Rugged(40)

“Too bad your cheating ways didn’t work, cheater,” I say, snorting a little bit. Flint’s shoulders are shaking from laughter.

“I was wrong. Should’ve known that a woman like you can keep her head under any circumstances,” he says. He has to lean down and say it in my ear, since the bar is getting louder. He’s so close; if I turned my head, we’d be almost touching…

“Of course I can,” I say, resisting the bad, bad idea. Turning back to take my next shot, I sight the ball. This time Flint behaves like a perfect gentleman. But being that close to him again, the heat of his body right beside me, it turns my muscles shaky and my fingers slippery. I shoot, and the white ball arcs through the air and off the table.

“Scratch!” Bernie yells, obviously pleased with himself. He grabs the ball and plunks it back onto the felt tabletop. “All right, McKay.”

“I’ll show you,” Flint tells me, taking a cue from off the rack. “A real man knows how to handle his…er, his pool game.” He clears his throat.

“Nice save. No one would ever suspect you meant to say balls,” I say, watching as he snorts and screws up his shot, fouling up a guaranteed point.

“How dare you,” Flint says in mock horror.

“Two can play at sabotage, Mr. McKay.” Someone hands me a beer—Bernie, most likely—and I take a drink. Beer’s not usually my favorite, but on a crisp fall evening, surrounded by the Berkshires’ finest and hairiest, who am I to resist?

We chase the balls around the table, enjoying the game. I’m too focused to let much of Flint’s rattling get to me, but whenever he touches my back briefly, or leans in to whisper something funny in my ear, I find my heart thudding loudly in my chest. That’s when it’s hard to concentrate on whatever’s in front of me. Heat flushes up and down my body, and I have to work to keep my breathing in check.

“Down to the eight ball,” Flint says, readying himself and shooting. It’s close, but the shot just misses. We’re tied. He hands me my cue. “Chalk up and get in there.”

As I accept the cue, my hand grazes his again, for one brief second, and again, sparks bubble in my blood. Flint winks, then steps aside to let me play. Is he doing it on purpose? I have to ignore the brief touches and the deep, sexy rumbling of his laugh. Focus, Laurel. Go for the Firefly gold, which is probably Carl’s old bowling trophy and a free drink. Using my laser producer focus, I look down the length of the cue and see the smug little eight ball just sitting there, acting like he owns the place.

I haven’t had too much to drink. I just like to imagine inanimate objects mocking me. Helps me concentrate.

I shoot, and the white ball cracks so satisfyingly against the offending eight ball that it shoots across the table and lands in the corner pocket. I win the game. This calls for a classy victor’s speech. I’ll shake Flint’s hand, congratulate him on a game well played—

“Did that hurt? The beat down I just laid on you?” I ask him, sashaying my hips back and forth. Screw it, I don’t go in for classy all that much. I work in Hollywood.

Fortunately, Flint isn’t the sore loser type. He laughs hard, then grabs me up and swings me around, very quickly. It’s a playful hug he’d give his sisters. I’ve seen him behave this way before. All very brotherly. So why do I practically feel myself melt against him? And why, when he returns me to my feet, does he look at me with a heat that doesn’t make me think of cozy family bonding at all? Unless your last name is Lannister, that is.

“You play to win,” he murmurs. I think that idea pleases him; a smile quirks up the side of his mouth.

“Guess you could say I’m competitive,” I reply, my carefree tone belying how fast my heart’s beating. Across the bar, I notice Raj glaring in our direction with his arms crossed. What? Just a little friendly, professional bonding going on over here.

“Damn, the girl’s a master,” Bernie says, whistle-laughing as he sets up for another game. “Rare I get the pleasure of seeing anyone beat you, McKay.”

“She divided and conquered my troops,” Flint says, gazing down at me. “She’s like a shorter, West coast Napoleon.” Despite Raj’s eyes still shooting laser beams at me, I’m still pressed up against Flint’s body, and neither of us seems to be moving away. If only I could feel his arms around me, one more time…just for the road…

“Helluva lot better than the rest of us,” Bernie continues, apparently oblivious to whatever’s happening between Flint and me. Which is a good thing, damn it. “Man, last person I ever saw beat you was Charlotte. You remember?” Bernie laughs and pushes his cap up his head. “She’d never let up, that woman, ‘til she got her way.”

And just like that, I’m out of Flint’s arms. He takes a step back, the heat in his eyes quashed. Even Bernie notices it, because he clears his throat.

“I mean, just saying—”

“Why don’t you two keep playing? I’m going to get another beer,” Flint says, and heads for the bar. Bernie shakes his head and keeps setting up.

“What was all that about?” I ask. It’s not that my ears perk up as soon as another lady’s name is mentioned. No, not at all. My ears just naturally look like this. All perky and what not.

“Eh, it’s not a big deal,” Bernie says. He starts ordering the balls by solid and stripe. Meanwhile Raj saunters over to us, his checked yellow shirt and skinny jeans setting him apart from the crowd. His eyes are narrowed, but although I’m expecting a tongue-lashing of the un-fun variety, instead he unexpectedly gets in on the game.