Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I nod, shaking a little bit. The man has me trembling like a scared little kitten for crying out loud.
Get a grip, Jenna.
I wipe my hands on a bar towel and grab a tray of balls. Liza elbows me, grinning like she's watching her favorite reality show unfold.
"Cool it," I whisper, shooting her a warning look. She winks and goes back to pretending to clean the already spotless glassware.
I glance at Reeves behind the bar. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense as he fills the beer refrigerator with more force than necessary.
My heart races as I step out from behind the bar. I'm acutely aware of the weight of Caine's gaze on me, and despite my nerves, there's an undeniable thrill coursing through my veins.
Out of the corner of my eye, I study Reeves again. His jaw is set, his eyes narrowed slightly. He's obviously not happy about this, and with reason, and a part of me resents Caine for stirring up this tension.
Caine racks the balls with practiced precision, his long fingers deftly arranging them into a perfect triangle. I pick up a cue, chalking the tip, trying to steady my shaking hands.
"Ladies first," he says, offering me the break.
I line up my shot, hyper-aware of his eyes on me. My break is weak - balls barely scatter, leaving a huge cluster mess in the middle of the table. Heat creeps up my neck.
I want to tell him that I'm not really that bad at all — I've got some moves… sometimes. I've run a table… well, only twice, but still.
“You want to shoot this rack or try again?”
“Try again,” I say, and we gather the balls.
He kindly re-racks for me.
"Here," he says softly as he stands directly behind me, perhaps a little too close. “Let me show you something.”
I sneak a peek at Reeves in the distance. The man still looks livid.
“It’s all about a smooth stroke,” he says as he adjusts my grip on the cue. His chest brushes my back, and his warm breath tickles my ear. "It's all in the follow-through."
"Like this?" I strike again, the balls clicking satisfyingly.
"Better." His lips curve. "Though there's still plenty I could teach you," he adds with a playful wink, and my knees nearly buckle.
I catch Reeves watching us still, his dark eyes narrowed. I quickly step away from Caine, but can't help admiring how he moves around the table - fluid, calculated. He misses his third shot—on purpose or not? I don’t really know.
"Your angle's off," Caine murmurs as I miss again. "You need to get higher on your shot to get a really good look... then lower down."
My skin tingles when his gaze reaches mine. This has just begun, and it already feels like dangerous territory.
As he sinks ball after ball with effortless grace, I find myself drawn in by more than his skill - his quiet intensity, the sharp intelligence behind those green eyes.
Liza pretends to wipe the counter nearby, practically vibrating with curiosity. I know I'll face an interrogation later.
"Sometimes," Caine says, leaning close as I line up another shot, "It's about knowing exactly when to strike." His words carry a weight that has nothing to do with pool.
He's clearly taking it easy on me… very easy.
Taking crazy bank shots and kick shots, and scratching the cue ball on purpose.
He's trying to be subtle, but I'm not a complete idiot.
Somehow, though, I'm not offended at all.
I just want to play with him. Probably in more ways than one, but of course, I don't even let my mind go there.
"So how long have you and your husband been an item?" he asks out of the blue as he racks for our next game. We're alternating breaks, and he's up.
I'm not completely surprised by his question. "About seven years," I tell him matter-of-factly. "How about you? Are you married or in a serious relationship?"
A single smooth stroke, and the balls explode. He pockets three of them off the break. I shake my head, envious. I could own the best break cue on the market, and I still couldn't do that.
He smiles as he leans down to shoot. "Nope. I haven't been lucky in love, I guess. Perhaps a bit too discerning."
I nod quietly. For some reason, his answer makes me happy, but it also worries me. I don't know what to think. Does it even matter? Probably not, I decide.
"Well, you've been lucky in pool anyway," I point out.
He shakes his head, seemingly annoyed. "It's not luck, it's skill, sweetheart."
I cough a little on my own words. Cocky much?
"So, how did you end up owning this building?" I ask, genuinely curious. "How do you have the time to be a pro, and also run a business?"
He's running the table, but I don't really care. I'm just so fascinated by him.
"Well, I only sleep four hours a night," he points out. "And my father has owned his business since I was about two. We both have a head for commerce, so he thought it'd be a great idea for me to major in business. And I did."
"You don't seem too happy about that?"
He smiles. "I wasn't. I just wanted to shoot pool, travel the world. He threatened to disown me."
I laugh. "And that would have been bad, obviously."
"A man does get used to a certain lifestyle. And even the best shooters don't make nearly as much as a man like me needs."
"So you're a princess?” I tease.
He laughs. "Very much so. I like the finer things in life."
"You never answered my question," I point out. "How did you end up owning this building?"
"Well, when I finished my MBA, I started working for my dad, and turned the place completely around.
It was successful enough before, but still not good enough for me.
I'm a lot more aggressive than my father…
I'm a hustler. I've bought a lot of properties, and when I saw this building on the market, I jumped on it. I used to play here when I was younger. I loved this place.”
“But you must not have come around these past few years. I’ve been working here for quite a few years, and I don't remember you… And you're not exactly forgettable.”
He pauses for a long beat and bites his bottom lip. "Neither are you."
I swallow hard. He needs to stop saying things like that. But I suppose I walked right into that one.
“You’re right. I haven't been here in years, busy building an empire, shooting pool, traveling the world… you know."
"Winning at life… of course you wouldn't want to waste your time around here."
"Time is money."
"Then why are you here now?"
He stops dead in his tracks, cocks his head, and stares at me for the longest time. With a slight curve of his beautiful lips, he tells me, “If there's something I want, I put in the time, I go where I need to go. I do the time…. and I always get what I want."
Wow. I think Liza was right. I need to be careful with this guy. I don’t know what his agenda is exactly, but something about him makes me very nervous. “Do you, now?" I tease.
"Every time."
A sudden discomfort builds slowly from my core. Who does this guy think he his? Does he not care that I'm married? Why me? I blow out a long breath.
"Listen… I don't know exactly what you're up to, Mr. Hall. Maybe you get off on this kind of thing,” I go on, not quite sure where I’m going with this little speech. “But just in case you have non-professional intentions… Guys like you love to swipe women from their husbands’ arms just because they can, but I happen to be very tightly hinged. So you're wasting your very valuable time… if that’s what you had in mind… or maybe this is all innocent. Anyway, I just thought I’d put that out there…
” I trail off, realizing I’m rambling, feeling like a fool, but proud of myself for telling him off and protecting my marriage.
He stands there, shocked and speechless.
God, I’m such a fool. I really don’t want to play anymore. This has officially turned awkward. Typical me--turning a mole hill into a mountain.
He laughs softly. "You like Dean Brody?"
What?! How dare he change the subject so abruptly, just when I call him out on his bullshit? What a dick. "What about him? He's alright, I guess."
"You like his song… Whiskey in a Teacup?"
I smile. "I do."
A huge grin stretches across his face. "That's you.
Whiskey in a teacup. You're all sweet-looking and frilly, but there's a fire in that belly.
I can tell. And that… my beauty, is why I'm here.
You've probably been wondering why you, right?
Well, I can't answer that question. I wish I could, and I also wish I could control myself…
but keeping with the whiskey analogies, you're a fine bottle of whiskey, and I do like the finer things. You intrigue me, I suppose."
I stand without words, mouth hanging open. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man this forward and unapologetically self-serving.
This man is trouble. And I know I should run. Right now. Far away.
But despite knowing better, I don’t move an inch.