Chapter 4 Jack
I GO HOME TO GET Elf and bring him back to the tavern while Clara eats her dinner.
The gasp she lets out when she sees him is one I’m used to, and one he loves. “Bully mix?” she asks, hand scratching the white patch in the center of his otherwise silver body.
“Or something. He was a stray, so they weren’t one hundred percent sure.”
After stealing her attention away from me for five minutes, he follows Tommy and settles in the bed kept behind the bar especially for him.
With her focus back on me, Clara lets me talk about the colorful lore of Fraser Falls. I introduce her to Tommy and let him recount his traumatic experience of being trapped in Donald’s net. When he’s done answering her questions, he makes himself scarce, which I appreciate.
I tell her how some people in town staged a protest outside the art school when Wilhelmina wanted to use a nude model for a painting class—their three placards said, “No class needs ass”—and she almost chokes on her drink.
When she’s finished with her meal, Clara tells me about her mom’s obsession with horoscopes and how her brother has been in love with her best friend since they were kids.
She skips over her dad and I’m happy to do the same.
I beam when she gasps as I recall the infamous Fraser Falls love triangle of ’09 that rocked the foundation of the town.
The conversation is flowing so easily that I want to ask if this happens to her.
The instant rapport, the sparks crackling between us, the desire to learn everything.
Because it doesn’t happen to me. I don’t ask; instead she laughs through a story about getting stuck in an elevator with Jennifer Aniston on Halloween while dressed as Chucky and I tell her about the time I accidentally set the summer play set on fire.
Clara laughs with her whole body, leans forward when she talks like every word is a secret she only wants me to hear.
It’s impossible not to like her. She’s polite to Tommy when he refills our drinks and pats my forearm gently with an understanding smile while I apologize profusely that my phone ringing has interrupted her for the third time.
“Is this the part where I find out you’re the town drug dealer?” she asks when I end the call.
I place my phone back on the bar and put it on silent. “My life isn’t that dangerous or exciting. I’m the guy that gets the call when someone has a problem.”
“Like an I need help blackmailing someone kind of problem?” she asks playfully.
My eye flicks to my screen as I see a text come through. “More like There’s a raccoon that keeps getting into my garden and ruining my vegetable patch , or Can you fix the hole in my fence? Or something glamorous like My toilet is backing up and flooding my house, what do I do? ”
“Wow, that is glamorous. Surely the correct solution is domesticate the raccoon and launch a social media career?”
I nudge my phone toward her. “You’re good at this, you can take the next call.”
“I hope it’s something juicy. Do you want to play pool while we wait for my time to shine?” She’s already shining pretty bright from where I’m sitting. I don’t even like pool but I find myself nodding. “I should warn you, I’m not very good.”
“That’s what all the pool hustlers say before they reveal they’re some kind of prodigy.”
Clara slides from her stool and I follow her to the table. “Just for fun,” she says, chalking the end of her cue while I rack the balls. “No bets.”
I pull a coin out of my pocket. “Heads or tails?”
She presses her lips together, thinking. “Tails.”
The quarter spins in the air before landing on my palm. I press it onto the back of my hand and reveal it. “Heads. I break.”
Clara grips the top of her cue with both hands and leans against it. “Don’t be nervous. There’s nothing at stake but your pride.”
“Oh great, that makes it less stressful.” I pull the cue back and surge it forward, connecting perfectly and sending the cue ball careering toward the triangle.
The crack is loud as they break and roll in opposite directions across the green felt, bouncing off the rails.
I silently thank whatever cosmic force made me not miss.
Two solids and a stripe roll into the pockets. “Now who’s hustling?” Clara says, leaning her hip against the table. I focus on the orange stripe away from her and breathe a sigh of relief when I sink it.
“Looks like I’m stripes.” My growing confidence immediately stops when my next shot bounces off the corner of the pocket. “You’re up, solids.”
I take a step back from the table and watch her survey it from all angles.
Her legs look even longer in her heeled boots, ass tight and round as it moves side to side.
“I hit it with the thin end, right?” she says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder when she stands up straight.
“I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding. I know it’s the thick end. ”
I rub my hand over my jaw, watch her try not to laugh at her own jokes. There’s something irresistible about how she doesn’t take herself too seriously. “Take your shot, Clara.”
Her movement is smooth but the red ball bounces off the pocket and rolls diagonally to the center of the table. “I think this table is wonky,” she says, side-eyeing it.
“It must be. Couldn’t be your aim.” I line up my next shot, face six inches from the table when her elbows land in the spot next to me, her head level with mine. “You’re not going to distract me.”
She leans in, the sweet smell of her perfume engulfing me. She lowers her voice. “You haven’t seen how good I am at it.”
Clara winks and I go too far to the right on the cue ball and miss my target entirely.
“See? And I’m not even trying yet.”
She sinks her orange. Then her purple. Just touches her blue.
“Do you need some help?” she asks when I spend ten seconds evaluating the table.
I hit the ball and sink my maroon. I lean toward her, our faces only inches apart. Fuck, she’s so gorgeous. “I think I’m okay.”
I miss my next shot, but it doesn’t matter. I do exactly what she just did to me. Lean in as she’s lining up and whisper, “Do you need some help?”
“I do, actually.” She straightens up and watches me patiently while the words oh and fuck run through my head on a mental conveyor belt.
“Bend over.” I swallow the lump in my throat.
Yeah, I can see myself saying that to her in an entirely different set of circumstances.
I don’t make a habit of lusting after strangers, but it’s not every night a gorgeous woman walks in here and I have instant chemistry with her.
“And line up your shot like you would normally.”
She does as I say and looks up at me from the table expectantly. “And now?”
I adjust her left hand with mine and reposition her right hand, reach across her back, and grip the bottom of the cue. She inches closer to me. “Hold it closer to your body like this. Don’t grip it too tight, you want a smooth stroke,” I say quietly.
“Good technique.” I’m very aware that we’re being watched right now, but Clara either doesn’t care or hasn’t noticed.
I guide the cue back with her and hit the cue ball into the blue. She wiggles in excitement when it rolls into the pocket, the soft curves of her body brushing against mine. “We’re a good team.”
I let go of her and take a safety step backward. I rub my neck where my skin feels red-hot. Losing it over a game of pool. I need to get a grip.
Clara continues to distract me every chance she gets and I continue to let her, enjoying her constant fight for my attention over the game.
“What does the winner get?” Clara asks, chalking her cue again. She brushes the blue dust off her hands, wedging the cue between her forearm and biceps.
“I think it was just pride, wasn’t it?” I clip the side of my yellow but it goes nowhere. “Are you telling me there’s been a prize this whole time?”
“I didn’t want the pressure to crush you.” She tilts her head to the side and pouts. “I had your best interests at heart.”
“How about… the loser buys the next round of drinks?”
Clara’s eyes widen like I just said something magnificent. “That’s a totally new and unique take and I love it. Let’s do that.”
Clara takes a deep breath and lines up to pot her red. I make a slight noise and she shushes me. I already know she isn’t going to sink it, her angle is all wrong and her cue is too high. She’s more likely to chip the cue ball off the side of the table. “Hey, permission to work as a team?”
She looks across the table to me, her pert ass in the air. “Planning to sabotage me?”
I push my hands into my pockets and shake my head. “Nope.”
She looks me up and down, eyes taking longer over my chest and face. “Okay, but only because I like your raspy whispering in my ear, not because I think I need your help.”
I drag my hand over the crown of my head, temporarily at a loss for words. “Understood.”
“Move this way a little.” I guide her closer to the center of the table with my hand on her hip.
I settle over her again like earlier; my hands are steady when I tweak her form.
My body is a little closer than before. When I reposition her left hand everything falls into place, almost like she was being bad on purpose.
“You’re doing so good, you didn’t need my help. ”
“I know, but there’s that whispering again.” She draws her arm back, eyes fixed on the shot, then strikes the cue ball clean. It smacks the red exactly where it needs to, sending it speeding into the pocket. “You want to help me beat you or watch from the bar while you buy us drinks?”
“I’ll help. Feeling like I was involved will probably boost my ego.”
Clara cheers when she sinks the eight ball into the closest pocket. I let go of the cue and give her space. Well, give me space. She holds out her hand and I shake it carefully. “Good game,” she says. “I’ll have a mojito, please.”
“Coming right up.”
“B IGGEST TOWN SCANDAL?”