"We can play some pool," Baz offers in the most innocent way. In a way that tells me all he wants is some company. Some simple human interaction. And I secretly wonder if he's as lonely as I am.
"Do you care if you get your ass kicked by a woman?" I cave, like a damn idiot.
"If you're the woman, I have no issues." He slides off his chair. Standing at his full height, I realize just how big and tall he is. Strapping is how I'd describe him. The mountain man look never really appealed to me before, but it's starting to suddenly grow on me.
And the way his dark-blue flannel shirt hugs and stretches over the crests and ridges of his arms, chest, and shoulders-I have to cross my legs just so I don't come right where I sit.
If tonight is a test of my willpower and restraint, it's the fucking SATs, because I want this man. I want him more than I have ever wanted a member of the opposite sex. It's like he's the magnet and I'm the steel. I want him right here, right now, going at it like two animals on the pool table, and I wouldn't give a shit who's watching.
My heart is pounding and my skin is fevered as I watch him rack the balls. Spending a few more moments than normal to make sure they're straight. I shouldn't feel so uncontrollably tempted by this man. It isn't natural. Not for me.
I shouldn't feel anything at all. I should be numb.
Because no matter what, I was sent here to end his life.
And no matter what, I will.
"You want to break?" Baz offers me a pool stick.
I need to pull it together. "You can. Let's see what you got." I have to keep it light, keep it fun, even though it feels like I'm sinking.
"Suit yourself. I'm going to lose anyway." He grins up at me as he leans over the table. Damn his boyish charm. And mischievous eyes and devilish mouth.
God, that mouth . . .
"You're up." Baz strides around the table as I grab a cue stick off the wall and chalk the tip. My head is in the clouds as I line up the cue ball with the six for a shot in the corner pocket. I hit the white ball too hard, and they both drop in. "Mother," I curse under my breath. I wasn't talking shit. I really can play. It's one of the many skills Benny honed me in. Pool, darts, cards. I'm a master at each. He was adamant I be well rounded. Well educated. A girlie girl who could hang with the boys. That's who I am.
"Practice shot." Baz retrieves the cue ball and the six.
"Hell, no. Put it back. No special treatment. I scratched."
Baz lifts his hands in surrender. "What the lady wants, she gets."
I shoot laser beams at him as he sets up his shot. I watch as he sinks three balls before missing the fourth. Okay, it's on now. No more dicking around. This game is about to be over.
I bend over and line up a shot. Baz moves behind me, no doubt checking out my ass, but I won't let his ogling fuck up my concentration. Look all you want, buddy. I hope you like, because I know you want me.
I shoot, splitting the three and the five, sinking them both in a corner pocket.
"Nice shot," Baz hums behind me as I stand up straight. His beard tickles the shell of my ear, and I laugh. I laugh like a little fucking girl. Who am I?
"Ticklish?" He grabs my hips playfully and does it again, a little harder this time, causing me to squirm as the octaves of my laughter elevate. For a split-second I feel completely free. Completely normal. Just a girl, with a boy, playing pool. No stress, no demands. No expectations.
Is a simple laugh capable of unlocking such things? Providing such freedoms?
We're both laughing by the time Baz is done with me. Our bodies relaxed and pressed comfortably up against each other's. While catching my breath, I get high off his strong, woodsy, cypress scent.
It shouldn't be this easy. He shouldn't be this comfortable.
"Don't go soft on me now. You still need to kick my ass."
I look up him flirtatiously as he holds me in his arms. "I didn't forget."
With some reluctance, he lets me go, and I concentrate all my focus on the task at hand. I need to remember where my loyalties lie.
Four strokes later, I clear the table, hopping the eight ball over the ten to sink it in the side pocket.
Baz looks impressed. "You were trying to hustle me with that first shot." He tries to circle his arms around my waist, but I subtly dodge his attempt. One more embrace and I'm putty in his hands. I can't let that happen. I can't let him get to me or allow my desires to cloud my judgement-as much as I want them to.
Taking the hint, he steps back. I see the sting of rejection in his eyes, and it eats away at me. I want to console him. Assure him that it's me, not him. That's like the worst breakup line ever, but in this case it's the truth.
"How 'bout another drink?" My suggestion seems to optimistically re-engage him.