Chapter 12 Fletcher
Fletcher
“Look at you behaving,” Hollis teases, lifting her mojito and taking a sip.
“And to think you doubted me.” I click my tongue and shake my head. “I’ll be honest though, it hasn’t been easy.”
“Your restraint is appreciated, despite you having already slipped up once or twice.”
“Hey, I’ve never claimed to be a saint,” I say, reaching for my glass of sparkling water. “Besides, who wouldn’t slip up when seated next to the most gorgeous woman in this bar?”
She scans the room. “Does it really count when I’m the only woman in the bar?”
“Not true,” I counter, also glancing around. “But for your sake, how about we say you’re the best looking woman here under fifty,” I suggest, flashing her my pearly whites before taking a drink.
“Wow. Such high praise,” she says, nodding in mock offense. “You really know how to make a girl feel special. I also didn’t realize you were that into cougars.”
I choke on my drink and laugh, waving my hand. “Wait, no. That’s not...” I manage between chuckles as she giggles along with me.
There was a reason I chose this particular bar. While the Honky Tonks aren’t exactly a household name yet, we’ve slowly been building a fan base here in Houston. Choosing a dive bar like this one was the only true way to guarantee we wouldn’t be noticed or interrupted by fans.
Still, “diverse” might be the most generous word for who we’ve got in here tonight.
The only other woman in here could literally be my grandma.
I may have a soft spot for my nana, but nope.
Not my type. No, Freudian or Oedipal crises happening here.
Plus, she might just be a little too intense for me considering she’s currently double-fisting a pair of shot glasses as she drunkenly cheers on the two men playing pool in the back.
“I was just trying to be nice, but what I really meant to say is that, no matter the age, you’re still the hottest woman in this bar. Hell, in any bar,” I finally manage.
“Hmmm,” she ponders, tapping her red-painted fingernails on the bartop. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or file a complaint with HR. Didn’t we agree that this is just a friendly outing between coworkers?”
“Yeah, so? Am I not allowed to compliment the people I work with, now?”
“Well, one might consider it sexual harassment. I mean, do you normally tell your other coworkers and teammates they’re the hottest ones in the bar?”
“Hell yeah I do,” I shoot back. “Have you seen Hudson and Easten? Those two motherfuckers are fine as hell. Plus, I consider it my official duty as their wingman to constantly boost their egos with the constant reminder. Can’t have my guy’s not believing in themselves.”
“I see,” she giggles, and it’s so fucking nice to see her smile, especially when her usual go-to is to keep it hidden whenever we’re together. “So if I’m getting the same compliment, does that mean you’re my official wingman tonight?”
I once again take a look around the small bar, my brows kitting together. “I mean, sure, but are any of these men actually your type?”
The crowd here definitely leans toward a certain demographic. We’re surrounded by nothing but older men who look like they’ve been glued to their barstools since the early ‘90’s, likely nursing their beers and telling the same story over and over as they try to relive their golden years.
“I don’t know,” she shrugs casually before lifting her glass for another sip. “I could be into the whole salt-and-peppered daddy type.”
“Bullshit,” I call out with a laugh. “Have you forgotten that I’ve seen you with your dad? You are definitely not the type of girl with daddy issues.”
Her smile only grows.
“Speaking of daddy issues,” she says, leaning in, making it a little hard to concentrate as I force my eyes to stay on hers instead of drifting toward those perfectly plump lips that I already know taste incredible.
“If he only knew how much you were flirting with me, it wouldn’t be HR you’d need to worry about—it'd be him. His nickname back in the day was JC Smash for a reason.”
Her tone may have been light, but I’m also not an idiot. I’d heard the warning in there, too. Still, I’ve come too damn far to back off now.
“For you? I’ll take my chances.”
“Remind me again when you were going to stop being so flirty?”
“Oops. My bad. I’ll stop now.”
“Looks like it’s my turn to call bullshit,” she says, leaning back.
“Okay, fine. You got me,” I say, holding up my hands.
“But when it’s just the two of us sitting here all cozy, I can’t help it,” I complain, and it’s true.
With our bodies close and our knees constantly touching, I can’t help but want to flirt with her.
It’s somehow turned into a reflex I can’t quite control.
“What would really help is having some kind of buffer or distraction.”
“And what would you suggest?” she asks, tilting her head in mock innocence.
“Were you wanting me to be your wingman? I mean, now that I know your type and all,” she teases, nodding her head in the direction of the older woman near the pool tables.
“She’d make an excellent buffer, and the two of you together?
It just feels like a match made in heaven. ”
I chuckle and glance back toward the people playing pool. “That’s a tempting offer, but I think I’ll pass,” I say, turning back to face her. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to us playing a round of pool. What do you say?”
Yes, grandma and her friends have clearly claimed one of the tables, but the other is completely free for the taking.
She wrinkles her nose. “Pool? I don’t know... I’m not sure I’d be any good.”
I perk up. Did Christmas just come early? Because what guy doesn’t want a chance to play hero-slash-teacher to a beautiful woman who’s never held a cue before?
So maybe this isn’t the best distraction, since I can already picture myself sliding up behind her as we line up a shot, because why wouldn’t my mind go there?
“Oh, come on. I can teach you. I’m practically a professional,” I beam, sliding off my stool to coax her along.
I’m obviously not actually a professional. Far from it, but I’ve played enough late-night games to fake it—or at least enough to get by and perhaps teach her a trick or two along the way.
“You’re not just trying to get me to play so you can pull that whole rom-com move where you slide up behind me as you ‘teach me’ something, but really it’s just an excuse to grind yourself against my ass?” she asks, already seeing right through me.
Damn. How is she so good at that?
“If I was, could you blame me?”
“No. I guess not,” she sighs, sliding off her stool. “But what the hell? Why not?”
I gesture toward the back of the bar with a sweep of my arm. “Ladies first.”
So maybe I only wanted to follow after her so I could check her out from behind. In my defense, she has a really nice ass. It doesn’t matter that she’s not all dressed up like she was last night. Even in the red Honky Tonk T-shirt and well-worn cutoff jean shorts, she looks fantastic.
Getting to the table, I grab the triangle and rack up the balls while she pulls down two cues from the wall rack.
“Do you want to break, or should I?” I ask as she passes over my cue.
She tilts her lips to the side, looking uncertain before shrugging. “I guess I could give it a shot. I just stand over here, right?” she asks, glancing between me and the table.
I nod. “Yep, right there.”
She strolls closer to the table, and leans forward, lining up her shot. I open my mouth to ask if she needs help, aka, an excuse to slide up behind her and offer some expert guidance, but before I can get a word out she pulls back her cue and takes the shot.
The cue ball barrels forward with perfect accuracy and hits the racked balls with a loud crack as they disperse across the green top. I watch, mouth wide open, as the yellow-striped ball drops into the corner pocket.
“Holy Shit!” I exclaim, reaching up as I place my hands on the sides of my hat. “Am I about to get hustled?”
“I don’t know,” she blinks, a slow smile creeping onto her face as she edges around the table to line up her next shot. “Are you?”
“Yes. I’m thinking there’s a very real chance I’m about to get hustled” I admit, watching in awe as she once again sends the cue ball straight toward another striped-ball, and now, to no one’s surprise it cleanly drops into the pocket.
“Did you really think that Jared Clemmins wouldn’t teach his daughter how to play pool?” she asks, reaching for the blue chalk and giving her cue a few quick rubs.
“If I’m being honest, yes, or at least that had been my hope.”
I have a sneaking suspicion Jared thought ahead and did his best to protect Hollis from the guys who only want to “teach” her just so they can cop a feel. If right, I have to give the man some major props. At least it was her dad she learned from and not some creep with questionable intentions.
“So, what do you say we make things a little more interesting?” she asks, as she moves to face me from the other side of the table.
Given the devious smirk on her face I should probably be nervous, but I’ve also never been one to turn down a challenge.
“I could be open to it. What exactly are the stakes?”
“When I win, tomorrow you have to film whatever video I want for the team socials with no complaints.”
I tilt my head from side to side as I mull it over. “And what do I get if I win?” I ask, letting her be in charge, since if it was up to me, it’d likely be me leading her out back to recreate the magic that happened the night before.
“To keep it fair, you’d get to pick what we film and I can’t say anything about it either.”
It may not be as fun as what I’d been hoping, but I’m fairly certain I could still have some fun with it.
“Deal,” I agree, rounding the table and holding out my hand.
She shakes it, officially sealing the deal. But, the second she turns back toward the table and lines up her next shot, I realize I likely just hit the final nail in my own coffin.
But really? What do I have to complain about? Hollis is finally loosening up, laughing with me, and no longer pushing me away. We’re having fun, and it looks like I’m finally gaining some ground in winning her over.
There’s still a long way to go, but progress is progress. And hey, even if it means embarrassing myself tomorrow, I’ll take it. There really isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Hollis Clemmins.
This woman has me wrapped around her pretty little finger, and I’m fairly certain she knows it.