dare, and I said you’re beautiful.”