No, I wouldn’t.
I closed my eyes and tried to wipe the visual from my brain. It was easier said than done.
When I opened them again, I took the shot.
I missed.
I passed the cue to Jacques, and he silently assessed the balls, then lined up to take a shot.
He bent, leaning most of the way over the table. His suit pants pulled tight over a chunky bubble butt that was high and tight. My mouth watered at the sight.
Bad, Carina!
I tore my eyes away and watched as he hit the white ball up in the air. It sailed over the yellow, landed, and hit the purple straight into the corner pocket. I blinked. Had that really just happened?
Jacques walked around and sank another ball, then another, and even more until he’d cleared most of the table. He only had one colored ball plus the black to sink. I rested my hands on the table and leaned forward. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. He was graceful and fluid, every movement like the coil and pounce of a tiger. His muscles shifted under the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down shirt, down his back, and along his thick legs and that gorgeous ass.
He shot again. It went wide.
“Fuck,” he groaned. Somehow I knew it wasn’t because he’d missed.
We played two more games of pool until the band started playing “Working Class Man” by Cold Chisel.
“God, I listened to this song a thousand times when I was a kid,” Jacques said. “It was on the radio all the time.”
“It still is,” I said.
“Dance with me.” Jacques held out his hand, and I put the cue down.
We wandered over to the makeshift dance floor, just a small area in front of the band, and Jacques pulled me into his arms. He rested his hand low on my back, barely above my ass, and I looked up at him, trying to figure out how I’d had so much fun with him. I was happy. After we’d reined in the desire arcing between us, we’d laughed our way through the games of pool. Now, he was showing me another side of himself—he was a romantic.
He twirled me around, and I giggled as he pulled me against him again. With a smile, he said, “You’re a much better dancer than pool player.”
“Is there anything you’re not good at?” I asked playfully.
“Hmm, can’t give away all my secrets.”
The song ended, and exhaustion hit me. I stifled my yawn, but there was no hiding it from Jacques.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“I drove. I’m parked across the road.”
Jacques walked me back to the parking garage, and once we’d reached my car, he leaned on the driver’s door and clasped my left hand. “I had fun tonight.”
“So did I.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking at the spot where my wedding ring once was. “Don’t go back to him,” he pleaded. “Don’t believe him when he says he’ll be faithful. He won’t, and you deserve so much better.”
“I—”
“Come to the States. Visit Mom. I know she wants to see you.” He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “I’d like to see you again too.”
“Jacques,” I started, but then I hesitated. I’d had fun tonight. He’d made me forget all the shitty things going on in my life for a few hours, and I’d been happy. I wanted more of that joy as well as the butterflies in my belly. We were only flirting. It was harmless. Certainly nothing would ever come of it.
I smiled and stepped closer, rising onto tip toes to brush a kiss on his cheek. “Maybe I will.”
five
