Hard Beat(43)

But regardless of how much I tell myself to take that necessary step back, I can still feel myself slipping deeper into whatever this is between Beaux and me. I mean f*ck, I want to have sex with her again – that’s a given – but since that first-time buildup has already happened between us, we have this oddly fascinating connection now. It’s like since we know how explosive the physical side of things is between us that we almost fear igniting that powder keg again unless we figure out if we can actually handle it.

And God how I want to handle it before I handle her, because I know the next time we connect, there will be no turning back. Both physically and where my heart is concerned. I know myself well enough that this feeling I have inside isn’t going to allow me to stay behind the Kevlar for too much longer.

But I’m pulled from my thoughts as a soft smile turns up her lips and reaches her eyes. At the sight a warmth spreads through me. And with the quality time we’ve spent together lately, I feel like even though we are in this room filled with colleagues, we are having our own private conversation without speaking.

She slides her eyes over to the empty pool table, and when I roll my eyes in response, her laugh crosses the distance between us. She knows I detest pool just about as much as she hates Scrabble, but we’ve learned to compromise to pass the time. Shaking my head, I rise from my seat while she walks to the far wall and grabs the cues and the rack for the balls. Out of habit and because, shit, how can I not look, I take in the curve of her hips and the muscles in her shoulders as she grabs the sticks for us.

“Ready to lose, Pulitzer?”

“Someone has to let you win so you don’t pout,” I tease as she picks up a ball and pretends like she’s going to huck it at me despite the smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

“You talk a good game. Too bad you can’t play one.” My laugh comes freely, our banter a reliable form of entertainment as we sit in limbo for the next story on the horizon.

We take our shots, and balls fall in the pockets while she hustles me like usual as we tease and walk that fine line of flirting without flirting: a brush of a hand on a lower back, a lean in with a comment in a lowered voice, eyes hungry for the next look from the other. All the while cautious of the eyes watching around us, ready to make assumptions that don’t need to be made.

“You’d better watch your back, rookie,” I tease as I glance at the table, well aware that there are a lot more of my solids on the table than her stripes. “I’m making a comeback.”

Her laugh rings out above the chatter, echoing off the cheap tile floor in the lobby. “You couldn’t beat me if you tried.” She sits with her hip on the edge of the table, distraction at its finest because who cares about aiming my cue at little solid balls when I could stare at her instead?

“I’m in complete control here,” I murmur as I line up my shot.

“Ha. I’ll let you keep thinking that,” she scoffs, knowing perfectly well that comment will rattle any man.

Our eyes lock, so many words exchanged without speaking as the sexual tension thickens between us. Want and need, desire and lust, reverberate through the air like our own private secret in this room full of people. I force myself to go through the motions, placing the chalked cue in the crease of my thumb and index finger as I prepare to strike the ball, except my eyes are on Beaux because, damn, how could I look away?

Her chuckle distracts me, her body calls to me, her defiance is a challenge. And I blame all three of those things when I completely miss the cue ball like some chump. She jumps off the table, a hiss of “Yes!” falling from her lips as she dances around me with a taunt in her eyes and an arrogance to her swagger from being victorious in her distraction.

Out of the blue, music blasts through the lobby. At first everyone freezes, then turns to where one of Pauly’s crew has plugged portable speakers into his laptop and is standing there looking back at all of us. Gus is his name, I think. I remember him because he always wears the most horrendous Hawaiian shirts that look like paradise got drunk and decided to throw up all over him.

“Let’s liven up this joint! We’re all bored stiff… so let’s loosen the f*ck up!” Gus waves his arms out to the side for everyone to get on their feet, and the minute he stops talking, the room erupts in “Hell yeah” and whistling.

The lobby transforms instantly as the music is turned up louder so that the speaker crackles from the volume. The necessity to break up the doldrums takes hold of all of us – even the sticks-in-the-mud get to their feet and bob their heads to the rhythm. I glance over to see Beaux’s body sway to the beat as the familiar chords of a song by the popular band Bent begins to play.

Although I’m not normally one to dance, there’s no stopping me at the chance to feel her body against mine. The next thing I know, she’s walking toward me with her hips swaying and her body moving to the music. She sets down the cue and grabs my hand. We begin to move together in steps that don’t match the beat whatsoever. I spin her out and pull her back in like I used to watch my parents do across the kitchen floor when I was a little boy.

On another spin, we lose our grip on each other. Beaux’s shoulder hits the wall, and we double over in laughter at how horrible we are, but my God the laughter feels good. The smiles remain as we get back into the rhythm again, losing ourselves in the song as we dance in the space around the pool table. She raises her arms over her head and shimmies her hips as she lets the music take over, and hell if watching her body move like this doesn’t make me want to light the fuse to the powder keg.