Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
KENNEDY
It’s darker than I’m expecting when we leave the diner, thanks to the heavy clouds pressing overhead. I’m guessing we’re about to be in for one of those freak afternoon storms that hit suddenly and disappear just as quickly.
“Maybe we should wait out the rain,” I suggest.
Ziggy tips his head up to the sky, and since he knows this place better than I do, I’m going to take his opinion on it.
With his head back, all that dark hair falls away from his face, and I get another rare glimpse of his relaxed features.
Like with swimming at the river, it feels like being let in on a secret, and the strong tug I get behind my ribs is a warning.
I do this. Fixate on people. Pick out all the incredible, wonderful things about them and ignore the glaring red flags. But taking in Ziggy’s big eyes and sweet features reminds me that he has no red flags. He’s a quiet man who likes a quiet life.
His gaze falls on me. It takes a few seconds of looking at each other for me to realize I’m staring.
Maybe I’m the red flag. Staring creepily at new friends is a fast way to turn them off. Even after a day so close to him I could hardly breathe, and whenever I did breathe, my nostrils filled with his lemony scent.
“There’s a bar down the street. Want to grab a drink while we wait?” It occurs to me that I have no clue what he actually does drink. “Alcoholic or nonalcoholic. Whichever.”
Ziggy gives me his snarky smile and tugs my sleeve, the way I’m starting to pick up he does whenever I’m being too fussy over him.
I don’t want to handle Ziggy with kid gloves because he’s more than capable of a lot of things, but without that chance to know him better, I’m constantly on the back foot.
I don’t know what he likes. I don’t know what offends him. I’m left to guess at everything, and thankfully, he doesn’t mind when I fuck up—or at least, like the other day with Rooney, he doesn’t hold it against me—but I am determined to figure out the person he keeps locked inside.
We enter the Wayward Traveler, and since it’s late afternoon, there are a few people in here, but it’s not overly busy.
“You know how to play pool?” I ask, pointing toward the tables in the back.
Ziggy shakes his head.
“Awesome. I’ll teach you.” I lead the way to the bar and hover for a second, debating whether I should bring up the drinking thing again or suggest a Coke. Ziggy preempts me, like he’s plucking the thoughts from my mind, and reaches over to tap the top of one of the beer logos.
That makes it easy. I pay for our order, and he follows me toward the back, where two of the pool tables sit empty.
Ziggy sips his drink while I rack up, then chalk two sticks and hand him one.
“The whole point of the game is to get your balls into the holes.”
His eyes flick to me, and I just make out the way he pumps his eyebrows under the thick hair hanging over his face.
“Who knew you had such a dirty mind?” I step closer and untangle the metal headband from his hair. Then I slide it back in, making sure to catch all the hair I’m able to. “I do know you like to hide, but being able to see is important in this game.”
In the dim lighting, his brown eyes look bottomless, and it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing again or if it’s the lighting in the bar.
Either way, I’m definitely doing the staring thing again and have to bite down on my cheek and make myself step away.
I told myself that checking out friends was a totally normal thing to do, except now that I’ve started, I’m finding it hard to stop.
Ziggy is … mesmerizing. There’s no other way to put it. His face is so expressive, and I have a hard time not watching it because the smallest twitches give away what he’s thinking, and I don’t want to miss a thing.
It also doesn’t help that having his ass so close to my face at the river literally rearranged brain cells. With how baggy his clothes are, I never would have guessed at the mouthwatering body he’s hiding.
He tilts his head, clearly asking me what I’m doing, and I switch to joking mode so he doesn’t know what’s going through my mind.
“Hey, if you want to give me the advantage, that’s cool too. But I’m basically a professional at this, so you need all the advantages you can get.”
He laughs, but it’s silent, and I wish I could bring out the one that bursts from him when he’s not thinking about it.
Pool. Focus.
“The full-color balls are called solids, and the ones with white on them are stripes. I’ll break, and whichever I sink is the one I am. You’re the opposite. To get the balls in the holes—” I pause to share a smirk with him this time. “—you have to hit the white ball into them.”
I set up and take the first shot, showing him what I mean. The triangle flies apart, and at least two balls drop into the pockets.
“I’m stripes.”
He’s assessing the table, sizing up the layout, and then he takes a long drink of his beer. Ziggy walks over and tries to mimic the way I was standing, but it’s way off. He’s standing too tall, his arms too straight.
A stray thought to help him flitters through my mind, and my pulse kicks up a notch. How would Ziggy react to that? To standing close and taking his hand, guiding him through his first shot.
I shouldn’t.
Maybe if I weren’t aching to touch him, it wouldn’t be an issue, but the thought of curling over his body is almost too hard to resist. I’d like to think it’s because I’m a helpful guy, but there’s nothing altruistic about my thoughts.
He takes a shot while I’m still debating with myself, and it’s so bad I can’t not help him.
It would be cruel to let him suffer.
“Like this,” I say, vowing to behave as I lean down toward the table and show Ziggy how to stand. He eyes me, then moves into position. It’s better, but still not great. “Lower so you can aim properly.”
He tries again, and it’s like he wants me to touch him with how awkward he looks. The universe is killing me.
I swallow roughly and move closer. “Can I?”
Confusion fills his expression.
“I can help if you’re okay with me touching you.”
The way his pale cheeks go red this time leaves no doubts whatsoever that he’s blushing, prettily staining the soft skin under his dark eyes. It does something deep, deep in my gut, and when Ziggy nods, it’s a relief to stop looking at his face.
I move beside him and press my hand between his shoulder blades, guiding him forward. Slutty, slutty images fill my brain, and I have to remind myself to be good and not look at his ass as I reach around him to fix his grip on the cue.
“Like this,” I murmur by his ear. We’re side by side, my right hand closed over his on the stick, and his left hand hovering over mine on the table.
I’ve never been this close to him before, his hair tickling my cheek, his soft fingers brushing the backs of mine, the lemony scent of soap filling my nose in a way that’s warming me to a fruit I’ve always hated.
“Then you pull back,” I rasp, guiding his hand. “And because the one we’re aiming for is close to the pocket, you don’t want to use too much force. Like this.” We give the white ball a smooth tap, and his red one drops into the side.
Ziggy’s smile stretches wide, and we break apart as we straighten, the connection gone but still haunting me.
I drain my glass, then take my shot as he finishes his own drink. “I’ll get us another beer.”
I don’t wait for his reply because I’m worried that if I stay, I’ll help him again, and there’s no way I can go through that twice. I’m tempted to polish off my second drink at the bar and buy a third, but I still need to drive us back tonight, and three drinks is pushing things.
Like Mother Nature can hear me, there’s a loud rumble outside, and droplets start to hit the windows.
Who knows how quickly this will pass.
Double fisting the beers, I head back through to the pool tables and find Ziggy hovering awkwardly by ours as a group of people set up next to us. I guess there goes our private little bubble, which is a good thing. Definitely a good thing.
“How did you do?” I ask, handing over his glass.
Ziggy reaches into the pocket closest to him and pulls out his blue ball.
“You got it?” The excitement on his face boosts my mood. “How do I know you didn’t cheat?”
He rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t drop. Ziggy returns the ball to the hole he sunk it in.
“Okay, guess I need to step it up.” And by stepping it up, I mean sinking three balls one after the other.
Sure, I could take it easy on Ziggy, but I have a healthy competitive streak—and I say healthy because it’s nothing like Hudson’s—plus, I have the feeling Ziggy wouldn’t like me letting him win.
He has a stubborn independent streak that I like.
“I think you’ve been hustled,” one of the guys beside us leans over to say.
Ziggy doesn’t answer him, just studies the man like he’s spoken another language.
I laugh to distract from the awkwardness. “It’s his first game. I’m teaching him how to play.”
“Teaching? Looks more to me like you’re wiping the floor with him.”
From an outsider’s point of view, I can understand why. “The harder he has to work for it, the better he’ll get.”
“That’s the truth. My dad never let me win anything, God rest his soul.”
I wish my dad had focused on us kids long enough to not let us win.
“You’ve gotta be taught resilience.” I’m pretty sure that’s the thing Hudson, Hart, and I all lost out on.
Hudson, because he hates being told no. Me, because every relationship ending feels like a personal failure of mine.
And Hart, because he’s stopped trying when it comes to anything.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the man says. “You new?”
“From Wilde’s End. It’s a few hours away.”
“Never heard of it.”
That’s not surprising. “It’s an abandoned town. My brothers and I bought it.”
He points back Ziggy’s way. “That your brother?”
“Nah, he’s a friend.”
“He ever talk for himself?”
I glance back at Ziggy to see if he wants to take this one, but he’s got his back to us, so I go with the same excuse as last time. “He’s shy.”
“Shy?” The guy laughs. “Not hard to say hello though, is it?”
How am I supposed to know what’s easy and what’s hard? I’m not in Ziggy’s head. From what I’ve seen though, saying hello is hard for him, and this guy is talking about something he doesn’t know anything about. “Apparently, it is.”
“Good thing you’re easy to talk to.” The guy steps up to me with a cocky smile.
“Maybe we should go a round. More level playing field, if you know what I mean.” He lets the words stretch between us, and I pick up on the suggestion in his tone, while one of his friends snickers behind him. “At … pool. Of course.”
“Of course.” It’s tempting. To take him at pool.
While he’s attractive in a blue-collar way, I’m not exactly thrilled with the way he dismissed Ziggy so easily.
I’m sure I could hand this guy his ass since I rarely miss a shot.
My jaw is tight as I continue, intending to turn and fill Ziggy in on my plan. “Let me finish up here first.”
But almost as soon as I say that, the loud clack of a pool cue hitting the table comes from behind me. I turn in time to see Ziggy storming through the bar.
“What’s his problem?” someone asks, but I don’t stick around to answer.
Watching him disappear has dread seeping through me. I go after him.
Was I doing it again? Was I ignoring him?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’m knocked off center as a thousand excuses fly through my head.
Ziggy’s made it clear before how he feels to be left out, and instead of listening, I did it again.
The worst part is that I didn’t do it consciously.
I got so caught up in the moment, and it’s not like I wasn’t thinking of him—I was, that’s part of the problem—but he had no way to know that.
He had no way to know that I was only agreeing to play against that guy for some misplaced sense of Ziggy’s honor.
For all he knew, I was agreeing to ditch him.
I’m the worst friend in history.
And still, I know that this gripping panic at upsetting him isn’t exactly normal friend behavior.
I burst out of the bar and stagger toward the parking lot, rain coming down over my head. It’s getting heavier, but as I blink through it, I can’t spot Ziggy, and the longer I go without seeing him, the higher my guilt creeps up my throat.
A hand closes over my shoulder, and I’m hauled backward under an awning.
At first, I think it’s the guy dragging me back for more pool, but when my brain catches up with me, I turn and find Ziggy.
He’s all narrowed eyes and pouty lips, the darkness creeping over his features.
He’s still dry, despite the rain coming down only inches away from us.
“I’m sorry,” explodes out. “I know I’ve said that a million times before, and I’m sorry I have to keep saying sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you in there, and when he started giving you attitude, I wanted to put him in his place. I know that’s not an excuse, but—”
With a loud huff, Ziggy closes his hands over the front of my shirt, and he hauls me closer.
I’m expecting a punch, but what happens next rattles me even more than that.
Ziggy’s mouth slams against mine.
Pleasant surprise shoots through every limb. His lips are soft and at complete odds with the two tiny metal bars digging into my chin. There’s a whole moment where we’re both completely frozen, and then my brain goes offline.
I cradle his face and press forward, tongue sweeping into his waiting mouth. I’m freezing from the rain, but his mouth is hot and delicious, and when my tongue brushes something unexpected, the excitement shoots straight to my cock.
He’s got a tongue piercing?
Which leads to my next question:
Does he have any other secret piercings?
The groan that slips from me is out of my control, and Ziggy answers it with a shaky inhale. He’s kissing me back like it’s the first meal he’s ever had, and I’m happy to meet his enthusiasm.
I’m happy to kiss him back.
To keep kissing him.
I had no idea he had this in him, and I’m sure I’m supposed to stop it, but I can’t.
I’ve been trying to lock down my attraction to him, but now that I’ve had a taste?
Impossible.