Page 18 of Reclaimed Dreams
“Hmm. The game is young. It’ll depend a lot on the next five minutes.”
“What’s going to happen in the next five minutes?”
He didn’t have long to wait for an answer.
She twisted her long brown hair and tucked it over one plaid-covered shoulder, the thin cotton of her western-style shirt stretching taut over her chest. Then she sank the nine ball. She leaned over the table directly across from him, giving him a shadowy glimpse of her cleavage, making him long to pop the pearl snaps covering the rest. She frowned as she busted him for looking, and sank the twelve. Without breaking eye contact.
Grinning, she boosted her jean-clad hip up on the table, stretching to line up her shot and untucking the edge of her shirt in the process. The flash of golden skin made his mouth water, and he looked away and took a sip of beer to hide his swallow of lust.
The sharp clack of balls bouncing and two muted thumps drew his attention back to the scrubby green felt. He had to count the table to see that she’d sunk the eleven and the thirteen on the same shot.
He was sunk too. She had him hook, line, and sinker, and she knew it. She was just playing with him now. He leaned back against the wall, propping a foot behind him, and watched her take him to town.
She moved with confident grace, a knowing smile on her face. She’d held control of this game from the moment she’d accepted his quarters. She was a pure pleasure to watch as she cleared the table, leaving only the lonely solids. He was openly grinning as she sank her last stripe.
His opportunity to convince her to give him a chance was rapidly disappearing. Dom pushed away from the wall and stepped into her path on her way around the table toward the eight ball. “Before you call that last shot, can I ask you a question?”
She gripped her cue like a wizard holding a staff and nodded. “Shoot.”
“Where did you learn to play pool like that?”
“It was my father’s game. I used to sneak down to the pool hall to play with him. When I was twelve, my nickname was ‘The Ballbreaker.’”
“I’ll bet it was.”
She moved to walk past him.
“Wait, I have to know. Are you going to give me another chance to meet you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like being ogled.”
“I’m only human. When a beautiful woman leans over a pool table…” Dom held up his hands in surrender to stop her protest. “And cleans my clock, it’s hard to look away.”
“I’m more than a pair of tits and a nice ass.”
“You sure as hell are. I came on this blind date as a favor to my brother. I stayed because I want to get to know all those other things about you.”
“Hmmm.”
That hum of contemplation crawled right under his skin and made every goose bump stand at attention.
“Eight ball, corner pocket.” She turned and tapped the table, dismissing him.
She had a beautiful clear shot, and he’d blown his. He felt something monumental slipping through his fingers as silkily as the cue slipped through hers.
Dom held his breath as the white ball hit the black and rolled across the green felt. The eight ball dropped cleanly into the corner pocket, taking Dom’s heart with it.
But as he watched, a miracle happened. The cue ball followed right behind it. She’d scratched. On purpose. It had to be on purpose. She was too good to miss that shot on accident.
Dom tore his eyes from the table and caught her laughing at him.
“The look on your face is priceless.”
“You scratched,” Dom said. His brain had short-circuited and spit out the obvious.
“I did. Oops.” She shrugged and held out her hand. “I’m Jo.”
He took her hand in his, touching her for the first time. Her hand fit perfectly in his, pale gold against his dark tan. He had a flash of insight that he’d be holding this hand for the rest of his life, for better or worse, and everything in between.
