Chapter 6 #3
“Tell me something about you.” My request is met with a new twinkling gleam in the deepest green of his eyes.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, trying hard to sound casual enough to hide this aching need to know him better. “Tell me something about your childhood.”
“My childhood? You’re going straight for the kill, huh?” I giggle at his playful expression, and a new grin paints his face. “Want to dredge up all the old wounds right from the beginning. Just get it out of the way.” I laugh harder, and he chuckles with me before falling into silence.
“Well, come on,” I say with my hand out, imploring him to continue. “Tell me something about how you grew up. Something that made you you.”
I don’t know why I’m asking. Maybe I’m hoping he’ll tell me some horrible story, like his mom is a drunk or his dad is a deadbeat.
Something that will soil him in the same way I am.
A deep-rooted burden that he carries so I won’t be the only one.
Then maybe I could justify my interest with the illusion that we’re somewhat equal.
“Okay, let me think, um…” He looks to the ceiling, and my mind gets stuck watching him again.
“Well, my parents divorced when I was eleven. It wasn’t a crazy break up or anything, but…
well, it was still kind of wild. It came out of nowhere.
One day, my dad just packed up and moved to Chicago to start a new life—with his childhood best friend, mind you. ”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. Talk about an interesting turn of events. ‘Your dad is going to marry Aunt Leslie now, so we won’t be seeing them anymore.’ It really crushed me. Aunt Leslie was my favorite.”
“Wow, that’s…terrible. That had to be horrible losing your dad and your aunt like that. And for your mom…” I let out a breath. “I can't even imagine. Is that how she told you about it—your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s, uh… I used to think she was a little stoic with all her cold, straight-to-the-point advice, but…” He trails off, then exhales softly. “She also told me to never date a woman with a guy best friend. Said there’s always love there—one way or the other.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Do you think that’s true?”
He huffs out a breathy, humorless laugh, his eyes fixed on the napkin twisting between his fingers, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he says, “I’ve actually never told anyone that before.
” His gaze flickers up, vulnerability flashing so openly I have to force myself to stay still instead of reaching for him.
“Anyway,” he says quickly. “My mom moved to Connecticut shortly after my dad left. She’d come back to Jersey on the weekends, which was…fine, I guess. But I remember thinking the same thing every time.” He gives a small, crooked smile. “I just wished I had a dog.”
My throat tightens. “After everything that happened, all you wanted was a dog?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, almost sheepishly. “I just thought… I didn’t have any siblings, and my parents moved away. Life was kind of lonely. A dog seemed cool. Someone to hang with all the time, waiting for me to come home. Like a best friend you get to live with—but more, you know? A fur-brother.”
His eyes beam, warm and unguarded with the sweetest grin. It carves itself into my heart. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“What?” His head tilts the slightest bit.
“You’re adorable.”
Wholesome.
Pure.
Exactly what I imagined him to be.
Not equal at all.
“Adorable?” His brows lift as he smiles wide. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before, but I’ll take it.”
“Trust me, it’s a compliment. You’re basically a walking green flag—and that?” I gesture between us. “That is full-on green-flag material.”
His deep, throaty chuckle vibrates against my skin.
“I’m serious,” I add. “Do women just throw themselves at your feet when you walk by, all hot and kind eyed and dog-loving and stuff?”
He laughs again, a full real laugh.
“Not usually, no,” he says through chuckles.
“Well, I would,” I blurt.
His eyes widen, that same playful smile pulling at his mouth. “That so?”
I take a sip of my beer, my heart going feral behind my ribs. “No, I just mean…” I wince. “You’re, like…attractive. And nice. And stuff. Obviously.”
I mentally smack my palm against my forehead, hating how I’ve suddenly turned into a complete moron.
“Well, thank you,” he says, smile soft and genuine. “I think you’re, like, attractive and nice and stuff, too.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but this time flattery joins my embarrassment.
His eyes stay on mine, and I’m mesmerized by them; the earthy tones dancing around the orange swirls within them, like embers caught in a slow living flame, God creating the Heavens and the Earth.
“Your turn,” he says. “Tell me something about your childhood.”
I mentally gulp, immediately wishing I’d never asked him something so invasive in the first place.
I wrack my brain for something—anything—that doesn’t feel so heavy and ugly. Something that won’t drag my whole past into the light.
“Uh…” I stall, grasping for an alternative, but the truth I land on is the safest one I’ve got—especially this buzzed. “I, um… I never had a Christmas tree.”
He eyes me questioningly. “Like you never had a real one, or…you never had a tree at all?”
“At all.” I cringe inwardly, unsure why I said it out loud. “I mean, we celebrated Christmas. We just…didn’t really do the extra stuff. The lights. The presents.”
It’s the cleanest way I can explain being dirt poor—having a father too drunk to notice the calendar, let alone keep the lights on.
“Huh,” Jake breathes, and suddenly, I’m acutely aware of myself. Heat creeps up my neck as more embarrassment settles in. I wish I could take it back. Swallow the words. Swallow the whole conversation. This is why I don’t talk to people.
“That’s rough,” he says finally. “It doesn’t really feel like Christmas without a tree.”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek, forcing a thousand sharp memories to stay buried.
“Well,” he adds, a small grin tugging at his mouth, “I guess we’ll have to fix that.”
My eyes shoot to his in utter surprise, and a smile blooms on my lips at the warmth in his eyes. There isn't an ounce of judgement in them. Just pure acceptance of the small truth I was reluctant to share.
There’s a slight shift in the air surrounding us, the walls of being strangers quickly dissipating like vapor in the wind. And for some reason, I find myself leaning dangerously into it.
“So how long are you kidnapping me for?” he asks playfully. My mind jumps to wondering if he’s actually ready to go. If he truly is done with our time together and would rather be left alone.
“This is hardly a kidnapping,” I defend.
“Oh, it’s a kidnapping. First you take me against my will, then you feed me drugs.”
I scoff. “It’s some beer and a couple shots, you drama queen.”
“All I know is I was tricked. And that’s what I’ll tell the police after I report you, kidnapper.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, low and threatening. I narrow my eyes at him, my head leaning forward across the small table.
“Oh, but I would,” he replies, matching my challenge. His face is mere inches from mine, and I can smell the sweetness of his breath.
We hold each other's gaze, the corners of our mouths tipping up into flirty smiles. Whoever breaks first loses. And I already know it’s going to be me.
“Fine,” I cave. “I’ll play you for it.”
“For what?”
“Your freedom,” I say with a devilish grin.
I grab my second beer, leaving the empty one behind as I waltz over to the pool table that still operates by quarters. I set my beer down and slip four coins into the slots before pushing it in like an old vending machine.
Brigg’s is a small place, old and shabby. Popcorn ceilings drape over wood-paneled and mirrored walls. The wall-to-wall carpeting has been soaked through so many times that it permanently squishes in some spots.
I honestly only come here because it reminds me of my dad—all the times he kept my brother and me out until the owners made him leave. Pool and greasy bar food are practically a part of who I am.
“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, woman.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry. Or maybe I would, if I were you.”
I grab the triangle and rack the balls. I work hard to ignore the way my body hums from his eyes that I know are watching me.
I remove the form, revealing the perfectly shaped setup, then grab the cue ball and set it in place.
I chalk the end of my pool stick before leaning over the edge of the table and gliding it between my pointer and middle finger.
My eyes shoot up to Jake, who is watching me closely, an amused downward grin on his perfect lips.
I set my eyes back on the cue ball, release a breath that feels more shaky than sure, and thrust my stick forward.
The loud crack from the resin balls bouncing against each other fills the room, and three balls sink in—all solids.
“Lucky shot,” Jake claims with a teasing glint in his eyes. He’s impressed, I can tell, but he won’t admit it.
“Think so?” I challenge with a twist of my smile, my fingers trailing the edge of the pool table as I make my way around. His tongue peeks out as he licks his lips slowly, pulling the bottom one in under his teeth. Heat runs along my skin in a pulse.
I turn my back to him, grabbing my beer off the table and taking a long sip, releasing the tension building up within me. An effort proved pointless when I catch his eyes in the reflection of the mirrored wall, still watching me.
I stare back at him. The air between us whirs with its thickness, alive with something neither of us are ready to name.
The alcohol has silenced my mind, and for once, I’m grateful for it.
His smirk deepens, slow and knowing, like he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on me and enjoying every second of it.
I reposition myself on the table and sink my next three balls effortlessly, earning praise from Jake that ignites my competitive nature even more. When I look at him with a pout on my lips after a scratch on my last ball, his lips curl into a slow and devious smile.
“Careful, Allie.” The deep tone of his voice pummels me. “Keep looking at me like that, and I might start to think you want me to lose.”
My heart stumbles, each thud a heavy pound in my ears. I’m not sure what my face shows, but it must tell him more than I want him to know because his smile only deepens as he stalks over to me.
“If you lose, it’s because I’m the better player,” I say, feigning a confidence I no longer feel.
“That might be the case.”
“It is the case.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” he says with a smirk as he chalks his stick. Then he brushes past me, his mouth coming close to my ear. His voice is low and almost gravelly. “Now, let's watch Daddy play.”
My heart stops—stops—in my chest. That low hum turning into a full-on flame.
Jake sinks two balls in one shot, lining himself up easily for a third. And then a fourth. My face must falter as my nerves rise because he says, “Don’t get scared now,” with a taunting grin.
Crack after crack, he sends the last of the striped balls into each pocket with ease, claiming the table for himself. He shoots me a cocky grin, and I stonewall him with a purse on my lips, a proven sore loser at heart.
“Eight ball,” he calls from across the table. “Left corner pocket.”
My heart kicks up speed as I watch him align his shot, everything in me willing him to lose so I can have more of this night with him. More of his flirty gaze that creates tingles inside me everywhere.
He pulls back on his pool stick and sends it forward, shooting the cue ball across the table and into the eight ball at the perfect angle that sends it home. My heart falls to my stomach with defeat.
He stands from his place at the table, slowly sauntering over to the high-top where I’m seated, his sexy grin almost stuck in place. When he’s just before me, he looks down the bridge of his nose at me in triumph, his broad chest and large frame towering over me.
“That’s game,” he says with a command in his tone.
“Congratulations,” I reply with a sly grin, doing well to hide a shiver as I straighten my posture.
“You’ve earned your freedom, Mr. Cooper.
” My voice is much sultrier than I mean for it to be, but I can’t help it.
Desire bubbles over in my core, and the tequila-beer mixture is dangerously taunting me to follow it.
Jake’s eyes stay on mine, and they don’t waiver. I note the glassy veil that’s come over them and wonder if that’s what has his guard down—or is it me? I wonder if we’ll ever get a night like this again, or if this is where our time runs out. It’ll always run out with a guy like Jake, won’t it?
These kinds of things don’t last.
He takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and I bask in the sweet malty scent of it. I wait for his unapologetic goodbye.
“Best out of three,” he says instead, that grin the perfect companion with the glint in his eye. Warmth coats me from my head down to my toes.
I walk past him, making my way toward the table as my face splits with an elated smile, tickled by the current coursing through my body—and I don’t think once about how much I shouldn’t let it.