Chapter 13 Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
I didn’t know the arcade had a pool room until Vincent pointed it out. It wasn’t a classic arcade game, but it worked out in our favor because we were the only people here.
“Loosen your grip and hold the cue like this.” Vincent leaned over me to adjust my form. “Let your wrist hang naturally. It shouldn’t be curved inward or outward toward your body; it should create a straight line with your forearm.”
“Are you sure? This feels unnatural.”
“Positive.” I couldn’t see him, but the amusement in his voice came through loud and clear. “You’re good at air hockey; I’m good at pool. Trust me.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “But you better not be sabotaging me.”
He laughed, the sound low in my ear.
The awkwardness from the end of our meal was gone, but that meant I was back to being just a little too aware of his presence—the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne, the brush of his shirt against my back.
I set my jaw and tried to focus on mastering my grip. It was difficult. Between my job offer, the photo, our surprisingly candid conversation over air hockey, and our near-kiss during dinner, the day had been an emotional rollercoaster.
At least, I thought it was a near-kiss. The vibes had been there, and he’d moved so close…
But then he’d pulled back like he’d been burned and hadn’t said a word about it since, so maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d been sucked in by the illusion of intimacy that came from spending hours alone together.
So stupid.
The worst part wasn’t mistakenly thinking he wanted to kiss me. The worst part was that I would’ve let him—bet or no bet.
Vincent had always been gorgeous, but the recent glimpses of his vulnerability tugged on my heartstrings in just the right way. The world loved the player, but I liked the flawed human underneath even more.
So, SO stupid.
“Good.” The warmth of his breath slid over my skin. “Just like that.”
Fuck. My entire body tightened as a shiver ran down my nape all the way to my toes. I didn’t have a praise kink, but his voice, paired with those words, did things to me that reason couldn’t explain.
I didn’t even know what he was—
“Your form’s perfect now.” He released my hand and straightened.
Oh. Right. That was what we’d been working on while my brain rolled into the gutter.
By the time Vincent came around the other side of the table to face me, I’d wrestled my rogue hormones under control.
I stood, my face smoothing into what was hopefully a neutral expression.
“How about we make this more fun?” He selected his own cue stick from the wall. If our earlier proximity affected him the way it had me, he didn’t show it. “Every time one of us sinks a ball, the other person has to reveal a secret.”
“That hardly seems fair. I’m the novice. I’ll be the one spilling all my secrets while you sit back and log them in your little blackmail book.”
His eyes glittered with laughter. “I don’t have a blackmail book, but thank you for the idea. Besides, haven’t you heard of beginner’s luck?” When I remained skeptical, he shrugged and said, a little too casually, “Or do you have that little faith in yourself?”
Damn him. He always knew how to get me.
I wasn’t proud of it, but I took the bait and, as expected, I had to watch him sink the first ball of the night.
“Cough it up, buttercup,” Vincent said over my groan. “What’s secret number one?”
I searched for something small but significant enough to satisfy him. “I didn’t have my first kiss until my senior year of high school. I was the last person in my friend group to kiss a boy, and everyone nicknamed me Pope Innocent because, well, you know.”
He stared at me. A beat passed, and then—laughter. Deep, rich laughter that started as a chuckle and gradually escalated into guffaws.
“It’s not funny,” I protested even as a giggle rose in my own throat. “Seventeen-year-old me was traumatized! It wasn’t a good kiss either. It was like making out with a slobbery toad.”
He placed his hands on the table and dipped his chin, his shoulders shaking. “Pope Innocent,” he choked out. “Oh, that’s good.”
I tried to remain stern, but the giggle slipped out before I could stop it. It was followed by another, and another, until I was doubled over, my stomach aching from laughter.
“I’m sorry your first kiss was such a terrible experience,” Vincent said when we finally gathered ourselves. “I hope you’ve had better ones since then.”
“Don’t worry.” The high from my amusement lingered, and my voice ran a touch breathless. “I have.”
Our eyes met. My skin tingled, but the sensation washed away when he gestured toward my pool cue. “Your turn.”
I shook off the buzz and leaned over, adopting the form he’d taught me. Focus.
But I didn’t make my first shot, or my second, or my third. Vincent missed one but sank the other two.
Frustration chafed beneath my skin. I didn’t expect to win, but I had to make at least one shot. Otherwise, my pride would never recover.
I scanned the table for the best opportunity and chose a ball near the middle. It wasn’t as close to a pocket as some of the others, but the angle looked promising.
I hit it above its center and knew immediately I hadn’t used enough force, but at least it was moving in the right direction.
Come on. I strangled my cue stick with a white-knuckled grip. The ball rolled slowly toward a corner pocket. Did it have enough momentum to make it, or was it going to lose steam partway there? Go in. Go in. Go—
It fell into the pocket with a soft thud.
“Oh my God.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. I stared at the table, half expecting the ball to pop back out with a “Gotcha!” It didn’t. “Holy shit, I did it! I did it! I sank a ball!”
I jumped up and down with a small squeal. I didn’t care if I looked like an idiot. I was too damn happy about scoring a point.
Ha! Take that, pool gods.
When I finally calmed down enough to claim my prize, I glanced across the table and saw Vincent watching me with a half smile. It disappeared when my gaze caught his.
“Your turn to spill a secret.” A thrill of anticipation bolted through me. “What’s it going to be?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I own one pair of underwear.”
“What?”
“One style of underwear,” he amended. “Most people won’t see it anyway, and sticking to one style frees up mental space to focus on other things. I buy them a dozen at a time.”
“Wow,” I huffed. “I tell you juicy secrets, and you tell me about your underwear-buying habits. This is starting to feel like an unfair trade.”
“Your last ‘secret’ was about kicking someone in the balls in middle school.”
“One, he was bullying my friend, and two, that was funny.”
“Not to that poor kid’s balls.”
“Then it’s a good thing they’re not part of this game.”
A small dimple creased his cheek. “Fair enough.” He chalked his pool cue and shrugged. “But if you want better secrets, you’ll have to earn them.”
Like most people, I needed motivation. Winning was a strong one, but nothing kicked my ass into gear like spite. If someone even hinted that I couldn’t do something, I’d run myself into the ground before I proved them right. That was true in school, at work, and now, with pool.
Fortunately, I was a fast learner. Vincent was still beating me by five points, but I held my own, and soon, we were trading secrets at a steady rhythm.
He told me he cheated on a math exam because his dad wouldn’t take him to a football match unless he got an A; I told him I asked my mom for a school fundraiser donation and used the money to buy a fake ID instead.
He told me he got attacked by a raccoon once during a trip to the States and had to get rabies shots; I told him I went to the wrong class my first day of college but was too embarrassed to leave, so I sat through an entire lecture on quantum physics.
“When I was fifteen, I babysat a neighbor’s kid and saw him take his first step,” Vincent said when it was his turn to share again.
“After his parents came home, I said he was so close to walking so they should keep an eye out for it. He stood and walked up to them a few minutes later, and they freaked out. I never told them the truth.”
I stopped examining the table and looked at him. A pang hit my chest at the mental image he painted. “That was really nice of you.”
“It’s not a big deal.” He sounded a little embarrassed. “I just didn’t want to take the milestone away from them.”
The pang deepened. “It’s a big deal to them, even if they don’t know about it. Anyway.” I cleared my throat and nodded at his cue stick. “It’s your turn.”
As expected, he scored again. He’d had the perfect shot lined up.
I mulled over what secret to share. I’d used up most of the insignificant ones.
I was staying far away from the topic of my family, so I settled on a tangential admission instead.
“I initially majored in sports nutrition because my dad was—is—this legend in the sports world, and I guess it was a way to feel closer to him since we didn’t spend much time together when I was young. ”
The words flowed out with surprising ease. We’d shared half a dozen secrets by now. They started off silly, but there was something about this moment that unraveled a deeper thread in me.
The room was a judgment-free zone, and despite our history of insults, I didn’t worry for a second that Vincent would weaponize what I told him in here.
“And now?” He watched me carefully. “How do you feel about it?”
“Now, I read nutrition blogs for fun and willingly spend my days working with footballers, so you tell me,” I said.
His chuckle made me smile in return.
Vincent and I resumed our shots. He notched a victory two turns later, but I couldn’t even be mad about it.
Somewhere along the way, it’d started being less about the game and more about the conversation.
“Congratulations. You now know more about me than anyone else in my life, including Scarlett.” Dry amusement gilded his voice.
“Wow.” I placed a hand over my chest. “I’m honored.”