Chapter 13 #2
Mason is wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt that fits him perfectly, showing off those broad shoulders and the lean muscles of his arms. His short blond hair is styled casually, messy on top, and even from here, I spot that easy, devastating smile as he’s talking to another guy.
Dylan is in jeans too, with a dark gray long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off tattooed forearms. His long hair is pulled up into a bun on top of his head, the sides freshly shaved, and he’s laughing at something Mason must have said, head thrown back, completely unselfconscious.
They’re both holding pool cues, chalk in hand, clearly about to start a game. Dylan moves to one end and leans over the table, lining up the break shot, while Mason stands back.
“What are they doing here?” I say as Nina bumps into me.
She follows my line of sight and grins. “Probably the same thing we are. Having fun. Relax. You’re just Anita right now. That’s all they see.”
“Yeah. Right. Just Anita.”
“Come on,” Nina says, and before I can protest, she’s dragging me over.
“What are you two doing out here?” Nina calls out. “Thought you’d be home counting your money or whatever rich guys do.”
They both glance up, and their gazes land on me immediately.
The weight of their attention is physical. Heat floods my face, my chest, and I’m suddenly very aware of how tight my jeans are, how much skin is showing above my waistband, how low-cut this crop top is.
Mason’s eyes widen slightly, traveling from my face down to my boots and back up again, lingering on every exposed inch.
Dylan’s grin is pure addiction. “Anita. Damn.”
We move closer, have to in order to hear over the music, and suddenly I’m standing right in front of them, Nina beside me, and I can smell them.
Warm cinnamon, baked apple, and fresh forest from Mason. Wild honey and campfire from Dylan. It’s intoxicating, wrapping around me, making my head spin pleasantly.
“Didn’t expect to see you guys here,” I manage, trying to sound casual.
“Could say the same,” Mason adds. “You look incredible, by the way. Really stunning.”
“Thanks.” I’m blushing now, feeling the heat creeping up my neck. “You both clean up pretty nice too.”
“We try,” Dylan says with a wink.
“Nothing like bragging,” Nina adds, and we both smirk.
There’s a pause, and then Mason’s expression shifts slightly. “So. Jasper and you last night.”
My heart skips. What do they know? “He was very sweet.”
Dylan is grinning now, and there’s something knowing in his expression. “That’s one word for it.”
Oh God. They know. Of course they know. Jasper told them about the kiss.
I’m blushing so hard now that I probably look like a tomato. “It was a nice walk home.”
They’re both trying not to laugh, and I want to disappear into the floor.
“You want to play?” Mason asks, gesturing to the pool table. “Make it interesting? You two against us?”
“Sounds intriguing,” Nina answers.
“But there’s a house rule here.” Dylan grins sinfully. “If you lose without pocketing a single ball, and we clear the table? Losers have to drop their pants and run around the table.”
“Are you insane?” I stare at them. “I’m not doing that.”
“Sounds great!” Nina says immediately. “Challenge accepted.”
“Nina!”
“What? Live a little.” She’s nudging me now, clearly loving this, then takes another big drink of her cocktail. “Besides, we just have to make sure we’re not going to lose.”
“I haven’t played pool in ages,” I say, not having been challenged since college.
“Neither have I,” Nina admits cheerfully.
“Tell you what,” Dylan says. “We’ll play left-handed. Give you a fair shot.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, keeping my expression neutral.
“Absolutely,” Mason says. “Can’t have people saying we didn’t give you a chance.”
I exchange a glance with Nina, and she nods crazily.
“All right,” I say, picking up a pool cue and testing the weight. I then set down my cocktail on a side table. “Let’s play.”
Nina breaks, not well, barely scattering the balls, but she gets in a solid. Perfect. She goes again and misses.
Mason is next, switching his cue to his left hand. He lines up the shot, hits it clean, but the angle is wrong and nothing sinks.
My turn.
I walk slowly around the table, studying the layout, very aware that both men are watching me. Their gazes track my movements as I lean over the table, lining up my shot.
The position stretches my jeans tight across my ass, and my crop top rides up slightly, exposing more of my waist above the gold chain.
I take the shot. Two balls drop in quick succession.
“Nice,” Dylan says, but there’s a note of uncertainty now.
“Thanks.” I straighten up, walking past Mason close enough that my arm brushes his. “Lucky shot, probably.” I take another shot and miss.
Dylan takes his turn, also left-handed, and does slightly better but doesn’t pocket any balls.
Nina misses on her turn, and Mason takes his turn with his left hand, failing. Now, he’s grumbling.
My turn again.
I sink three more balls, moving around the table with confidence now, no longer pretending to be uncertain. I have one more solid to go, then the black.
People are starting to notice. A small crowd is gathering, watching, sensing that something interesting is happening.
“What the hell?” Mason is staring at me. “I thought you said you hadn’t played in a while.”
“I haven’t.” I line up another shot, very aware of how Dylan has moved closer, watching intently. “But I didn’t say I was bad.”
Nina is cheering me on.
This shot requires me to lean far over the table, and I make sure to take my time so they get the full view of my body stretched out, the curve of my back, the way my jeans hug every inch.
I sink the ball, then straighten and walk directly toward Dylan as Nina is yelling out her excitement. Dylan doesn’t move, and I have to brush my ass past his groin to get to the other side of the table, my body sliding against his for just a moment.
His hand catches my hip briefly, fingers pressing into my skin through the thin fabric of my jeans. “You’re playing dirty.”
I glance up at him over my shoulder, our faces inches apart. “Says the guy who thought he could hustle us at pool. How’s that working out?”
“Terribly,” he admits with a grin. I turn around but am too damn distracted, and my ball zips right past the black one.
The game continues. The guys haven’t sunk a single ball.
Mason is watching me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. Dylan’s eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and the muscles in his jaw are jumping when I walk past.
They want me. I can see it, smell it, feel it in the charged air between us.
And God help me, I want them too.
The crowd is getting louder now, people realizing what’s happening, starting to cheer.
“This isn’t fair,” Dylan protests, but he’s grinning. “You set us up.”
“You offered to play left-handed,” Nina reminds him sweetly. “Can’t change the rules now.”
“She’s right,” I add, lining up my next shot. This one puts me right between them. “Stick to your word, boys.”
“You’re trouble,” Mason murmurs softly, his voice dropping to that low register that has everything inside me tightening.
“You have no idea,” I breathe and turn to face them.
We stay like that for a long moment, the three of us locked in this charged bubble while the crowd noise fades into the background.
Then I turn back around and bend forward, lifting my ass on purpose to tease them. I’m charged, so aroused, and wanting their attention. Exactly the impact they have on me.
Only the black ball remains. The guys still haven’t pocketed anything.
The crowd is chanting now. “Finish it! Finish it!”
I line up the shot, take a breath, and sink it perfectly.
The place erupts.
“DO IT! DO IT!” Nina is leading the chant, and soon everyone is joining in, voices rising in a crescendo of excitement and laughter.
Mason and Dylan exchange a look, then both start laughing. I step back, curious as to whether they are going to go through with it.
“A bet’s a bet,” Mason says, hands going to his belt.
I’m suddenly flustered, reality crashing back in. “Wait, you’re actually going to—”
“We lost fair and square,” Dylan states, already unbuckling. “Can’t back out now.”
The crowd is going wild, girls whistling, guys cheering them on.
In seconds, they are emptying their pockets and placing wallets and keys on the pool table. Then they drop their jeans. Left only in their tight black boxers.
And oh my God, their bundles are bulky. What are they packing in there?
I definitely shouldn’t look. The thin stretch of fabric leaves very little to the imagination, and not vague bulges, but definition. Contours. Enough to make my mouth water.
But how do I not look when it’s basically outlined like a 3D road map?
They both step out of their clothes and start running around the pool table.
The whole bar is cheering now, and I’m staring, my panties drenched, my body burning up.
They’re running, everything bouncing, muscles flexing, both of them grinning like this is the best night they’ve had in months.
And they keep looking at me while they run. Watching my reaction. Seeing me stare.
When they finally complete the circuit and stop, they glance around for their jeans.
“Okay,” Mason says. “Who took them?”
Several people in the crowd are laughing.
“Real mature!” Dylan calls out, but he’s laughing too.
They’re both standing there now, trying to maintain some dignity, and I’m torn between arousal and hysterical laughter.
Nina is dying beside me, clutching her sides, and I notice she’s drifted toward some tall, dark-haired guy who’s watching her with obvious interest.
Dylan and Mason are looking at each other, clearly trying to figure out their next move, when Dylan pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion.
My breath catches. His chest is incredible. Defined muscles, more tattoos than I realized covering his ribs and across his collarbone, a dusting of hair trailing down his abdomen.