4. So Bad at This
CHAPTER 4
SO BAD AT THIS
JOANIE
I t’s Stuart and Meredith against me and Colin at the pool table. I know this is going to be a massacre because I’ve been playing pool since I was a young teenager, and Colin looks like a man who’s spent some time hustling bikers in high-stakes pool games.
Until he grabs a cue and breaks the neatly aligned balls. Or tries to. He sends the cue ball flying off the table, missing the break completely. Three jaws drop open, but Colin just shrugs. His shaggy hair is tucked behind his ear, the tip turning a deep shade of red. “What? I’ve never played pool before.”
Reader, I almost drop my cue. “What do you mean you’ve never played pool before? How is that possible?” I point at his hangs-out-in-biker-bars beard like the math isn’t mathing. He shrugs again, but a sly smile moves slowly across his face.
“Making assumptions, Joanie?” It’s my turn to blush.
“Shut up,” I grumble. He laughs and motions to Alice for another round of drinks.
Stuart manages to break, sending one solitary striped ball into a pocket. Meredith gives him a kiss on the cheek and a teasing smack on the ass. “Good boy.” I wish I had my notebook with me, because that would be the start of a great scene for one of my books.
When it’s my turn, I pocket three balls before I miss. Meredith misses, and then it’s Colin’s turn again.
When he leans over the table, his angle and grip are all wrong, and he’s about to massacre this easy shot.
“Would you mind a little coaching?” I lean my elbows on the table, taking in how his body is contorted at an awkward angle as he lowers the cue.
“Do your worst, Shark.”
“Shark? What, you’re doling out nicknames too? Is this Oprah and everyone gets one?” Warmth spreads under my skin at this new familiarity, at how something as simple as a nickname can make me feel seen and important in Colin’s eyes.
“You don’t like it?” His forehead furrows.
“Are you kidding, I love it.” I make a chompy motion with my arms and then flinch at how ridiculous I must look. Too much, always too much.
He leans over and whispers in my ear, “I’m a big fan of your brand of peculiar. More of that, please.” All I can do is blink up at him, my embarrassment quickly melting away, replaced with a warmth that spreads throughout my chest and limbs.
I swallow hard, trying to not show how affected I am by his words. “Sir, you have no idea what you’re about to unleash. Consider yourself warned.”
“Bring it on.” His smile is bright and open, his eyes sparking with humor.
Meredith clears her throat and nods at the pool table with a let’s move things along look. Right. Pool. I almost forgot.
“Is it okay if I rearrange you a bit?” My hands hover around his shoulders as he bends over the table, his cue resting on the edge.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” he says in a low, gravelly voice. A shiver runs down my spine, and my core clenches. I fight a nervous giggle when he looks at me with those other-worldly blue eyes, the lines around them soft with humor.
I clear my throat. “Right, well...first, you’re gripping the cue too tight.”
“Maybe it likes a tight grip.”
Okay, now he’s just fucking with me.
“Noted, but if you want to sink a ball you need to not, um...choke it so much.”
Fuck, was pool always this filthy?
I place my hand on his bicep and try not to squeeze the thick muscle I find there. “Lower your shoulder—you want to be able to control the cue without contorting your body too much, and this way will give you more power behind your...”
“Thrust?” I’m honestly surprised at how much he can control his eyebrows. One dips low over his eye, the other goes nearly up to his hairline. I think my bra spontaneously unclasped itself. Also, do they make portable fire extinguishers for underwear?
“Shh, I’m trying to teach you the fine art of pool.”
“You’re doing a great job.” He lowers his shoulder like I instructed, then winks at me. I’m waiting for someone to douse me in a bucket full of Gatorade. This coaching gig is more arousing than I thought it would be.
I scoot to the other side of him and decide two can play this game. I glance down at the table where Colin’s hand is braced, cradling the business end of the cue. Honestly, his grip doesn’t look too bad, but I’ll take any excuse to touch him.
I run my hand down his forearm and lean in so my lips are close to brushing his ear. “You want to cradle the cue so it glides easily between your fingers. Move it back and forth, back and forth. Rock it a little.” Colin tilts his head a hair closer to my mouth. It’d be so easy to dart my tongue out and taste his skin.
My other hand glides down his shoulder to the arm holding the back end of the cue. “Good,” I whisper. “Now pull this back as far as you can and thrust it forward.” I keep my hand where it is while he sucks in a shuddering breath and takes his shot.
He manages to get close to a pocket, but not sink a ball. Probably because his shot was too wobbly to be effective. I remove my hand from his arm, and he blinks at me like he’s coming out of a trance. We stand to survey the table, and I notice Stuart and Meredith staring at us. Meredith with a cocked eyebrow and an I knew it smirk. Stuart with his usual goofy grin.
Heat races to my cheeks, and I move to tuck my hair behind my ear, but Colin beats me to it. It’s such a quick, fleeting touch, and then he picks up his beer and takes a long swallow, never taking his eyes off me.
This feels like more than flirting, and I’m now on a mission to keep this night going as long as I can.
I’ve probably had one cocktail too many. I can always tell because I start listing to the left like I’m looking for a lamp post to lean on. The closest solid object is Colin, who could take a lamp post in a fight hands down. But lamp posts don’t have arms or legs, so maybe Colin has an unfair advantage. I giggle at the thought of Colin doing a boxer’s dance around a lamp post, his fists raised and ready to fight.
The ice in my glass has mostly melted, but I still get smacked in the face with the last few cubes when I try to take a sip. The lamp post fighter next to me reaches for my glass. “Okay, Shark, it might be time to call it a night. I can only imagine what your writer brain will come up with tomorrow.”
“Right. Yes. You’re right. Very yes. Time to go home.” I take a deep breath before I try to stand up. Alice had a heavy hand with her pours as the night went on. That lady should come with a warning label.
I wobble a little on my feet and almost stumble into the table before Colin’s heavy, warm arm comes around my shoulders. “So muscly,” I say out loud. Whatever. Fuck it. “You smell good,” I mutter as he hands me my bag, waves goodnight to the other Basers, and guides me out of the bar.
I can feel his rumbles of laughter as I continue to sing his praises. “And can we talk about your beard for a second? It’s all shiny and thick and filled with...with salt.” I might burp at this moment. Seriously, what did Alice put in those drinks?
“I’m glad you like my beard and all its salt.” I might be wrong, but I think Colin is twinkling. Not like a vampire, but like he’s got fairy lights buried under his skin. Or maybe it’s the way the streetlights hit him.
“Shiny,” I mutter. That earns me a humming mm-hmm . “There’s a lot of salt in there. How seasoned are you?”
“Are you asking me how old I am?”
“Maybe. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
He sparkles down at me as we weave towards my house. At least I think we’re headed in the right direction.
“Forty-three.” He holds my gaze, like it’s a challenge. Like he owns his age but is wary of my reaction.
“Oh, age gaps are hot. Did you know I’ve written five age gaps? It’s one of my favorite tropes.” My face heats when I realize what I just said. “Not that we’re...you know...in a thing...with each other.” His lush lips split into a wide smile.
“And if this was one of your books, what would the age gap be?” he asks with a little quirk of his eyebrows. I like this game.
“Eleven years.”
“Older or younger? Because fifty-four looks great on you.” He’s awfully puckish for such a big guy.
I gasp in mock horror and smack him on the shoulder—which I immediately regret. The back of my hand stings. The guy is solid.
“I’m thirty-two, thank you very much.”
“Alright, Shark, let’s get you home and hydrated.”
“How are you sober? I saw you drinking beer all night.”
“I’ve always been an overachiever when it comes to holding my liquor.”
“Liquor...I didn’t even know her,” I mutter, the joke escaping me automatically.
“You did not just...”
“Shh.” I press a finger to his lips, and it immediately becomes the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s a struggle to hide my reaction. He doesn’t bother hiding his. His eyebrows wing up into his shaggy hair and his eyes grow molten for just a second. But when is Colin not molten or smoldering or explosively attractive?
“It’s just something I do with most words that end in -er. Back in college, when I worked on the school newspaper, the editorial staff made it our go-to inside joke. Now I can’t stop myself. It’s like knocking on wood or saying, ‘bless you’ after someone sneezes.”
His smile kicks up a bit. “Adorable.” I do a simultaneous small curtsy and two-fingered salute, dispelling any hint of cuteness, grace, or sanity when I wobble a tiny bit. Colin’s got me all turned around, more than my usual state of being.
We take our time walking the few blocks to my place. The fog has rolled in, and I tuck myself deeper into his side. He tells me about working with Zane, living in Wavecrest for ten years, and that he has a cat that adopted him.
“You have a cat?” I exclaim.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and shows me the lock screen. “Her name’s Gonzo.” There, perched on Colin’s shoulder is a tiny gray tabby. In the picture she’s sniffing Colin’s ear and the small sliver of Colin’s face in the picture is scrunched up. The whole scene is cuter than it has any right to be.
“I must meet her. Where do you live?”
“What? Now?” I start to turn away from the direction we’re heading even though I have no idea where he lives.
“Yes, I insist.” It must be well past midnight, it’s Friday night, and I never stay out this late. Yet, I’m tugging on Colin’s sleeve while he barks out a laugh. It doesn’t mean anything. It has nothing to do with the feelings I have for Colin, that I want to know him even more, or that he’s insanely attractive while being kind and funny.
It's not about the salty beard, the sky-blue eyes that give off atomic levels of heat, the sheer size of the man, or the fact that I want to hear him sing every damn day.
He grabs my hand and turns me back the way we came. Nothing to do with the feel of his hand engulfing mine.
COLIN
“Wow, you must really like cats.” I laugh as Joanie tugs me down the block, luckily in the right direction. “I mean, you could be home, tucked in bed with some ibuprofen and a tall drink of water.”
“I got the tall drink of water right here,” she says, moving her eyes up and down me in an exaggerated way. Then she snorts at her own joke. “Sorry, sometimes I can’t turn off the romance writer thing.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for—I like your romance writer thing.” She stumbles a little and I quickly catch her around the shoulders.
I steer her down a side street lined with trees. The sidewalk is uneven where the roots have pushed up through the pavement, so I pull her closer to make sure she doesn’t face-plant. The breeze picks up and a silky strand of her hair brushes across my shoulder. Just under the floral scent, she smells like the night fog and a notebook with fresh pages. She’s intoxicating. This whole night’s been a surreal trip, and it’s not over yet.
I tighten my hold on her while willing my cock to calm the fuck down. But it always seems to get excited when I’m in Joanie’s orbit.
I’m not sure how tonight happened. Joanie and I have always been distantly friendly, but I’ve made sure to keep a little space so she doesn’t figure out who I used to be. But tonight is another example of why my attempt to keep us friendly-but-not-friends is doomed to fail. There’s no keeping her out, even if I wanted to. And I don’t think I want to anymore.
Not with her leaning into my shoulder, giggling to herself, looking and feeling like my own personal dream. I’ll have to figure out another way to keep the past where it belongs, far away from Joanie and my life now.
JOANIE
I’m mostly sober at this point, but fatigue has taken over, and I know tomorrow’s headache will be a doozy. But I’m determined to see this cat who gets to live with Colin. Not that I’m jealous of a cat. I just don’t want this weird, rambling night to end and meeting the cat feels like the perfect excuse to keep it rolling.
Colin’s had his hand on my elbow or my shoulder for the last two blocks, and I miss it when he lets me go to dig his keys out of his pocket. His house is a typical Wavecrest bungalow, probably built in the early fifties. Warm light pours out of the front windows, showing off a small brick porch and a couple of wooden garden chairs. This would be a great place to have coffee in the morning.
We step inside, and I take off my shoes. He kicks his Chucks to the side, revealing sensible gray athletic socks. Why is that sexy? Is it, though? Maybe on anybody else gray athletic socks wouldn’t even register.
The front room of his house looks cozy and inviting filled with Colin-sized furniture on top of original hardwood floors. Framed illustrations of San Francisco and the California coast break up the white walls.
He leads me further inside to the kitchen where he pulls down a glass from one cabinet and a bottle of pain reliever from another. He fills the glass at the sink, hands me two pills, and folds his arms across his broad chest. “Hangover prevention first, cat later.”
“Thanks.” I pop the pills and drink the whole glass of water. He stares at me, and my skin heats despite the cool water I’m gulping down. I need to break the tension, so I wink at him. He winks back, and my brain spirals into what does that mean acrobatics. Friendly wink? Flirty wink? Too tired to keep both eyes open wink?
I smack my lips when I’m done and hand him the glass back. “Cat, please.” After so much insistence, meeting Gonzo feels necessary. As I turn back towards the living room, I hear a soft meow and look down to see the lady herself. She ignores me and winds through Colin’s legs, purring.
Then she climbs him like a tree, kind of like what I want to do. She digs her claws into his pant leg and shimmies up him until she’s perched on his shoulder. Colin winces every time her claws sink in, but he doesn’t move until she settles. A couple ear licks and sniffs later—again, I’m waiting my turn—Colin presents his shoulder to me.
“Gonzo, this is Joanie. Joanie, this is Gonzo. She likes chin scratches, but she’ll nip when she’s done being loved on.”
How do you explain to the people at the ER that cuteness overload caused your burst ovaries? You see, doctor, he and his cat are adorable together. Here, let me show you a picture. I probably wouldn’t even get a bill.
I feel all loose and squirmy. Big ol’ Colin loving on his cat is doing all sorts of things to the inside of my brain. And panties. Those need to be buried in the backyard deep enough so raccoons can’t dig them up and drag them through the streets.
Gonzo sniffs the hand I slowly reach out to her, then headbutts it. I wonder if this is what it feels like to win a Pulitzer Prize.
“Hello, sweet Gonzo,” I coo at her. Colin stands perfectly still as I get closer and closer. To pet his cat, of course. She manages to stay perched on his shoulder as she rubs her head all over my hand, purring at the attention. I’m in love. With the cat. My brain tries to claw its way back from the edge of admitting more. Just pet the cat, Joanie. You’re too tired to trust your feelings right now.