Zack(29)

I take my time, deciding to hit the balls in numerical order, pausing every few shots to take another hit off the Patrón. By the time I sink the last ball, my head is slightly swimming with a buzz.

Racking the balls again, I think about how much Gina loved this house and neighborhood. To me, it was just a house, but now that she’s gone, it’s really become her house. Every room is filled with her touch, every picture and knickknack holding a special memory of a life that is no more.

Yup…I think I’m going to sell this place…find something that will be for just me and Ben. I’m going to do it if I can truly convince myself that it’s acceptable to do so. Is it too soon? Is there an appropriate amount of mourning time before you start making new memories?

“Zack?” I hear from the staircase that leads down into the basement.

I groan internally and take another hit off the Patrón. The last thing I need right now is to have Kate anywhere around me when I have liquor in my system. She’s been fucking plaguing my thoughts constantly since I saw her—truly saw her—in my kitchen that night just over a week ago. So damned intriguing, completely sexy and unaware of it, and totally off-limits.

She’s Ben’s fucking nanny, for Christ’s sake.

Off-limits.

But damn if I haven’t been thinking about what would happen if she wasn’t off-limits. Is she as innocent and clueless about her sexuality as she appears to be? Or is she hiding something sexy inside that can’t be covered with baggy clothing and thick-framed glasses? Christ, I want to know those answers.

“Zack?” she calls out again, and I hear her feet coming the rest of the way down the staircase.

“In here,” I say thickly, and I’m sure it might be the tequila holding my tongue hostage at the moment.

Kate rounds the corner and there she is. Sadly, she’s not wearing those same pajamas I caught her in the other night, and maybe that’s just as well. I’m afraid of what I might do to her if she were showing more skin. Instead, she has on a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt…very concealing. She’s hiding her body from my view and her hair is still wound up tight. And as always, her glasses are firmly in place and I have to wonder if she’d continue to wear them all the time if I told her they made her even sexier.

“What’s up?” I ask casually, my tongue seemingly loosened up a bit. I walk to the end of the table, grabbing the cue ball along the way. I place it on the table and break the rack again, sinking the nine ball in one of the side pockets.

“I heard noise down here. Just wanted to make sure it was you,” she says hesitantly. “You played a great game tonight.”

“Thanks,” I say, surprisingly pleased that she watched it on TV. Since I sank a stripe, I choose the twelve ball sitting prettily by the far-right corner pocket. I let loose on the sure shot, but it bounces against a corner and ricochets off, and I’m thinking I need to lay off the tequila.

Straightening my body, I hold the cue stick out to her. “You play?”

“A little,” she says with a small smile as she takes the stick from me. “I’m solids?”

“Yup,” I say, and lean against the wall to watch her. Because she’s concentrating on her shot, I use the unfettered opportunity to eat her up with my eyes. I’ve been keeping my distance from her, afraid close proximity would cause this stirring of feeling that I seem to have for her to get stronger.

It’s funny…but I can’t see the ways in which she tries to hide herself anymore. Now that I know what lies beneath, I can clearly imagine it in my head. You add that to the fact that Kate is one of the most outgoing people I know, who uses humor and silliness to make people laugh, and you have a woman who is an absolute open book just begging to be read.

Kate’s experience is clearly lacking, as she misses her shot by a mile. I have an urge to lean over behind her, show her the proper way to hold the stick and line up her angle, but me bending over her backside is a recipe for disaster.

She hands me the stick back and I walk around the table, considering my next shot.

“Can we talk about what happened the other night?” she asks quietly. “In the car…with the seat belt.”

My body jerks, feeling like it got zapped with electricity. My head swings toward her and I narrow my eyes. “What’s to talk about?”

Really? What’s to talk about? I freaked out, relived a terrible memory, but now it’s over. I’ve put it out of my mind again.

For the most part.

“Well…it’s just…you’re distant. I think you’re mad at me, and I want to apologize again, and hope we can get back on track.”