Chapter 8
Chelsea
Roy.
Somehow the name suited him. I could easily see him playing one in an action flick, perhaps more so than his namesake.
Bonus points for the fact he was charming, witty, and easy on the eyes.
Our second drinks had almost been consumed and we’d gone through every trivial conversation in the record books. Music including concert venues. Movies. The only acceptable toppings on pizza. Fast cars. And books. Finding out he loved to read was… different.
You could feel the tension rising along with the level of heat. He sat back, slumping in his seat, scrubbing his jaw while looking behind me.
“It’s time for me to go. I have a long day tomorrow.” Practice. Work. Practice. Feeling frustrated over my smaller part in the dance given I was the better dancer. At least in my mind.
“Not without a game.”
“A game?” I glanced to my side, uncertain what he was talking about.
“The game, Clementine.” As he leaned over the table, my reaction was involuntary and I did the same.
His lips were pursed in a slight smirk, his breathing somewhat labored from excitement. “I thought hockey was the game.”
“Not a chance. Do you trust me?”
The question seemed so out of the blue, I wasn’t certain how to answer so I blurted out what first came to mind. “Yes.”
Another slow and steady grin crossed his face. “Glad to hear it. Come on.” Roy didn’t wait for me to have time to find a way to object, slipping his long legs from under the table and standing. As he extended his hand, I developed the chills.
But I accepted, allowing him to pull me to his feet and grabbing my duffle bag.
No one paid us any attention as he weaved his way through the light crowd to an empty pool table. “You play pool?” Obviously, the answer was yes, but the question seemed to fit the moment.
He moved toward the triangle thingy in the middle of the table, slowly collecting the balls from the green felt surface and in a space underneath.
“When I was a kid, we used to have tournaments in my father’s mancave.
It was the one place my mother didn’t chastise him for being messy.
Funny thing was, he kept the basement immaculate.
My brothers and I and occasionally my sister would wager for a win.
We’d spend a few hours on a Saturday trying to beat one another. ”
The memories seemed sweet. “What did you wager?”
He shrugged and when every ball was positioned in the triangle, he rolled the entire group up and down the table. “Depends on how old we were. Chores. Our favorite Matchbox cars. First on the ice. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“It was.” As he stood back, he seemed to take a full minute to study me, his eyes slowly falling as if he’d never met me before. “What kind of memorable stuff did you do with your family? Or is that too personal.”
I teased, pointing my finger at him. “Against the rules.” Maybe so, but his question dredged up a million feelings. “We really didn’t do anything special. My dad was always working. At first Mom was as well but when she was home, she just never seemed to have the time.”
Roy narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Why was it I felt more nervous than before?
Because I’d shared something personal? Maybe.
I’d barely told Samantha anything about me.
Not because I was embarrassed, but because I’d craved what I hadn’t been allowed to enjoy as a kid.
What did it matter any longer? “It’s okay.
He taught me about adopting a strong work ethic, which I have. ”
He grabbed a stick from a holder on the wall. “You do know what they say about all work and no play. Right?”
“Except I’m not a boy as the saying goes.”
His head cock told me everything. “No, you are definitely not a boy. Let’s play some pool.”
“Okay. Let’s. But you’d better watch out, I’m good at everything.”
With his head toward the table, he lifted his eyebrows and his gaze. The sinfully sultry look alone was enough to make me blush. “That’s awesome to hear and something I’ll keep in mind.”
I pressed my fingers against my face, using finding a place to store my bag to hide the full level of embarrassment from shoving my foot into my mouth.
If the game was one of cards, I’d say he was a shark, but since I had no clue about pool, I’d hold my tongue and my judgment.
He handed me a stick and I did my best to look cool. I’d seen people play before. It was all about hitting a ball into one of the holes. Right? With his legs spread apart, his stick between them, he still gave off a badass appearance. All while wearing a wry smile.
“Would you like to break?”
I tried to act as if I knew what he was talking about, moving closer to the table, even taking a quick glance at the balls. Meanwhile, beads of perspiration had already formed on the back of my neck.
“You mean the balls?”
At least he attempted to remain a gentleman, only acknowledging my clueless factor by rubbing his thumb across his lips.
“Yeah, you can remove the plastic surrounding the balls, take the white ball, you know, the cue ball then use that to strike the group of balls to see if you get any into a pocket. That’s what you do, right? ”
Even his expression held such seriousness. “Yeah, of course. I wanted to make certain we were playing the same game. Roy.” I was forced to turn my head completely away. Sweat had even formed over my top lip, let alone my face was flaming.
“I think we’re playing the same game. One I’m thoroughly enjoying.” He stood right where he was, his two hands on the end of the stick. Watching me. Never blinking.
An image formed in my mind of witnessing a game at some point in my life.
I placed the white ball near the end of the table, pointed the end at the ball, leaned over and nearly crawled onto the table while the back end of the stick was pointed almost directly at the bar’s ceiling.
He said nothing as I proceeded to make a fool of myself.
At least I hit the white ball. It was entirely too bad it went sailing over the colorful ones, smashing hard against the wall.
And barely missing slamming into a guy playing on the other table.
If I could crawl under the bar, I would.
To Roy’s credit, he took a few seconds before responding, remaining right where he was. While I was mortified, turning away from the table completely and fanning my face, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my near-miss victim had collected the ball for me, tossing it on the table.
Thankfully, he didn’t make things worse.
“Well, that was one way to issue a break.” Roy’s voice was bland, almost no amusement whatsoever.
Hearing no real expression allowed me to face my faux pas. I turned toward him. “Oops.”
He took a few seconds before swaggering closer, so close the body heat was oppressive but scintillating. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a deliriously dark and seductive whisper. “First time playing pool?”
With the way he was leaning in, his body almost touching mine, my heartrate had exploded. “Mmmhmm.”
“Well, don’t worry, Clementine. I’ll show you how it’s done. You can learn from the master.”
* * *
Cole
Roy.
I kind of liked the name. In fact, I might use it as a new moniker. Plus, it offered anonymity, although I was craving having sweet Clementine learn more about me.
Damn if I didn’t crave knowing every single activity that made her tick.
Well, shit. My cock was aching all over again.
I’d never enjoyed a game of charades as much as with her.
Granted, this wasn’t a traditional game by any means, but neither was our date.
Using a fake name was entirely different and if I had to be truthful with myself, the playfulness of pretending was far more enjoyable than any recent dates I could remember.
Not that I’d been on even one in a long time. Hooking up was different. There weren’t many conversations held if any. Also, not that I’d indulged in a number of carnal activities either in several months.
Once since joining the Seattle Wild. And yes, while I hated to admit it, the sexual escapade had been after a party heavy on the booze.
Not my finest hour.
Clementine was so close I gathered a delicious whiff of her perfume. Or maybe just the shower gel she’d used. Either way, she smelled terrific, fresh and inviting as if a spring morning after a rainstorm.
“Why don’t I begin with showing you how to hold the pool cue?
” I moved behind her, taking a deep breath as I did.
In scooting her closer to the pool table, my body brushed against hers.
Specifically, my groin including the thick, throbbing bulge I’d been sporting all night was pressed into her perfectly rounded butt.
With her tight blue jeans accentuating her long legs and a flaming hot red shirt that brought out the dazzling green of her eyes, I’d found it nearly impossible to remain a gentleman.
Especially now.
“Just lean over,” I whispered in her hair. Every moment was a lesson in control.
“Like this?”
“Just. Like. That.” I wrapped my arms around her, adjusting the stick between her fingers and keeping my hand on hers. Maybe I was wrong, but it appeared she visibly shuddered. The sound she made was unmistakable, the slight moan something I wouldn’t soon forget.
She giggled briefly as if embarrassed to do so. For all her bravado at the gym, I much preferred her playfulness in attempting to stump me with questions about everything under the freaking sun except my personal or professional life.
The change was so refreshing I’d found myself completely relaxed around her. How many times had I walked into a bar only to be grilled by a fan of hockey or worse, one of thousands of shifter haters?
With celebrity came scrutiny, as both my father and my brothers had reminded me several times.
I got it. Hockey was more important to Seattle than any of the big tech companies bringing so many jobs into town.
There didn’t seem to be a guy under fifty who wasn’t certain, given the chance, he would make an NHL team.