Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
"Listen, I know you're married. I know you have a kid,” he says. “I know you’re probably better off not knowing me at all, but I can't seem to help myself. I'm drawn to you. I'm a selfish asshole, right?!"
“Kind of,” I say quietly. “But seriously, let’s play. This is what I agreed to… playing some pool. And not the kind of games that can ruin marriages. Got me?!”
He nods in resignation, and we keep playing.
I can't help but feel embarrassed by my clumsy attempts to somehow match his skillset. But then he leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Don't worry, Jenna. I'll teach you all my best moves," he promises, and there's something in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine.
He keeps playing with me, and I’m not talking about pool, and I hate him for it. But I also kind of love it.
As we continue to play, Caine is unfailingly kind and attentive.
He compliments my shots, even the ones that don't quite make it, and his praise feels genuine.
I find myself drawn to his intelligence, the way he strategizes each play, the way his eyes light up when he explains the physics of a bank shot.
Every so often, I glance over at Reeves.
He's watching us intently. There's a possessiveness in his stance, a silent claim staked.
I can't tell if it's concern for my well-being or something more primal, but it's unsettling.
This man, Caine, is still a stranger to us, and the unknown variables of his character hang in the air like a fog. So I get it.
Liza, meanwhile, is doing a poor job of disguising her interest in the unfolding drama.
She flits around the room, her eyes darting back to us every few seconds, her mouth curled into a mischievous smile.
She's always been a sucker for romance, even when it's as clear as day that it's nothing more than a very weird, fleeting infatuation.
As the games continue, Caine and I find ourselves leaning close over the table, our bodies aligned in an unmistakably intimate way.
The air between us crackles with an electric charge, and despite myself, I feel a warmth spreading through me, a yearning that's both exciting and terrifying… and shameful.
The sensual talk resurfaces, almost imperceptibly at first. A casual remark here, an innocent touch there.
But it escalates quickly, the subtext of our conversation becoming more and more overt.
There's a promise in his eyes, a silent vow that he has the power to make me feel things I've never felt before.
"You like playing with me?" he asks playfully, and I can't help but blush a little.
"Yes, a little." I say. "I suspect you do this a lot. You obviously get off on this."
"Think what you want," he says and checks his expensive-looking watch. “Looks like we're done here. I'd like to speak with your husband."
This doesn't make any sense. There must be more to this than he lets on. I just know it.
Apparently, he's fallen madly in lust with me, and he just can't help himself.
This is a man who could have anyone he wants.
Why would he waste his time on an ordinary mom with a few extra pounds around the middle?
Yes, Reeves always says I'm the most beautiful woman in the world, but he's biased.
And Liza always says I'm a total hottie, but she has to say that — it's bestie code — always feed the self-esteem.
The grandfather clock in the corner of the pool hall strikes two, the doors swing open, and in walks one of our regulars.
Phil comes and shoots a few balls nearly every afternoon, and he loves to chat me up.
I could write his memoir, but that's what a bartender's job is — listening to the customers drown their sorrows. I always cut him off after one drink.
"Excuse me while I get back to my job," I say, matter-of-fact. “Thanks for the games.”
“Yes… ditto.” He shoots me a wide smile. “Where would I find your husband?"
"Probably in the office, or in the back room, I can go get him." I’m acting completely nonchalant, but I’m secretly dying to know what he wants with him.
I'm chatting with Phil at the bar when Liza taps my shoulder. "Reeves wants you in the office."
My stomach drops as I walk down the dim hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. Through the frosted glass panel, I spot Caine's silhouette next to my husband, his tall frame unmistakable in the shadows.
Something's definitely wrong.
The old brass doorknob feels cold in my palm as I push the heavy door open with a long creak.
"Have a seat, Jenna" Reeves says. His voice is tight, strained in a way that makes my back tense.
I perch on the edge of the worn leather desk chair, my heart hammering against my ribs. The tension in the room is suffocating, thick like summer storm clouds about to break.
Caine and Reeves sit on opposite sides of the old wooden coffee table in matching purple leather armchairs—these old, ugly chairs have been here for as long as I remember.
Caine doesn't waste time with pleasantries. "I'll be direct. I enjoyed our games today, Jenna. I'd like to make it a regular thing - twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Eight sessions total. One hour each." His words come slowly and deliberately, each one carefully measured.
I blink, confused, my fingers nervously playing with a loose thread on my jeans. "What?"
"In exchange, I'll waive the next two months’ rent."
The words hit me like a slap, making my cheeks burn hot. Twenty thousand dollars. For playing pool for eight hours? My mind races, trying to make sense of it while my stomach twists into knots.
Reeves slams his palm on the desk, making me jump. "Get the fuck out before I throw you out."
Caine's slow grin is wicked. "You know you'd love to, but you can't. You haven't changed a bit, Sullivan."
Wait?! What? Reeves knows this guy?
Reeves is just about to lose his cool. I can tell by the way he clenches his fists — it's a telltale sign. I always try to cool him down when I see him like this, and today is no exception. I inch closer and take his hand. "He's not worth it. Whatever this is is not worth it," I say softly.
"You really want to destroy your father's business?" Caine asks. "The poor guy has owned this place for how long… thirty years? It'd be a shame to lose it."
I squeeze Reeves’s hand a little tighter. "Not worth it," I whisper.
"Too bad you took it over, and sank it to the ground,” Caine goes on, stoking the fire.
Seeing Reeves like this makes my heart race. When he gets angry, it's like a volcano erupting. I've never seen him this worked up, and it's terrifying.
He leaps across the coffee table, knocking over a plant in the process, and lunges at Caine.
His fingers clutch Caine's collar, pulling him close.
"You want me to fuck you up?!" he growls, his eyes dark as coal.
I can see the veins bulging in his neck, and I'm afraid he might do something he'll regret.
I rush over to them, trying to pull Reeves away, but he's too strong. "Reeves, no!" I cry out, my voice shaking. "He's not worth it!" But Reeves is beyond reasoning. He's in a blind rage, and I'm not sure how to stop him.
I glance over at Caine, who's staring back at Reeves with a smirk on his face. He doesn't seem the least bit concerned about the fact that Reeves is about to pummel him. If anything, he looks amused.
This just makes me even angrier. I can't believe he's provoking my husband like this. It's infuriating. But I know I can't let Reeves hurt him. I have to find a way to calm him down before things escalate any further.
I reach for my husband and grab a handful of his shirt, but I can't restrain him. "Reeves," I plead. "Stop it. He's not worth it."
"Think about it," Caine says smoothly, unfazed. "Just pool. Nothing more."
"You're treating me like property," I snap, finding my voice through the shock. "Like some... some whore you can buy!"
"That's not my intention at all," Caine says, his green eyes fixed on mine. "Simply friendly games."
I look at our stack of unpaid bills on the desk, their red stamps screaming past due, and think of Liam's therapy sessions and school fees. The weight of our growing debt sometimes crushes me, pressing against my chest until I can barely breathe.
“If you want me to play with you again, you really need to cool it with the flirting.”
“Promised,” he says with a smirk.
Reeves finally releases him and paces around the room, running his hands through his dark hair. His face is red with rage, but I see the defeat in his eyes. He knows we're drowning.
"This would be for my family," he mutters, more to himself than to us. "For Liam. For my dad."
I can barely believe what I'm hearing. Is Reeves actually considering this reckless plan? It's as if he's stepped into another world, one where the lines of propriety and fidelity are blurred beyond recognition.
He must trust me implicitly to even entertain such a thought. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would never betray him, never cheat on him. The very idea is repulsive to me.
Yet here we are, dancing on the edge of something that could shatter everything we've built together.
My heart aches at the thought, but I can't ignore the desperation in his eyes, the defeat that's settled on his shoulders.
We're drowning, and he sees this as a lifeline, no matter how tainted it may be.
Reeves cocks his head. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, from one to two in the afternoon?" he asks.
Caine sits up straighter. "Yes."
"Under my supervision," Reeves adds.
Caine shakes his head. "You didn't take your eyes off of us today. It was unnerving to say the least. I certainly didn't love it. I'd rather you were absent."
Reeves exhales loudly. "No fucking way."
"Well…" Caine starts. "What about if there were a chaperone at all times… what about that lovely young lady at the bar?"
I smile. I'll have to tell Liza he referred to her as a 'lovely young lady'. She'll get a kick out of that —it all sounds so Bridgerton.
Reeves shakes his head. "No way. Can't trust that girl."
What?! What the hell is that supposed to mean? What does he think is going to happen at these pool games? Does he not trust me?
"Well, you can pick anyone of your choosing," Caine offers. "I just don't want to see your face."
God, these guys have a beef of some kind, and I really need to get to the bottom of it.
"We'll need to sleep on it," Reeves explains. "Let me make a phone call and discuss it with Jenna."
Well, there you go. So happy I'm involved in the decision-making here. What a load of ridiculous crap. There's no way we're doing this. Or is there?
I feel sick to my stomach, bile rising in my throat. How did we end up here, in this dark office, selling pieces of ourselves just to stay afloat?