Edge has the audacity to look deliciously fuckable as he folds his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe. His gaze trails to my mouth as I involuntarily lick my lips. The fraction of a knowing smirk meant just for me. I know I’m staring, but?—
“Are you all right, Ninja?” the prick asks.
I scoop up the morsel of self-respect I have left, run the back of my hand over my bottom lip to wipe off any drool that may have escaped, and straighten my posture. “Yep. Great!”
Unfortunately for me, he’s taken the liberty of putting on a shirt. The good news is, since I can’t gawk at his bronzed, sculpted chest and layers of abs, I at least get to keep that portion of my dignity. The bad news is, I’m still unsure about the tattoo.
Josh burps. He looks like he might be sick. In gym class, he came off so much more confident. Maybe it’s the alcohol.
“Want some real competition?” Edge asks.
I bump my hip against Eden’s. “Thanks, but I think we already got our teams.”
Edge purses his lips.
I move closer to him while the others act like they’re busy behind me. I lower my voice. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?” I shrug nonchalantly. “Like… I don’t know, maybe taking a hit or two from Kade’s joint or fondling Brielle so she can return the favor?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Those aren’t horrible options. But I think I’m fine right here.”
I roll my eyes as I turn away from him. “Don’t mind the lurker, guys.”
Three sets of eyes pop between Edge and me, disbelief written all over their faces with my blatant disrespect for the leader of Venom.
“Eden, break.”
She lines up the cue ball and then strikes it hard. It bursts into the group of balls, sending them into a frenzy in different directions. One striped ball and a solid ball each go in a pocket.
“Nice. Looks like I’m on the winning team,” I say.
She smiles. “Thanks. We call solids.” She lines up her shot and fires away. Again, the targeted ball sinks into the side pocket. She knocks in two more before it’s Bryce’s turn.
Josh is next. He takes a shot. He makes a solid ball in the corner front pocket.
“Wrong ball, but thanks,” Eden says.
It’s my turn. I can feel the weight of the stares of the four others in the room. One set of eyes in particular has me especially unbalanced. I ignore Edge as I consider all the impossible shots before me. I make my way to the other end of the table, aiming for the cue ball. The six ball is at the far-end bank in the center. I need it to return and find its home in the left corner pocket by my hip.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Eden asks.
“No. But here goes nothing. And if I miss, I know you got it and the eight ball on your next turn.”
She scoffs in amusement.
I lean over and set up my left hand, easing the stick onto it and lining up the cue with the six. Glancing slightly to my left at the destination pocket, I catch Edge’s frozen form standing in the doorway. I pull the stick back and slam it forward into the cue ball. White blurs down the table and hits the six, sending it back my way. I brace myself for the second it takes to sink into the corner pocket.
“Holy shit!” Eden shouts. “That was awesome. I thought you said you sucked?”
“Normally, I do. Maybe I perform better under pressure,” I say as I look straight at Edge.
Josh settles in on the dark leather couch. “That was nice, Kinsley.”
“Thanks,” I answer, still focusing on Edge.
A mischievous gleam flashes in his usually hardened eyes. Before I can decipher what to make of it, he turns and leaves without a word. The pressure in the room immediately dissipates.
“How can one guy cause so much tension?” Bryce asks, visibly relaxing. He shakes his arms, then takes his shot, missing his mark altogether.
I take my next shot and miss. No matter. I made the one I needed to make a point with. Pressure has always been a friend of mine.
