Chapter 9 #2
I laugh. "So you're saying it’s not mine. Because let’s face it, I have no chance.”
"I wouldn't say that." His eyes hold mine for a beat too long. "I've been known to be... generous."
From behind the bar, Liza practically vibrates with excitement. She shoots me a look that says, ‘Oh my God!’ when Caine turns away. Greg, standing near the office door, cocks an eyebrow. Great. Another report for Reeves.
Caine hangs his jacket on a chair, and I can't help but notice how his shirt clings to his torso. What does he do to stay in such good shape? I remind myself that Reeves has a great body too - larger, more imposing. That was one of the things that first attracted me to him.
We play a few games, and conversation flows easily between shots.
He asks about Liam, about how I met Reeves.
I share stories about my son's latest preschool adventures and how Reeves and I connected in college before I dropped out.
Caine listens attentively, those green eyes focused entirely on me when it's not his turn to shoot.
"I have an older sister," I tell him, leaning slightly against the pool table. "She's perfect... super smart and successful... a lawyer now. She makes me look really bad," I joke, though there's an undercurrent of truth in my words that makes me shift uncomfortably.
"Oh… trust me… You could never look bad. Even if you tried." He shoots me a wink for good measure, and I want to scream. He needs to stop flirting with me. That smooth voice of his wraps around each word like honey, making everything sound like an invitation.
My cheeks flush with heat, and I grip my cue tighter, pretending to examine the tip with sudden interest. The last thing I need is another complication in my already messy life, especially one that makes my stomach flip like I'm sixteen again.
“Uh, yeah… anyhow, Julie's five years older than me and has these identical twins who are practically little geniuses already.
Every family gathering turns into a highlight reel of her accomplishments while I'm just... the bartender who never finished college.” I tap my fingers against my cue, remembering the last time my mother compared our lives.
"She's always been the overachiever, while I was daddy's little girl.
That didn't exactly help our relationship growing up. "
“Having siblings can be tough sometimes,” he pipes in. “Thankfully, my sister and I get along pretty well.”
"Anyway… it's just us and my mom now,” I go on. “My dad died when I was little… " I tell him, lining up a shot. "Car accident." The familiar ache surfaces whenever I mention it, but it's duller now, worn smooth by time.
He's speechless. For once. When all I hear is Carrie Underwood on the speakers, I turn to him.
His face is drawn, and when I study his beautiful eyes, I see pain in them.
Over the years, I've told many people about my father, but not once have I ever received this reaction.
Clearly, my words have really gotten to him, and I'm not sure what to say next.
His reaction is so different from what I'm used to—most people offer a quick 'I'm so sorry' and move on.
But Caine looks genuinely affected, like my loss has somehow become his own.
The silence between us grows heavier as Carrie Underwood's voice fills the wide open space.
I fidget with the pool cue, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze, those green eyes holding so much unspoken emotion.
"Uh… I'm sorry," he finally says, his voice softer than usual. For a moment, the confident businessman’s facade slips away. "It's just that my mother was hit by a drunk driver when I was eleven.”
I stand motionless, surprised by our shared tragedies. "I'm so sorry." Our eyes meet across the table, and I feel an unexpected connection forming—the kind that only comes from understanding someone else's particular kind of pain—that invisible thread of loss binding strangers together in seconds.
My fingers tighten around the pool cue as I struggle with what to say next.
How strange that this man—this confident, controlled, wealthy man—carries the same wound I do.
Both of us left behind by parents taken too soon.
The jukebox switches songs in the background, but the melody seems distant now, drowned out by the weight of our shared confessions.
"It was a long time ago." He gets up to shoot, but I notice how his jaw tightens slightly.
As promised, he lets me win the fourth game. I can tell he's holding back—the way his eyes calculate angles he deliberately misses, how he hesitates just slightly before each shot. But I don't care. I'm too excited about the gift.
There's something about winning against someone like Caine—even when I know it's not a real victory—that makes my heart flutter with unexpected joy.
For just a moment, I forget about the pool hall's financial troubles, about Liam's expenses, about everything except the small triumph lighting up inside me.
"Can I open it now?" I ask, feeling childish in my excitement.
A beautiful, infectious grin stretches across his lips. “Be my guest."